The Portland rapper broke through in 2016 with the carefree “Caroline” as an eager student of André 3000 and Tyler, The Creator, then spent the next almost-decade finding his own voice: witty but searching, with a penchant for bright, bubbly beats. Now 31, Aminé is ready for a long, five-star vacation on his third studio album, *13 Months of Sunshine*, his first since 2020’s existential *Limbo*. (In the years between, he dabbled in hyperpop on 2021’s *TWOPOINTFIVE* and collaborated with Kaytranada on 2023’s *KAYTRAMINÉ*.) He’s in his deep-house bag on “Familiar” and “Vacay,” on which he finds himself two spritzes deep, “out of office” email in effect, draped in a hotel robe, “on my Dua Lipa.” He jets across the pond on “Arc de Triomphe,” skating over a UK garage shuffle that samples The Streets. But it’s not all affogatos and plunge pools: On Leon Thomas duet “New Flower!” he recalls his days as an intern for Complex and Def Jam, remembering being sent to fetch sandwiches for Big Sean. And after a beat switch on Afrobeats bop “13MOS,” he dives deep into his Ethiopian and Eritrean family legacy: “I was named after my grandfather/So, I can’t put shame to the name I’m proud of.”
What makes the darkness of billy woods’ raps bearable is that you’re always a step or two away from a good joke or decent meal—a real-world, life-goes-on resilience that has been the bedrock of hip-hop from the beginning. That said, *GOLLIWOG* is probably the most out-and-out unsettling album he’s made yet, a smear of synth rumbles, creaky pianos, and horror-movie strings whose dissonances amplify scenes of otherwise ordinary dread, whether it’s the Black artist trying to charm the boardroom of white executives on “Cold Sweat” or prolonged eviction scene of “BLK XMAS.” Now in his mid-forties, woods is confident enough in his critique to make you squirm in it and has a rolodex of some of the best producers in underground rap to back him up, including Kenny Segal, El-P, Conductor Williams, and DJ Haram. Spoiler alert: The real monsters are human.
In the two and a half years since 2022’s *NO THANK YOU*, Little Simz attempted to write its follow-up four times, to no avail. From the outside, the London native was at the top of her game. Since 2021’s game-changing fourth album, *Sometimes I Might Be Introvert*, she’d won a Mercury Prize, owned the Glastonbury stage, and earned a spot among the power players of UK rap. But privately, her personal life was imploding. In 2025, word spread of the lawsuit Simz had filed against Inflo, the childhood friend and longtime collaborator who’d produced her last three albums, for allegedly failing to repay a 1.7-million-pound loan. The betrayal left the rapper at a loss, as she recounts on “Lonely”: “Sitting in the studio with my head in my hands/Thinking what am I to do with this music I can’t write?” From this turmoil, the 31-year-old musician arrived at a breakthrough that manifests on her sixth album, *Lotus*—named for the flower that thrives in muddy waters. Here Simz pulls no punches on the topic of her former friend, snarling her way through the bluesy opener “Thief” (“This person I’ve known my whole life, coming like the devil in disguise”) and the eerie “Flood,” produced by Miles Clinton James with cameos from Nigerian British pop star Obongjayar and South Africa’s Moonchild Sanelly. But the mood lifts on tracks like “Young,” a bit of post-punk method rapping on being dumb, broke, and alive (“A bottle of Rio and some chicken and chips/In my fuck-me-up pumps and my Winehouse quiff”), and on “Free,” a jazzy boom-bap meditation on love versus fear, on which Simz reaches a cathartic conclusion: “Love is every time I put pen to the page.”
Aesop Rock does not talk or tour. He has not been on a stage since 2017 or been interviewed since 2020. Instead, what one of his generation’s most recognizable and masterful voices continues to do as he enters the back half of his forties is rap—four albums since 2020 alone, each filled with his most harrowing or humorous experiences and a seemingly dauntless supply of esoteric or obvious enthusiasms. When he barks, “Anomaly in the algorithm, do the algebralculus/I’m all of Alexandria’s information in aggregate” at the start of “Checkers,” from his sprawling *Black Hole Superette*, it feels like he’s supplying a thesis statement of one—to be one of rap’s great outsiders, his rhymes free to do whatever they want. Would anyone else dare, after all, to spend three minutes chronicling the exponential growth curve of the snail population inside the aquarium he bought for his girlfriend, as he does on the dazzling “Snail Zero”? Or to use his dog’s mutt status and his cat’s tumescence to form a sort of superhero posse, as on “Movie Night”? Aesop Rock gets from Francis Bacon to H Mart, from EPMD to shaving cream and Nautica parkas, from the escape of his childhood hamster to the survival of Lahaina’s banyan tree in a matter of a few rhythmically intricate verses over spring-loaded beats. “Whole worth wrapped in what you can make with your bare hands/When sitting independent of the greater square dance,” he offers at one point, as if sneering at the music industry from the perfect privacy of his own studio. Indeed, no one else sounds or moves like Aesop Rock; on *Black Hole Superette*, he’s perhaps never sounded more like himself. The landmark track here might be “John Something,” where Aesop relays a story from his college days in Massachusetts above a hard-edged piano cut between percolating hand drums. It’s the tale of a visiting artist, possibly named John, who shows up to class to share slides of his photos but mostly just extols the Foreman-versus-Ali documentary *When We Were Kings*. Aesop rushed out to see the film and then felt its rush of excitement for himself, as he understood how vivid and compelling good storytelling might be. The gift of that artist was not his own work, but the enthusiasm he passed along for great work. It is clear that Aesop Rock—who counts Lupe Fiasco, Armand Hammer, and Open Mike Eagle as guests here—has passed that energy along to his successors and peers, even as he has remained on the industry’s outskirts. Thing is, he happens to remain one of the best rappers working too.
When Rico Nasty proclaims, “I don’t sound like anyone, these bitches sound like me” on *LETHAL* highlight “BUTTERFLY KISSES,” she has a point. She’s one of the earliest luminaries of the rap-meets-metal marriage that has surfaced over the last decade-plus, and she’s arguably the best at merging those worlds too. The Prince George’s County, Maryland, native has blended a unique variety of chaotic rage-rap since her entry into the music industry in the mid-2010s, and she backs it up with mosh-heavy live shows, mercurial hairdos, and eccentric fashion sense. But since feeling restricted by her persona after the release of 2022’s *Las Ruinas*, she switched things up: She left the major-label system, signed to indie outfit Fueled by Ramen (the label that exalted bands like Fall Out Boy and Panic! At the Disco), and enlisted Imad Royal (The Chainsmokers, Panic! At the Disco) as the executive producer for her next record. Many of her fans already associate her with creating on her own terms, but *LETHAL*<> is even more freewheeling than usual. “SOUL SNATCHER” finds her mutating between a half-dozen rap voices while boasting about her sexual prowess, “SMOKE BREAK” is full of guttural metal screams, “PINK” glows with bubbly femininity, and “CRASH” is a catchy pop-rock cut. The album is sonically unpredictable, but her unbridled confidence and chameleonic versatility hold everything together. Rico Nasty takes time for reflection as well: “SMILE” is a tender ode to her teenage son, and “YOU COULD NEVER” is a career retrospective that shows her earnestly proud of all she’s persevered. “When I reflect back, I know I’m blessed/I’ma be myself, you could be the rest,” she says on the latter. It’s an approach that’s proven effective for Rico, time and time again.
Like its 2024 predecessor *Pinball*, part of the appeal of *Pinball II* is hearing MIKE step out of the fog of his own introspection and do something a little more sociable. Make no mistake: This is not straightforward rap music. But where *tears of joy*-era MIKE (age 20) sounded hell-bent on unburdening his soul, here he seems not only content with rapping for rap’s sake but resplendent in it. He pulls together West Coast breeziness (“Splat!”), Detroit bounce (“#74,” “WYC4”), weird Cubist R&B (“Dolemite”), and DMV dreamscapes (the Niontay feature “Shaq & Kobe”) with a free-associative joy that manages to be both fun and totally nonlinear. As for his collaborator, you guess he picked the name because of how hard he bubbles.
“I’ve been realizing that I really made the album that I needed to heal myself,” Kali Uchis tells Apple Music about *Sincerely,* perhaps her most liberating work yet. The Colombian American singer-songwriter’s catalog has never felt slight or frivolous, whether in English or in Spanish. Yet this full-length follow-up to her 2024 *ORQUÍDEAS* dyad presents as something truly unique, arriving roughly a decade after her promising EP debut *Por Vida*. The majority of the songs here began simply as voice notes, fortuitously captured in inspired moments outside of the confines or pressures of a studio setting. “Messages would just feel like they were directly coming through me, and I just had to get them out,” she says. Given such natural creative origins, it should come as little surprise that the actual process behind the album eschewed industry norms altogether, favoring home recording and unconventional settings. And despite the demonstrated level of guest vocal talent at her fingertips, she opted out of features, too. “When you’re making emotional music, you have to actually dig into difficult subjects,” she says, marking a clear distinction between this piece and its star-powered predecessor. As a result, *Sincerely,* feels disarmingly intimate for what is ostensibly a pop album, even one from as consistently adventurous an artist as Uchis. The evocative moments of opener “Heaven Is a Home…” and closer “ILYSMIH” speak on love in grand and sweeping gestures, the passing of her mother and the birth of her son making understandably profound impacts on the work. Influences like Cocteau Twins and Fiona Apple can be felt in all that comes between those bookends. “There’s a lot of grief, but there’s a lot of joy,” she says, describing what seeps through the veil of “Silk Lingerie,” or the vamps of “Territorial.” Excess punctuation on titles like “Lose My Cool,” and “For: You” hint at the flowing prose of her lyrics as it contributes to an even greater whole. “I think it is a celebration of life in its own way,” she says, “in the sense of finding beauty in the pain and taking the good.”
Leon Thomas wears seemingly every hat there is: He sings, he writes songs, he acts, and he produces. Despite being spread thin in a million different directions, he manages to excel in all these fields. After years of dedicating his talent to acting and writing songs for other artists, he emerged in 2023 with his solo debut, *Electric Dusk*, via Ty Dolla $ign’s EZMNY imprint. A year later, he released its follow-up, *MUTT*, a convincing sign that Thomas is all in on this latest endeavor. *MUTT* finds Thomas showcasing his vocal prowess and lyrical talent alike, telling stories of love lost and betrayal, staggering his way through empty relationships as he looks for his soulmate. On “SAFE PLACE,” he sings over screeching guitars and the persistent beat of a ride cymbal bell, admitting, “I see the glass half empty.” On “FAR FETCHED,” which features his label boss, Thomas takes issue with a love interest who is more interested in handouts than a deep relationship. “Paid for my mistakes in Benzes and diamonds,” he fumes, before adding, “250 fronted like you was my artist.” Leon Thomas has conquered everything he’s set his mind to, and yet, on *MUTT*, love eludes him.
“First Day Out” may have thrust Tee Grizzley into breakout rap stardom, but his subsequent eight years of work and dedication have kept him in the conversation. A key and respected part of the contemporary Detroit hip-hop vanguard with some commercial hits under his belt, he brings both confidence and gravity to *Forever My Moment*. As the opening title track shifts from him spitting raw and a cappella to going in on a bone-chilling Helluva beat, he begins reflecting on how fresh money changed his situation and relationships. This lay-of-the-land purview pervades much of the project’s runtime, with Grizzley shaking his head at both the state of the game and its players on “Jalen Hurtski” and “Rick Jameski.” On the provocatively titled (though in no way political) “They Shot at Trump,” he cautions bros and opps alike that anybody can get touched in these streets. Should anyone unaware question Grizzley’s credibility, real moments like “Stash-house in Dearborn” and “Robbery 9” will quell any and all dissent.
After 2018’s *Glory Sound Prep*, songwriter, producer, and multi-instrumentalist Jon Bellion stepped back from releasing music of his own. He still wrote and produced for other artists like Justin Bieber, Maroon 5, and Jonas Brothers, and headed up his label Beautiful Mind Records, which has released albums by the likes of Tori Kelly. He also became a dad—an experience, he tells Apple Music’s Zane Lowe, that sparked a realization. “You start to realize, ‘The father is wildly important in the home,’” he says. “You hear that, you believe that—and then you have children, and you’re like, ‘Oh, my God.’” Across *FATHER FIGURE*—Bellion’s first full-length in seven years—the Long Island-born pop alchemist comes to grips with fatherhood’s enormity while also appreciating the way that living life apart from the day-to-day artist grind has opened up his creativity. Now fully independent (*FATHER FIGURE* is his first album on his own label), Bellion is striking out in directions that, he feels, he wouldn’t have even found if he hadn’t gone on hiatus from performing. “My music has grown and matured in a way that would have never happened if I didn’t walk away from the artistry for a little bit,” he says. The massive task of nurturing young humans in a chaotic world hangs over the album, giving urgency to Bellion’s innovatively constructed, genre-fluid compositions. On the jittery “MODERN TIMES,” a reggae-tinged collaboration with jazz savant Jon Batiste, Bellion laments those who “got some money and lost \[their\] sense of mind.” The stripped-down “WHY,” a collaboration with Luke Combs, questions love’s existential purpose—“If the higher I fly is the further I fall/Then why love anything at all?” they wail on the chorus. The sinewy “RICH AND BROKE” brings the listener inside Bellion’s mind during an earthquake’s immediate aftermath. It combines breakbeats, sirens, and fractured choirs, creating a maelstrom that underscores what feels like the album’s statement of purpose: “Had a big chain ’round my neck/That I worked for my whole life/But the first thought was my kids.” While most of the album operates with what Bellion calls a “very gorilla energy of the masculine,” its last track, the luminous lullaby “MY BOY,” punctures that concept. “Fit inside these arms forever, ’cause the world’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he croons to the child he’s holding, and the racing thoughts he confesses to God expand on that: “I hate the weakness of showin’ my son what makes me sad,” he raps. But with that vulnerability, he notes, a stronger bond is formed: “He said a present father is worth way more than a perfect dad.” *FATHER FIGURE* wrestles with masculinity, fatherhood, and culture bravely and with gusto, with Bellion’s ever-evolving artistry and hunger for the truth fueling his desire to get even more real.
SAILORR, aka Jacksonville, Florida-raised Kayla Le, has built a world that is equal parts vulnerable and protected—sacred but open for visitors. On her full-length debut, she bridges these conflicting tendencies with ease, placing her diaristic songwriting and hilarious social commentary against a backdrop of smooth R&B and alt-pop. She moves from delicate croons that touch on her refusal to shave her legs for a bum partner to a Florida-inspired rap flow about soft-girl summers. Highs, lows, and seemingly every emotion in between: SAILORR owns them all on *FROM FLORIDA’S FINEST*. Her ability to convey these feelings so honestly and relatably comes from her unique perspective as a cultural commentator. “I think that, in general, memes play a large role in how we communicate with others,” she tells Apple Music. “It\'s a very universal thing. I really, really love just being able to be vulnerable with what I’m saying, but also kind of mask it with comedy.” Many of the lowest points of the album find SAILORR employing this “laugh to keep from crying” mentality. “That’s just how I deal with my own emotions. And so, if I can find a fun way to say something, I’ll do that,” she explains. SAILORR is never one to wallow in her despair, though, even on tracks like “DOWN BAD.” “I feel like genuinely that song just perfectly encapsulates what real love will do to a person,” she says. Despite the ecstasy of love, it was a real challenge for her to embody this mindset, which helps illustrate just how much SAILORR has grown since her emergence in 2023: “It’s actually so much easier to write a heartbreak song over a love song. I feel like it’s so much harder to be vulnerable in that way, to be like, ‘Oh, I’m in love, and I’m happy now.’”
As the first woman to sign to Drake’s OVO Sound label, Dutch singer-songwriter Naomi Sharon wasted no time in matching the high expectations set for her debut album, *Obsidian*, released in 2023. With her EP *The Only Love We Know*, Sharon aims to exceed them, diving into the emotional complexity of moving on from experiences that no longer serve your happiness. Jordan Ullman (of R&B duo Majid Jordan fame) helms production with assists from talent such as Alex Lustig (Drake, Lil Wayne) and hitmaker Justin Tranter—who applies their polished pop pen to “Can We Do This Over”—crafting a solid base of intricate but spacious instrumentals for Sharon’s spotless vocals to build on. “Bittersweet” calls for her to echo and boom with rich reverb; with “Soft Like Dawn” she allows it to float and drift over a haunting bassline sweetened by soothing guitar riffs. Sharon saves the best for last, powering the dynamic energy of the title track with stacked choral harmonies that soar above the steady, linear percussion of the otherwise unobtrusive beat. *The Only Love We Know* may deal in the language of letting go, but Sharon’s arresting performances compel the listener to stick around for more.
If New Orleans MC Rob49’s *Let Me Fly* was an IRL coming-out party, it’s likely one you wouldn’t be able to get into. Just look at who showed up to pay homage: The album has features from Lil Wayne, Cardi B, Fridayy, Meek Mill, Sexyy Red, Quavo, G Herbo, YTB Fatt, and Polo G, and an increasingly rare appearance from Cash Money Records impresario Bryan “Birdman” Williams, who pops up just to talk shit between a few Rob49 verses (“Get the Picture,” “JetWifi”). Artists—as well as fans—love Rob49, and not just for his impossible-to-see-coming runaway smash “WTHELLY.” The MC has plenty to offer, and he offers plenty of it across *Let Me Fly*’s 22 tracks. There are songs for war (“Get the Picture,” “Supposedly,” “On Sight”), for celebrating (“BLOUSIN,” “High or What”), for repenting (“Hear Me Momma”), for those in need of motivation (“Pick Your Poison,” “Widebody”), for women who think he’s sexy (“So Sexyy,” “I Swear to God,” “Tell Nobody”), for the dawgs locked away (“Where I’m From”), and a few for day-one Rob49 fans (“Wassam Baby,” “Off Dat Drank”). He’s got an authentic New Orleans accent and a voice with the kind of bass young men used to emulate when they wanted to sound cool over the phone. And to be fair, Rob49 does sound cool. And unbothered. And like someone you wouldn’t want to piss off. Basically, he is the rap superstar archetype.
“I can write the words, but the music has to match the energy,” Snoop Dogg tells Apple Music. “And it just feels like when we own that shit on the West, we great at that shit.” Since his 2022 acquisition of Death Row Records, he has wasted little time in repositioning the infamous record label that propelled him to stardom. From bringing on new R&B signees JANE HANDCOCK and October London to facilitating the returns of Tha Eastsidaz and Tha Dogg Pound, as well as seemingly riskier moves like blockchain drops and a gospel compilation, Snoop’s updated model benefits from having him at the center. “I was on this label when it was started and I seen all the pluses and the things that worked,” he says. “I seen the things that hadn’t been tapped into. So as I hold it as the owner, it’s my job to give it life, to give it love.” Following last December’s long-awaited Dr. Dre reunion *Missionary*, the ever-entrepreneurial Long Beach native drops a sizable solo album that merges West Coast rap nostalgia with the modern touches expected from an industry impresario. *Iz It a Crime?* not only nods to the Sade classic liberally sampled on its probing title track, but more broadly addresses a worldview that comes from lived experience, as a man and as an artist. “I’ve never been afraid to try different things when it comes to music, because that’s what music is,” he says. “It’s a universal language of all people. And once you’ve mastered a craft of your voice and who you are, you should be able to do any style of music when you want.” Furthermore, his latest comes at a time of existential triumph for Los Angeles hip-hop, a scene for which he serves as a long-standing load-bearing pillar. “The original West Coast sound was drug-related gang-bang music that made you act ignorant,” he says. “It was that sound of representation, like wherever you was from, what part of the city, what gang you was from.” One can hear Snoop’s proud ownership of that history on “Joy,” a bombastic series of slickly executed references, and on “Sophisticated Crippin’,” a laidback throwback teeming with success-story energy. As he emphasizes that elder-statesman swag, he also brings in fresher faces like LaRussell (“Can’t Wait”) and Sexyy Red (“Me N OG Snoop”), both to share the spotlight and to double down on his legacy-building enterprise. Yet *Iz It a Crime?* feels truly special when he’s reconnecting with older hitmaking pals, vibing luxuriously with Wiz Khalifa on “Just the Way It Iz” and retooling the funk on “Spot” with Pharrell Williams, a longtime collaborator. “I love music,” Snoop says. “I don’t feel like I am just a slouch or a pushover. I feel like I’m a great musician and a great voice.”
