HipHopDX's Top 25 Albums of 2015

Hailed as the post-Internet savior of New York rap, A$AP Rocky fully embraces the weight of those lofty expectations on his ambitious sophomore full-length. *AT.LONG.LAST.A$AP* finds the unflappable Harlem native marveling at his own meteoric success through an expertly curated set of beats—with production that corrals toothsome rock and soul samples, atmospheric pop menace, and trunk-rattling traditionalism. While “Wavybone” is a simple yet deeply satisfying highlight that also features sterling performances from two of Rocky’s most audible influences, Juicy J and UGK, “L$D” combines woozy low end and a glittering tangle of xx-like guitar lines for a psychedelic love song that’s sung but not rapped. “Everyday” turns a soulful Rod Stewart vocal sample (from the 1970 Python Lee Jackson cut “In a Broken Dream”) into a massive, Miguel and Mark Ronson–assisted meditation on fame and happiness.

Following on the heels of *Dr. Lecter* and *Saaab Stories*, Queens rapper Action Bronson releases his sprawling major-label debut. Featuring glittering, stoned-soul productions from vets like The Alchemist and newcomers like Party Supplies, *Mr. Wonderful* careens through tall tales of global travel and gourmet food with style, imagination, and a dizzying sense of humor. “All I do is eat oysters/And I speak six languages in three voices,\" Bronson raps on “Actin’ Crazy,” a testament to both talent and appetite.

On his third album, which sits comfortably between pomp and humility, Big Sean presents his best and most lucid plea for respect. “All Your Fault” and “Blessings” (featuring Drake and Kanye West) serve as reminders of Sean’s flashy wit and ambition, confirming his elite ​​status among the cool kids.

In 2015, Dr. Dre shocked a skeptical music world by dropping *Compton*, the long-awaited follow-up to 1999 chart monster *2001* that many expectant fans had come to believe was apocryphal. Loosely pegged to the release of the N.W.A biopic, *Straight Outta Compton*, the album found the West Coast rap founding father fully embracing his legacy as an auteur—an expert curator who knows his role and plays it to stylish, hard-boiled perfection. Dr. Dre has often compared his albums to films, and *Compton* sounds more cinematic than anything in his discography; with its all-star ensemble cast, it feels perfect for the age of Marvel movies that it surfaced into. Every beat sounds expensive and high stakes, often changing shape with the entrance of a new voice—either a legacy act, reigning royalty, or a protégé on the rise. Dre did not return just to cash in on nostalgia; he thoughtfully pits the greatest minds of his generation and the next couple—Ice Cube, Snoop Dogg, Xzibit, Eminem—against a panoply of new talent from his home city, as a challenge to all parties to be on top of their game. As a rapper, Dre works to demonstrate the extent to which he can evolve with the times and play off of his collaborators. In “Genocide,” he goes toe-to-toe with his city’s star hip-hop talent, Kendrick Lamar, rapping in high, hoarse, and energized tones to complement Lamar’s own idiosyncratic, range-switching style. Elsewhere, then-newcomer Anderson .Paak assumes the Nate Dogg-like role of G-funk crooner but adds his own sense of urgency and eccentricity—see his inspired, unhinged interplay with Dre on “All In a Day’s Work.” *Compton*’s beats reflect a pangenerational viewpoint as well. There are dustier, sample-driven moments like “It’s All On Me” and satisfying throwback G-funk tracks like the Snoop Dogg collab “Satisfaction.” But there are also more curious variations on the theme—the lightly drunken neo-soul groove of “Animals”—and wild detours like the glitchy pseudo-trap in the second half of \"Medicine Man.\" The album might be called *Compton*, but there’s a global quality about this music, reflective of so much hip-hop that came in the decade and a half during which Dre was largely absent from the pop music sphere as a soloist.

Drake surprised everyone at the beginning of 2015 when he dropped *If You’re Reading This It’s Too Late*, an impressive 17-track release that combines the contemplative and confrontational with plenty of cavernous production from longtime collaborator Noah “40” Shebib. While Drizzy joins mentor Lil Wayne in questioning the loyalty of old friends on the woozy, Wondagurl-produced “Used To,” “Energy” is the cold-blooded highlight—on which he snarls, “I got enemies.” Later, amid the electrifying barbs of “6PM in New York,” Drake considers his own mortality and legacy: “28 at midnight. I wonder what’s next for me.”

The hiss of liquid poured over ice, an eerie Metro Boomin guitar line, and a hypnotic rhyme—“Dirty soda, Spike Lee, white girl, Ice T, fully loaded AP”—that sounds like an arcane magic spell: That’s how Future opens his exquisitely toxic third album, right before he casually drops the year’s most twisted footwear-related flex. *DS2* was released during the peak of summer 2015, back when the rapper’s buzz had never been bigger, thanks to the runaway success of his recent mixtape trilogy (*Monster*, *Beast Mode*, *56 Nights*). The triumphant *DS2*—announced the week before its release—would serve as the capstone of Future’s antihero’s journey, one that he spells out on the fiendish “I Serve the Base”: “Tried to make me a pop star/And they made a monster.” The paradox of *DS2*—short for “Dirty Sprite”—is that it’s an album of wall-to-wall rippers dedicated to all sorts of depraved pleasures, over the course of which one begins to suspect its protagonist is having very little fun. “Best thing I ever did was fall out of love,” Future croaks on “Kno the Meaning,” an oral history of his comeback year. And while heartbreak has clearly done wonders for his creativity, the hedonism seems to be having diminishing returns: Never before have dalliances with groupies or strip-club acid trips sounded more like karmic punishments. As a result, the lifestyle captured on *DS2* is better to listen to than to live through, thanks to massive-sounding beats from a murderer’s row of Atlanta producers—including Metro Boomin, Southside, and Zaytoven—that range from “moody” to “downright evil.” Still, whether or not Future sounds happy on *DS2*, he *does* have plenty to celebrate: After all, in less than a year he’d flooded the market with enough top-shelf music to sustain entire careers. As he points out during the conclusion of “Kno the Meaning”: “My hard work finally catching up with perfect timing.”

A hot young talent with an old-school soul, New York rapper Joey Bada\$$ offers a gritty, witty, and deeply lyrical alternative to current mainstream hip-hop on his long-awaited debut album *B4.DA.\$$*. Over vintage boom-bap drums and soulful samples, provided by heavyweight producers like DJ Premier and Statik Selektah, the prodigiously skilled Bada\$$ updates the rough-but-smooth vibe of golden age rap for the millennial generation, rocking a flow that’s equally inspired by the introspective rhymes of Mos Def and the intricate street tales of Nas. *B4.DA.\$$* will thrill both hip-hop veterans and rap fans too young to remember the innovative \'90s greats that Bada\$$ reveres.

Thanks to multiple hit singles—and no shortage of critical acclaim—2012’s *good kid, m.A.A.d city* propelled Kendrick Lamar into the hip-hop mainstream. His 2015 follow-up, *To Pimp a Butterfly*, served as a raised-fist rebuke to anyone who thought they had this Compton-born rapper figured out. Intertwining Afrocentric and Afrofuturist motifs with poetically personal themes and jazz-funk aesthetics, *To Pimp A Butterfly* expands beyond the gangsta rap preconceptions foisted upon Lamar’s earlier works. Even from the album’s first few seconds—which feature the sound of crackling vinyl and a faded Boris Gardiner soul sample—it’s clear *To Pimp a Butterfly* operates on an altogether different cosmic plane than its decidedly more commercial predecessor. The album’s Flying Lotus-produced opening track, “Wesley’s Theory,” includes a spoken-word invocation from musician Josef Leimberg and an appearance by Parliament-Funkadelic legend George Clinton—names that give *To Pimp a Butterfly* added atomic weight. Yet Lamar’s lustful and fantastical verses, which are as audacious as the squirmy Thundercat basslines underneath, never get lost in an album packed with huge names. Throughout *To Pimp a Butterfly*, Lamar goes beyond hip-hop success tropes: On “King Kunta,” he explores his newfound fame, alternating between anxiety and big-stepping braggadocio. On “The Blacker the Berry,” meanwhile, Lamar pointedly explores and expounds upon identity and racial dynamics, all the while reaching for a reckoning. And while “Alright” would become one of the rapper’s best-known tracks, it’s couched in harsh realities, and features an anthemic refrain delivered in a knowing, weary rasp that belies Lamar’s young age. He’s only 27, and yet he’s already seen too much. The cast assembled for this massive effort demonstrates not only Lamar’s reach, but also his vast vision. Producers Terrace Martin and Sounwave, both veterans of *good kid, m.A.A.d city*, are among the many names to work behind-the-boards here. But the album also includes turns from everyone from Snoop Dogg to SZA to Ambrose Akinmusire to Kamasi Washington—an intergenerational reunion of a musical diaspora. Their contributions—as well as the contributions of more than a dozen other players—give *To Pimp a Butterfly* a remarkable range: The contemplations of “Institutionalized” benefit greatly from guest vocalists Bilal and Anna Wise, as do the hood parables of “How Much A Dollar Cost,” which features James Fauntleroy and Ronald Isley. Meanwhile, Robert Glasper’s frenetic piano on “For Free? (Interlude)” and Pete Rock’s nimble scratches on “Complexion (A Zulu Love)” give *To Pimp a Butterfly* added energy.

Lupe Fiasco is an underground rapper with a mainstream career, and vice versa. From his label dust-ups to his shifting musical ambitions, he\'s an iconoclast who happens to be a hitmaker. He revels in this duality on *Tetsuo & Youth*. Dig the second track, \"Mural,\" which is nine minutes of dizzying raps with no guests and no hook. \"Chopper\" is similarly maximalist, featuring seven rappers and stretching nearly 10 minutes. Everything from banjo samples to \'80s metal guitars to classic boom-bap beats dot the productions. The smorgasbord of textures complements Lupe\'s seemingly endless verses, adding up to a quixotic album that\'s also one of his best.

“Wondering how I got this high, fell asleep, and forgot to die,” raps Mac Miller on “Weekend.” *GO:OD AM* represents a reawakening for the rapper, who, after struggling with temptation and addiction, emerges with clear eyes and a stronger focus. He slays bars with impunity on “Break the Law” and “Clubhouse.” He imparts the value of experiences and repercussions on “Brand Name” and “100 Grandkids.” *GO:OD AM* is like a late-night conversation with the MC—all the crazy stories, deep thoughts, and laughs—reminding us that whatever happens in life, the sun will come out tomorrow.

Imbued with love, honesty, and selflessness, The Good Fight is virtuosic in its musicality, direct in its language, and infinitely relatable. In a landscape overrun with abstract indulgence and shallow trend-chasers, the Prince George’s County, Maryland artist has created a record that reminds you that it’s music before it’s hip-hop. For Oddisee, “The Good Fight” is about living fully as a musician without succumbing to the traps of hedonism, avarice, and materialism. It’s music that yields an intangible feeling: the sacral sound of an organ whine, brass horns, or a cymbal crash. It’s a meditation on our capacity to love and the bonds binding us together. It’s our ambition and greed warring with our sense of propriety - a list of paradoxes we all face when living and striving. Oddisee’s production simmers in its own orchestral gumbo. You sense he’s really a jazzman in different form, inhabiting the spirit of Roy Ayers and other past greats. The Fader’s compared him to a musical MC Escher, calling hailing his “grandiose and symphonic sound” and “relevant relatable messages.” Pitchfork praised his “eclectic soulful boom-bap.” “The Good Fight” acknowledges the stacked odds, but refuses to submit

This debut from brothers Swae Lee and Slim Jimmy, a.k.a. Rae Sremmurd, proves that Southern hip-hop is as bumping and irreverent as ever. This is the soundtrack to delinquency; its roiling low end and chopped-up beats foreground the antics of the devil-may-care protagonists. Whether it\'s praising the local gentlemen\'s club on the Minaj feature \"Throw Sum Mo\" or comparing themselves to Donald Trump, these boys just wanna have fun.

Compton’s MVP puts it down for his ‘hood and his reputation on this ambitious sequel to his 2005 breakthrough album. You get the feeling Game’s in a reflective mood—“On Me,” “Step Up,” and “Don’t Trip” are filled with vintage samples and battle rhymes that\'s pure catnip for old school hip-hop heads. “Made in America” and “Just Another Day” finds Game in his element, daydreaming about the past and his dreams for the future. His versatility shines as he seamlessly drops bars with Q-Tip (“Circles”) and Future (“Dedicated”), flows over a Mike Will Made-It track (“Summertime”), and flexes over DJ Premier and Dr. Dre boom-bap (“The Documentary 2”).

The pivotal release in the soon-to-be-superstar’s career, *Rodeo* pinpoints the moment the Houston rapper took his murky vision wide-screen, making the Kanye protégé’s syrupy, post-*Yeezus* goth-rap palatable to the mainstream. There’s a lot going on on Travis Scott’s major-label debut: dirtbag bangers with the distortion turned to 11 (done best on the Swae Lee and Chief Keef collab “Nightcrawler”), unexpectedly catchy sing-along anthems (“Antidote,” at the time Scott’s biggest hit to date), depraved Justin Bieber verses (the wonderfully strange “Maria I’m Drunk”), and grunge-rap numbers on which Kanye threatens to piss on your grave (on, well, take a wild guess). The expanded edition introduces two new songs into the fold: the evil-sounding ScHoolboy Q collab “Ok Alright” and the psychedelic “Never Catch Me,” on which Scott raps, “My fifteen seconds lasted a little longer.” True.

Even as a 20-track double album, this is one of the most cohesive and engaging hip-hop debuts you’ll hear. Against dank, ambitious production overseen by storied beat-smith No I.D., the Long Beach rapper documents a life spent learning the power of fear in a gang quarter with vivid wordplay and uncompromising imagery. “Jump Off the Roof”’s paranoid gospel and the woozy soul thump of “C.N.B.” embody a thrilling opus that values darkness and anxiety over radio-baiting hooks.