SPIN's 50 Best Hip-Hop Albums of 2015

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.

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.

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.”

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.”

Rapper Earl Sweatshirt’s third album is a dark, fascinating trip to the bottom of the self. Lyrically, Earl is a singular talent, capable of dense, expressive lines that flip back and forth between humor and pain, despair and resolve. “My days numbered, I’m focused heavy on making the most of ’em/I feel like I’m the only one pressin’ to grow upwards,” he raps on “Faucet,” over beats as hazy and fragmented as the words themselves.

*Surf* is the long-awaited collaboration between the unbilled Chance the Rapper, his band The Social Experiment, and musical ally Donnie Trumpet (a.k.a. Nico Segal). Chance gets his time to shine, spitting acrobatic rhymes throughout, but clearly this is a team effort focused on moving minds and butts. Flecks of big-band instrumentation lend sparkle, while folks like Erykah Badu, Busta Rhymes, Janelle Monáe, and Big Sean provide cameos. The vibe is reminiscent of Native Tongues or Soulquarians, a positive space to submit to creative freedom and unpredictable flow, just like the ocean itself.

*Barter 6* was billed first as Young Thug’s debut album, then a retail mixtape; either way, the 2015 release was the sharpest, clearest statement yet from Atlanta’s most enigmatic rapper. From the gently rippling intro, “Constantly Hating,” to the swirling, cathartic haze of “Just Might Be,” Thug contorts his voice into endless shapes and pulls previously unheard harmonies out of his back pocket. “Check” is a giddy celebration of success, and “Halftime” is rap as high-wire routine: a technical performance as reckless as it is graceful.

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.

Mill’s second album for Rick Ross’ Maybach Music empire is a big-budget, wide-angle look into the conflicted life of its maker—complete with guest appearances from Future, Jeremih, Drake, Nicki Minaj, and Ross. As with 2012’s *Dreams and Nightmares*, the central struggle of *Dreams Worth More* is between Mill’s spiritual health and his material wealth—just look at the album’s cover, which juxtaposes a stack of money with a church program from his father’s funeral. “Shout out that judge that denied me my bail,” he raps on “Lord Knows,” “It made me smarter, it made me go harder.”

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.

Pusha T has one of the most ruthless—and most compelling—worldviews in modern rap. Featuring contributions from Kanye West (“M.P.A.”), Jill Scott (“Sunshine”), and Timbaland (the brilliant “Got Em Covered”), his lean second album is as tough as 2013’s *My Name is My Name*, crafting a world where villains become heroes, violence keeps the peace, and you might joke but you never—ever—laugh. “Leave your conscience at the door,” he suggests during the intro, and speeds off from there.

“Minor setback for a major comeback,” intones the Baton Rouge native at the outset of *Touch Down 2 Cause Hell*. After completing a prison stint for drug charges, the Southern rapper covers a lot of emotional ground, blasting warning shots on “Retaliation,” celebrating good times on “Drop Top Music” (featuring Rick Ross), and issuing mea culpas on “I’m Sorry.” Boosie is back.

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.

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.

On *Riot Boi*, Le1f’s debut studio album, the silver-tongued New York native spits righteous fire, equal parts protest and party. He’s a champion for unapologetically black, queer self-love on the cavernous “Grace Alek Naomi,” and he brushes aside those who can’t accept that on the swirling, aquatic “Taxi.\" His nimble delivery sprints more than it flows, and the production’s as defiant as the lyrics, from the power pop sugar rush of “Koi” to the snarling, echoing, Jersey club-inspired “Swirl.”

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.

"so the flies don't come" by milo produced by Kenny Segal RBYT002 "Spring returns; it returns and will go away. And God curved in time repeats himself, and passes, passes with the backbone of the universe on his shoulder. When my temples beat their mournful drum, when that sleep etched on a knife hurts me, there are desires not to move an inch from this poem!" - César Vallejo. Weary Circles.

Death Grips veer between weird and terrifying on this sprawling joint. Skittery and electronic, the first eight cuts feature Björk’s sampled voice splattered across Zach Hill’s digi-drum pummel. They then return to more familiar terrain, unleashing psychedelic noise rap and poetic paranoia with all the apocalyptic aggression of world destroyers.

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.

Tech N9ne built his independent rap empire by sticking to his fiercely eccentric sound and dizzyingly fast flows. So the club-friendly production and famous guests of *Special Effects* feel less like industry compromise than the product of restless ambition to try new things, like courting radio play with the crass and funny “Hood Go Crazy” or matching wits with Eminem on “Speedom (WWC2).” Even a foray into lurching dubstep on “Roadkill,” with Canadian producer Excision, is treated more like a sandbox for Tech N9ne to test out new flows.

*What a Time to Be Alive* captures Drake and Future at the height of their powers. Recorded in six days, their interplay is respectful as it is complementary, matching Drake’s inward-facing narratives with Future’s personal demon-slaying. Club anthems like “Jumpman,” “Digital Dash,” and “Diamonds Dancing” fulfill the rap nerd fantasy of two superheroes trading lyrical blows in the octagon.