Playboi Carti has hardly been absent in the roughly four years since *Whole Lotta Red*, appearing alongside the likes of Future, Latto, and Trippie Redd in the interim. Still, that didn’t keep his enormous fanbase from persistently clamoring over the prospect of *I AM MUSIC*, ultimately released with the truncated title of, simply, *MUSIC*. Its substantial length seems to acknowledge the wait, opening with a flurry of rage-rap tracks like “POP OUT” and “CRUSH” that herald the raconteur’s welcome arrival. Over its 30-track, 77-minute runtime, his sonics shift between the aggressively blown-out, synth-heavy post-trap he became infamous for and something markedly poppier, yet all of it undeniably within his stylistic range. Carti initially kept his choice of guests close to the vest, as has become custom for high-profile album drops. Yet it would be impossible not to recognize Kendrick Lamar spitting on “GOOD CREDIT,” Future emoting over “TRIM,” or collaborative career mainstay Lil Uzi Vert gliding triumphantly through “TWIN TRIM.” The Weeknd’s prominent feature on “RATHER LIE” makes for perhaps the most overt example of his envelope-pushing here, though appearances by Travis Scott on “PHILLY” and the tag team of Young Thug and Ty Dolla $ign on “WE NEED ALL DA VIBES” make the pivot even more plausible. Even with friends like these, Carti shines brighter on his own, his breathy near-falsetto vocal booming through the escalating video game arpeggios of “I SEEEEEE YOU BABY BOI” and his raspy snarl swerving around the cinematic noise of “COCAINE NOSE.” Not exclusively looking towards the future, there’s an almost nostalgic appreciation for Atlanta’s early 2010s sound evoked on “RADAR,” its beat reminiscent of classic 1017 Brick Squad tapes.
After back-to-back albums focused on their love of horror, experimental hip-hop trio clipping. head into the cybernetic unknown on their sixth, *Dead Channel Sky*. Even as their sound has become progressively more streamlined since the lurching abstractions of their self-titled debut on indie institution Sub Pop back in 2014, co-producers William Hutson and Jonathan Snipes conjure pure and jagged bolts of electricity across these 20 tracks, borrowing equally from the mechanical menace of early house and techno and the kitchen-sink IDM of Squarepusher and Aphex Twin. As with clipping.’s previous records, *Dead Channel Sky* is a highly collaborative affair: Wilco guitarist Nels Cline contributes scorched licks to the inside-out instrumental “Malleus” while indie hip-hop legend Aesop Rock lends his distinctive pipes to “Welcome Home Warrior.” But the speed-demon dexterity that is Daveed Diggs’ rapping skills remain as clipping.’s mainframe; he acrobatically hops across the album’s ones-and-zeroes eruptions like a computer virus avoiding detection, guiding listeners through *Dead Channel Sky*’s corroded landscape with ease.
As much as his Griselda affiliation connects him with a Buffalo, NY state of mind, Boldy James remains a Detroit rapper through and through. Coming amid a fast-and-furious run of new releases from the prodigious spitter, *Hommage* rightfully centers him in his hometown both physically and sonically. With the help of Antt Beatz, producer behind favorites by 42 Dugg and Icewear Vezzo, he shares his astutely local vision of the city on cuts like “Concrete Connie” and “Super Mario.” Even the track titles themselves reflect the rapper’s clever brand of lyricism, as cuts like the exultant “Brick James” and “Himothy Mcveigh” contain his all-but-patented blend of narco knowledge drops and street king statements. As expected, the guest list is rightfully restricted to residents, with Baby Money giving nothing but straight talk on the booming “Off the Richter” and BandGang Lonnie Bands trading tight verses off with Boldy on the melancholic “Met Me.”
Nearly all of YoungBoy Never Broke Again’s *More Leaks*, the prolific Baton Rouge MC’s first project of 2025, was available on the internet in some capacity before the album’s release. The music is as current as any we’re going to be able to get at this moment, with YB serving a two-year sentence. As YB fans, we’re extremely lucky that the music of *More Leaks played no part in the court proceedings, because there are some dastardly claims herein. Some are dark. “I’m in my backyard cutting billygoats by the throat,” he raps on “Cut Throat.” Some are seasonal. “Jingle bells, jingle bells/Who gon’ die today?” goes the repurposed melody of “Jingle Bells.” Some are potentially incriminating. “Kept the same stick that killed your man, and I put it at my grandpa house,” he raps on “Trap 101.” But all are YB, an artist who won’t be censored and one whose mystifying ways have brought him this far. “I’m a fuckin’ villain with them millions/But they know that though,” he raps on “Paparazzi.”***
Kevin Gates dropped *I’m Him* some five years after “I Don’t Get Tired,” the breakout hit that transformed him from mixtape upstart to mainstream rap rule-breaker. Beyond the controversies and improprieties that added a tabloid-ready gloss to his career, the Baton Rouge artist stood out on that second proper album for his inventive, oft-energetic takes on the trap era’s street-hustle mindset. Now, another half-decade later, freshly independent and pushing 40, he reveals both the rewards and the toll of that lifestyle on this concise sequel. In line with hip-hop’s ongoing mental health journey in rhyme, opener “Therapy Sessions” dives deep into a psyche so fraught with trauma that it would send most so-called pain rappers into hiding. “Same Way” finds him operating as a master of that particular subgenre, calculating loss amid the wins as a form of cautionary tale for the listener. Via the duality of “Big Bruddah (Don’t Be Mad),” he recounts betrayals and slights endured in the trenches while also flaunting his wealth and the intricate means through which he’s acquired it. Still, he can’t help but come off as triumphant on “Brasi the Eagle,” evoking his infamous mobster moniker to emphasize that his successes surpass his suffering. Gates’ characteristically unfiltered approach serves him well here. Whether truth-telling on the grimy motivational “Manifest” or casually pulling the baddest of baddies on the explicit “No Pressure,” that outlandish streak resurfaces enough times that it rewards his day-one listenership. Those long-term fans know that he’s remained true to form all these years, though anyone needing a reminder can reference “Block Away” and “Kiss the Ring” for clarity.
Will Smith has heard the chatter. So much of it, in fact, that the armchair punditry he apes on his *Based on a True Story* opener, “Int. Barbershop - Day,” sounds like it could be a field recording from any number of Black American gathering spaces. “Who the fuck Will Smith think he is?/And that boy damn crazy how he raising them kids,” goes a particularly cartoony quip. But that’s the beauty of Smith’s creative practice. Whether as star of television’s groundbreaking *The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air*, hunky lead of rom-coms like *Hitch*, and even action flicks like the *Bad Boys* franchise, Smith has never had a problem poking fun at himself. But keep playing…and he’ll get serious quick. Which is exactly what happens on *Based on a True Story*, Smith’s first body of work following 2022’s infamous Chris Rock/Oscars altercation and his first full-length album since 2005’s *Lost and Found*. Once he gets the jokes out of the way, Smith is out to remind us that he can still rap, and maybe more importantly, that he’s one of the greatest entertainers of all time. The album is Smith doing him to the fullest extent of his abilities, reveling in a storied legacy of acting and rapping (“You Lookin’ For Me?,” “Bulletproof,” “Tantrum”), while affirming his faith and the respect he has for his status as a role model (“Beautiful Scars,” “Make It Look Easy,” “You Can Make It”). It’s no light lift, but as he states on “Work of Art,” he’s built for it: “Ima king no denying this/Every limit, I’m defying it/Everybody wanna be a lion/Until it’s time to do lion shit,” he raps. Say what you want about Will Smith—you probably already have—but if you let him tell the story, there’s gonna be a little bit of boasting and a whole of gratitude. And that’s as close to the truth as we’re gonna get.**
The cover of Jessie Reyez’s third album features a questionnaire she answered as an eighth grader, and in a section titled favorite hobbies, she writes, “Rapping/singing/dancing.” In a sense, *PAID IN MEMORIES* makes good on those interests. She recruits hip-hop icons like Lil Wayne and Big Sean, alongside peers such as Lil Yachty, to help formulate some of these rap-leaning ideas. Despite the prevalence of these moments, though, she still offers up plenty of alt-pop songs for fans of her first two efforts: 2020’s *BEFORE LOVE CAME TO KILLS US* and 2022’s *YESSIE*. “PSILOCYBIN & DAISIES” flips the guitar riff from The Smashing Pumpkins’ “1979” and turns it into a hard-charging pop cut. Elsewhere, she displays her versatility with the downtempo neo-soul of “TORONTO SHORDIE” and the reggaetón-inspired groove of “PALO SANTO,” creating an album that pays tribute to all her passions.
Fully back on his independent grind, Detroit mainstay Icewear Vezzo continues to flourish and succeed on his own merits. In a crowded scene of Michigan rap contenders, his name stays in the upper echelon off the strength of his work. The EP-length *UNDEFEATED* exemplifies his ethos, with a foundation in unapologetic street talk and backed with trunk-rattling productions. Nodding back to his Green Guyz days as well as to a certain Lil Yachty single, “MINNESOTA” hits like a brick with its purp-skewed trap-house chronicles. Buoyed by a beat sampling a romantic ’80s electro-funk gem, “GOOD TO ME” flips the narrative to break down what he’s looking for in a baddie, citing loyalty above nearly all else. Naturally, he gives the project’s handful of guest spots to homegrown stars, with both Big Sean and Skilla Baby flawlessly flexing over “WORTH SOMETHING” and GT bringing his A-game to “RICHER THEN I EVER BEEN.”
Buffalo producer ILL Tone Beats was never much for a producer tag. And it’s not because his sample-heavy beats are so immediately identifiable like those of, say, a Timbaland or Swizz Beatz. But the company Tone most frequently keeps—the MCs of Griselda Records and the Black Soprano Family collective—happen to have a way of announcing themselves in the space one might normally reserve for a producer tag (Cue Westside Gunn’s “Boom-Boom Boom-Boom!”). Making a name for himself is hardly ILL Tone’s concern, though. He’s already an integral part of one of rap’s most inventive and exciting movements. He reaffirm this position across *The Outcome*, a project that features the very best of MCs like Benny the Butcher, Conway the Machine, Elcamino, Rome Streetz, and Flee Lord. Those are, of course, hometown heroes, but he’s also got an AZ verse and an interlude with Ghostface Killah talking crazy. So the people who actually need to know who ILL Tone is already do: They’re the ones he’s been making neoclassical hip-hop with for years now.
New York may currently be dominated by any number of sexy drillers, but a real and abiding love for rap’s prior native iterations runs citywide. Listening to Lord Sko, a young MC eagerly updating a classic sound, one can’t help but hear how his *PIFF* could reverberate well beyond the five boroughs. With material support and on-record co-signs by the likes of Statik Selektah, he tackles topics and themes as integral to his home’s hip-hop traditions as any, from sporting Polo and smoking blunts to chatting up shorties and betting on the Knicks. Lest anyone think this is some purely nostalgic play, Sko’s lexicon goes considerably beyond what the boom-bap glory days contained. Over beats by the highly contemporary likes of Tony Seltzer, Mike Shabb, and Wino Willy, he sounds like the underground that nurtures him, shouting out local spots like The Astor Club on the woozy “Problem Child” and casually flexing over the dreamlike vibes of “Robinhood.” This explains how he can move in the same rooms as Conway the Machine and Grand Puba on “Camel Eyes” and “Girbaud Talk,” respectively.
As a condition of the New Orleans rap legend’s supervised release from prison in 2023, a federal judge in Louisiana ruled that the artist born Christopher Dorsey would have to allow the government to approve his lyrics going forward. (He’d served 11 years of a 14-year sentence, having pled guilty in 2011 to two counts of being a felon in possession of a firearm and one count of conspiracy to obstruct justice.) It wasn’t the first time a rapper’s lyrics were used against him in the courtroom (see the State of Georgia v. YSL Records trial of 2023-2024), a seeming infringement upon First Amendment rights which the former Hot Boy doesn’t shy away from emphasizing on his first solo album since 2009. “I want to tell them stories, but I ain’t ’bout to risk it,” B.G. rasps in his familiar drawl on the fiery title track, on which he shouts out Young Thug, urges young rappers to learn from his mistakes, and stoically reaffirms, “Through it all, I hold my head up.”
Two decades into his career, Jim Jones finds himself exactly where he expected to be. Back up to 2004, when Jones was riding high as a member of Cam’ron’s Dipset crew, the Bronx MC unleashed his solo debut, *On My Way to Church*. On his eighth solo album, 2025’s *At the Church Steps*, he’s finally arrived. Sure, enough time has passed between the two records to raise a human from birth to legal drinking age, but Jones sounds in vintage form. The line from his debut to its spiritual sequel is nearly straight: On opener “Jomo” he travels on back to mid-2000s Harlem, where The Diplomats made their name, cueing up a soul-heavy vocal chop courtesy of Statik Selektah. It’s a beat that would have sounded nice on *Diplomatic Immunity* from 2003. On the cut and throughout the album, he’s contemplative, celebratory, and mournful in equal doses. On that opener, he raps, “I done put so much work in, I could have died on the job.” Despite it all, the blessings remain bountiful for one of New York’s perennial rap figures.
