SPIN's 40 Best Hip-Hop Albums of 2014

At first glance, the pairing of producer Madlib and rapper Freddie Gibbs seems unlikely. The former is the ultimate crate-digger, known as much for his reclusive tendencies as his endless collection of obscure soul, jazz, rock, and other musical ephemera; the latter is a street-hardened former dealer who rhymes about the perils of the dope game. But they say opposites attract, and in this case their two aesthetics complement one another. Gibbs is a nimble, gifted rapper, his syllables quick-stepping around Madlib\'s many twists and turns, from the grainy \'70s soul-funk of \"Scarface\" to the half-time disco of \"Harold\'s\" to the hazy West Coast G-funk of \"Thuggin.\" The duo\'s credentials are strong enough to pull some of hip-hop\'s finest into their orbit: oddball Danny Brown contributes a verse to the squirming \"High,\" while the crews from The Wu-Tang Clan, Top Dog Entertainment, and Odd Future are all represented (via cameos from Raekwon, Ab Soul, and Earl Sweatshirt, respectively). As a final shot of gravitas, Scarface drops a verse on \"Broken.\" It\'s a deserved blessing from one of hip-hop\'s finest MCs to one of its most unlikely but successful pairings.

Homeboy Sandman’s second full-length album on Stones Throw. "Hallways is simply the sound of a master rap writer at work" – Village Voice's #1 NYC rap album of 2014.

Though beset by label delays and Twitter squabbles, no amount of innuendo could stymie the vividly original debut by Harlem pop iconoclast Azealia Banks. The snaking electro-house breakout \"212\" remains essential listening, flanked by a kaleidoscopic mélange of Latin, funk, trap, and hip-hop: forget naming styles, they\'re all here. Rapping and singing with equal aplomb, Banks anchors the spooky U.K. garage of \"Desperado\" as ably as she does the industrial skronk of \"Yung Rapunxel\" (the conflation of \"rap\" and \"punk\" there is no accident). The Ariel Pink collaboration \"Nude Beach A-Go-Go,\" with its echoes of Gidget and \'50s pop, is positively flummoxing in the best way.

Avant-hip-hoppers Shabazz Palaces finally let it be known that they\'re the master duo of former Digable Planets member Butterfly (now known as Palaceer Lazaro) and instrumentalist Tendai “Baba” Maraire. After the critical success of their debut, *Black Up*, it’s likely the follow-up, *Lese Majesty*, will draw even more critical and commercial interest. The sounds themselves are low-key, letting the various instrumental patches respond to one another or enhance the atmospherics. Maraire excels at minimalism and texture, creating a complete track with the least amount of ingredients and thriving on providing seamless interludes. Lazaro provides a variety of vocals that shift from philosophical quips to word-associated ramblings where seriousness and clever thinking often work together. “Dawn in Luxor,” “Forerunner Foray,” and “They Come in Gold” form an intense opening trilogy, while “Motion Sickness,” “New Black Wave,” and “Sonic MythMap for the Trip Back” close the album with a similar focus.

'Lese Majesty' is the follow up album to 2011's 'Black Up' by Shabazz Palaces.

Following in the footsteps of fellow Black Hippy member Kendrick Lamar, ScHoolboy Q makes his major-label debut with *Oxymoron*, an album as thematically ambitious and sonically adventurous as Lamar\'s celebrated *good kid, m.A.A.d city*. Detailing Q\'s days as a drug dealer, hustler, and father, the record doesn\'t just open a vein; it practically bleeds to death, as on the album centerpiece \"Prescription/Oxymoron,\" a menacing track about the litany of bad vibes caused by drug use: \"I cry when nothing\'s wrong.\" Not that *Oxymoron* is a downer–far from it. \"Collard Greens\" is addictively rambunctious, daring listeners to not bounce with its circular bassline and jittery beat. And Q\'s flow is a thing to behold. He snarls, wheezes, croons, coos, barks, and caws, playing the lascivious lothario on \"The Studio,\" the boisterous party-starter on \"Man of the Year,\" and the unapologetic recidivist on, well, pretty much on every track. Indeed, Q more than lives up to his rep as Black Hippy\'s unhinged id.

The hip-hop industry is largely powered by bluster and bravado, which is why the matter-of-factness of *Hell Can Wait* is so compelling. Often, rappers as intelligent as Vince Staples treat their audience with a high level of sanctimony and condescension. Staples has a ferocious intellect, but he shows absolutely no interest in preaching. *Hell Can Wait* is about how he loves gangsta culture and hates it; how he loves hip-hop and loathes it; and how he\'s proud of his roots but disgusted. He speaks the truth—not only the sensationalistic details but the unbearable contradictions.

The star power of the guests on Future\'s second album—Kanye, Drake, Pharrell, Lil Wayne, and André 3000, among others—speaks to the near-insurmountable heights the Atlanta rapper has reached since his 2012 debut, *Pluto*. That he shows them all up explains how he got there. Take \"I Won,\" a solemn beat over which Kanye and Future exult their \"trophy\" wives. Where \'Ye rifles off shallow boasts, Future\'s verses are sincere, almost touching. On the sprightly surprise standout \"Benz Friendz,\" Future\'s ATL bro André 3000 dances around the whimsical beats like a peacock, but it\'s Future\'s husky baritone that brings the party. Dominated by Mike WiLL Made It\'s 16-ton production (tracks like \"My Momma\" and \"Honest\" lumber like they\'re dragging chains), *Honest* demolishes the line between hip-hop and R&B. Its Auto-Tune hooks, rat-a-tat verses, and confessional lyrics exemplify the best of both genres in 2014.

Life can’t always be bratwursts and O’ Douls. Sometimes, you need to calm it down and get a little clarity. Sometimes, you need a little therapy. Sometimes, you need Kenny Dennis. If you’re unfamiliar with the saga of Serengeti’s beloved Bears-worshipping creation, this could seem confusing. You’re essentially a child walking into the middle of a Wesley Snipes and Ving Rhames flick without popcorn or plot. The shorthand is that Kenny Dennis is a cross between Ron Swanson, a Bill Swerski superfan, and the best Golden Age rapper that you never heard. The more nuanced truth is that the KDz is totally singular. Kenny Dennis is the most whimsical, hilarious, and strangely poignant fictional character in hip-hop history—a true blue collar hero of modernity. But on the Joyful Noise-released KD LP III, the thick-‘stached Chicago MC is shouldering a mid-life crisis. He’s afraid that his best times are past him. He’s hanging around new friends to the chagrin of his family. As the record unfolds, we learn about the ferocious Bennies (Benzedrine) addiction that Kenny battled from the 70s through the 90s. Using O’ Douls to cap his addiction, he’d kicked it for good by the time Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, B.J. Armstrong, and Horace Grant led the Bulls to their first run of championships. However, it’s gradually resurfaced as Kenny spends more and more time with his new pal, Joji. The result is the deepest examination into the character’s scarred psyche. What started as a softball-loving and Shaq-hating everyman played mostly for laughs has evolved into a three-dimensional old friend. He’s idiosyncratic but struggling with problems that you can relate to: substance abuse, familial strife, and the struggles of your local sports team. Of course, this is still Kenny Dennis and Serengeti. For all the pathos, it’s one of the funniest and best albums of the year. Narrated by Kenny’s long-time ally and rap partner, Ders (Anders Holm from Workaholics), the KD LP III alternately tells the tale of Perfecto, the pair’s group that sweeps malls across the Midwest. They wear Aeropostale, Abercombie & Fitch, and biker shorts. They put their own spin on the hip-house of Technotronic and Snap. They’re about to be a phenomenon when a phone call changes their career trajectory forever. As always, Odd Nosdam handles production, fortifying Kenny’s frenetic tales with hard slaps and stabbing guitar lines. The record was recorded in early 2014 at Nosdam’s Burnco Studios in Berkeley and Rob Kiener’s studio in East Hollywood, directly after the completion of Sisyphus (Serengeti’s collaborative record with Son Lux and Sufjan Stevens). You can compare Serengeti to Beck or MF Doom or Andy Kauffman. You can bring up effusive praise from The Guardian to Pitchfork to the dean of rock critics, Robert Christgau. But no nodes of comparison or clever similes can grasp the blend of bizarre non-sequiturs, clever references, and heartfelt songwriting that makes this special. So just take a seat, tune in, and have a time.

Sorry, drama lovers, but \"Kanye West,\" from Atmosphere\'s eighth album, isn\'t a diss track. Rather, it finds rapper Slug—one of hip-hop\'s most beloved journeymen—reflecting on love, life, and parenthood. So it goes on *Southsiders*, an album that boldly grabs hold of hip-hop\'s third rail: getting old. \"Gotta be a model civilian/And get your name printed on a bottle of pills and/Spill your guts into a Dixie Cup,\" Slug raps on \"The World Might Not Live Through the Night.\" He may be a decade removed from the vanguard Atmosphere once occupied, but he remains an incisive lyricist, and his grown-man reflections still pack a punch. So do the boom-bap beats by longtime producer Ant, as reliable as an old Chevy. Fatherhood and family life have transformed Slug, but he reminds us some thing never change: \"Been a few years since the last cigarette/But if you put your finger inside the flask, it\'s still wet.\"

Hailing from Chattanooga, Tenn., emcee Isaiah Rashad is the odd man out among the mostly West Coast Top Dawg label roster, which includes Kendrick Lamar, Schoolboy Q, Jay Rock and Ab-Soul. But other than his hometown, he fits right in: his prodigious understanding of hip-hop history is evident on tracks like “R.I.P. Kevin Miller” and “Brad Jordan”, the former a tribute to Master P’s murdered brother, the latter an ode to seminal Houston rapper Scarface. The album boasts a motley crew of producers, most of them newcomers as well; they have Black Hippy’s soul-funk aesthetic down pat, and Rashad’s rhymes explore the tension between hip-hop’s grown-man stoicism and the anxieties that accompany life’s many crossroads. Best of all, the guy can rap, with his dexterous flow flitting its way between somnolent jazz samples and skittering rhythms. From the melancholy soul-searching of “Tranquility” to the confident g-funk of the title track, *Cilvia Demo* is an ambitious, honest and unforgettable debut.

For all the fun they have as the house band for *The Tonight Show*, The Roots get down to business when they enter the studio. Billed as a concept album, *ATYSYC* features rappers Black Thought, Dice Raw, and Greg Porn relating vignettes about income inequality and spiritual bankruptcy within the African-American community. Brooding amid layers of soul breaks and the kind of erudite samples that fans have come to expect from music encyclopedia ?uestlove (\"Black Rock\" borrows funk chestnut \"Yeah Yeah\"), the album is more meditation than celebration. With its mournful piano and slumping beat, \"When the People Cheer\" is a representative sample: \"Everybody asks if God is all that/But I got a feeling he ain\'t never coming back,\" sings a children\'s choir on the hook. Longtime fans will be familiar with this somber side of The Roots, while newcomers used to them as Jimmy Fallon\'s sidekicks will discover a whole different side of this legendary hip-hop troupe.

Popular in the Bay Area though relatively unknown elsewhere, Sage the Gemini is from Fairfield and is a member of the HBK Gang collective. He\'s best known for his singles \"Gas Pedal\" and \"Red Nose\" (both of which are included here), and his sound is custom-made for clubs, with tremendous low end, trippy synth modulations, minimalistic beats, and rhymes pretty much exclusively about partying, girls, and getting paid. Features abound: Iamsu! shares the mic on five tracks, while local homies Berner, Jay Ant, Kool John, Shady Bo, Eric Bellinger, Kehlani, August Alsina, and P-Lo also get busy. None other than Justin Bieber shows up for the \"Gas Pedal\" remix. It\'s impressive as much for its production (much of it by Sage himself) as the lyrics. Standouts include \"College Drop,\" \"Second Hand Smoke,\" \"Mad at Me,\" and \"Bad Girls.\"

*The Pinkprint* has traces of the candy-colored hooks and wicked-fast lyricism that make Nicki Minaj one of the most versatile superstars in the game, but there’s little of the dance-pop dazzle that propelled her earlier crossover hits like “Super Bass” and “Starships.\" Instead, Minaj’s third album is filled with slinking tempos and heavy-hitting collaborations—Beyoncé, Ariana Grande, Drake, Lil Wayne, and Chris Brown turn up before the halfway point. Simmering downtempo tunes like “Only,” “Get on Your Knees,” and “Pills N Potions” can come across as confessional or coy, but Minaj\'s whiplash-inducing verses on the Sir Mix-a-Lot–sampling “Anaconda” and the punchline-packed “I’m Feeling Myself” leave us in awe of her commanding presence.

One famous Oscar Wilde aphorism claimed: "if you want to tell people the truth, make them laugh, otherwise, they'll kill you." Open Mike Eagle lacks the capacity to tell anything but the truth. In a nation that prizes self-aggrandizing buffoons and artful liars, morbid humor might be the sanest response-a tourniquet to stop the toxicity from spreading. If this sounds heavy, it's probably because it is. Dark Comedy, the Mello Music debut from the critically revered Los Angeles rapper, is mostly about the failure of Karl Marx's Proletariat Revolution. Yet its brilliance stems less from the novelty of its ideas than from the ingenuity of its wordplay, its caustic whimsy, and infectious melodies. Opening track "Dark Comedy Morning Show" operates as a shorthand manifesto. For those who haven't heard, Eagle's bad at sarcasm, so he works in absurdity (when trying not to wish death on the upper class). The airing of grievances includes racial stereotypes, inner-city warfare and Facebook logging all of his favorite sandwiches. It's Slug's "Modern Man's Hustle" if the Atmosophere frontman had been haunted by James Baldwin's ghost instead of heavily tattooed exes. Lead single "Qualifiers" finds Eagle subverting the notions of traditional rap braggadocio and lyrical terrain. His revolution isn't just some abstract political ideals, but at the crux of his approach to art. This is intended to dump Coconut Water and whiskey on the unsuspecting heads of those with false ideas of authenticity or what rap should be. Lest you mistake him for a meditating yoga-panted rapper, the rapper raised on the Southside of Chicago, wields wordplay as sharp and weird as any of his peers. He proclaims himself "the King of all rappers who don't condone date rape." Molotov Cocktails are helpfully tossed from fellow conspirators Kool AD and comedian, Hannibal Burress. Former hockey star Luc Robataille is rhymed with the Kobra Kai Dojo from Karate Kid. In the same breath, Eagle cracks about being too old to die. It's absurdity in the sense that Joseph Heller deployed it in Catch 22. He will live forever or die in the attempt. If you're just tuning into Eagle's stellar career on album number four, the LA Weekly anointed him last year as the hottest thing in indie rap. Pitchfork called him a "whiz with matching easy-going hooks to intimate personal reflection." But Dark Comedy could be the best thing he's ever done-a record that captures the perennial struggle between art and commerce, the last half-century of widening class rift, and the need to be funny or die.

As something of a sequel to 2013\'s *Twelve Reasons to Die*, *36 Seasons* finds Wu-Tang rapper Ghostface Killah reprising his role as Tony Starks, returning to Staten Island after four years to find his hometown ravaged by drugs and violence. Collaborating with Brooklyn funk specialists The Revelations, Ghostface spins his tale of urban warfare to the sounds of dusty \'70s soul, with guests like Kandace Springs and Kool G Rap playing Starks\' girlfriend and a drug dealer, respectively. From its clever beats to its cinematic scope to Ghostface\'s vivid rhymes, *36 Seasons* plays like a lost Quentin Tarantino flick, full of B-movie thrills and a bloody outcome.