Uproxx's Best Hip-Hop Albums Of 2022

Black Thought may be best-known as part of The Roots, performing night after late night for Jimmy Fallon’s TV audience, yet the Philadelphia native concurrently boasts a staggering reputation as a stand-alone rapper. Though he’s earned GOAT nods from listeners for earth-shaking features alongside Big Pun, Eminem, and Rapsody, his solo catalog long remained relatively modest in size. Meanwhile, Danger Mouse had a short yet monumental run in the 2000s that made him one of that decade’s most beloved and respected producers. His discography from that period contains no shortage of microphone dynamos, most notably MF DOOM (as DANGERDOOM) and Goodie Mob’s CeeLo Green (as Gnarls Barkley). Uniting these low-key hip-hop powerhouses is the stuff of hip-hop dreams, the kind of fantasy-league-style draft you’d encounter on rap message boards. Yet *Cheat Codes* is real—perhaps realer than real. Danger Mouse’s penchant for quirkily cinematic, subtly soulful soundscapes remains from the old days, but the growth from his 2010s work with the likes of composer Daniele Luppi gives “Aquamarine” and “Sometimes” undeniable big-screen energy. Black Thought luxuriates over these luxurious beats, his lyrical lexicon put to excellent use over the feverish funk of “No Gold Teeth” and the rollicking blues of “Close to Famous.” As if their team-up wasn’t enough, an intergenerational cabal of rapper guests bless the proceedings. From living legend Raekwon to A$AP Rocky to Conway the Machine, New York artists play a pivotal role here. A lost DOOM verse, apparently from *The Mouse and the Mask* sessions, makes its way onto the sauntering and sunny “Belize,” another gift for the fans.

The list of guesting artists on Coi Leray’s debut *Trendsetter* reads like a lineup for the most lit Rolling Loud festival yet. The album contains appearances from Nicki Minaj, Fivio Foreign, Young M.A, G Herbo, H.E.R., NAV, *Million Dollaz Worth of Game* podcast hosts Wallo267 and Gillie, Polo G, Lil Tecca, A Boogie wit da Hoodie, Pooh Shiesty, and Lil Durk. To be clear, Leray doesn’t need other artists to make a hit. See “TWINNEM,” a bubbly ode to BFFs that would net her more than a billion TikTok listens, and even “No More Parties,” a song that had legs as a solo outing before Lil Durk hopped on the remix, launching it fully into orbit. But *Trendsetter* serves to showcase, as much as anything else, that Leray is the ideal collaborator. She can sing, she can rap, and she can make a hit song with just about anyone you put in the studio with her.

Maryland-hailing MC Cordae brags different. “Last year I made $7 million, didn’t have to do a single fucking show,” he raps on sophomore album *From a Birds Eye View*’s “Super.” It’s a rare chin-check for the haters, whereas the large majority of this project’s boasts are rooted in what that money has allowed Cordae to do for others. On “Super,” he’s bought a Birkin bag for his Aunt Regina and introduced his younger cousin to badminton. On “Momma’s Hood,” he’s bought his father—who he confesses to having a contentious relationship with later in the album—a “power-washing van.” On “Chronicles,” he admits that missteps in the context of a romantic relationship come with a $50,000 remorse fee. Being the object of Cordae’s affection pays. This kind of spending is hardly uncommon for rap superstars, but what separates Cordae from your average chart-topping MC is his choice to center an album around it. He’s worked his whole life to get here, a story he tells across songs like “Today,” “C Carter,” and “Westlake High,” and the biggest reward is what success allows him to do for others. Depending on who you are, that might mean receiving something he’ll proudly tell the world about on record. For the rest of us, though, he’s got ultra-personal, high-level raps about his life and a handful of collaborations with rap icons like Lil Wayne (“Sinister”), Nas (“Champagne Glasses”), and Eminem (“Parables \[Remix\]”).

From his formative days associating with Raider Klan through his revealing solo projects *TA13OO* and *ZUU*, Denzel Curry has never been shy about speaking his mind. For *Melt My Eyez See Your Future*, the Florida native tackles some of the toughest topics of his MC career, sharing his existential notes on being Black and male in these volatile times. The album opens on a bold note with “Melt Session #1,” a vulnerable and emotional cut given further weight by jazz giant Robert Glasper’s plaintive piano. That hefty tone leads into a series of deeply personal and mindfully radical songs that explore modern crises and mental health with both thematic gravity and lyrical dexterity, including “Worst Comes to Worst” and the trap subversion “X-Wing.” Systemic violence leaves him reeling and righteous on “John Wayne,” while “The Smell of Death” skillfully mixes metaphors over a phenomenally fat funk groove. He draws overt and subtle parallels to jazz’s sociopolitical history, imagining himself in Freddie Hubbard’s hard-bop era on “Mental” and tapping into boom bap’s affinity for the genre on “The Ills.” Guests like T-Pain, Rico Nasty, and 6LACK help to fill out his vision, yielding some of the album’s highest highs.

Melt My Eyez See Your Future arrives as Denzel Curry’s most mature and ambitious album to date. Recorded over the course of the pandemic, Denzel shows his growth as both an artist and person. Born from a wealth of influences, the tracks highlight his versatility and broad tastes, taking in everything from drum’n’bass to trap. To support this vision and show the breadth of his artistry, Denzel has enlisted a wide range of collaborators and firmly plants his flag in the ground as one of the most groundbreaking rappers in the game.

Thebe Kgositsile emerged in 2010 as the most mysterious member of rap’s weirdest new collective, Odd Future—a gifted teen turned anarchist, spitting shock-rap provocations from his exile in a Samoan reform school. In the 12 years since, he’s repaired his famously fraught relationship with his mother, lost his father, and become a father himself, all the while carving out a solo lane as a serious MC, a student of the game. Earl’s fourth album finds the guy who once titled an album *I Don’t Like Shit, I Don’t Go Outside*, well, going outside, and kinda liking it; on opener “Old Friend,” he’s hacking through thickets, camping out in Catskills rainstorms. There’s a sonic clarity here that stands apart from the obscure, sludgy sounds of his recent records, executed in part by Young Guru, JAY-Z’s longtime engineer. Beats from The Alchemist and Black Noi$e snap, crackle, and bounce, buoying Earl’s slippery, open-ended thoughts on family, writing, religion, the pandemic. Is he happy now, the kid we’ve watched become a man? It’s hard to say, but in any case, as he raps on “Fire in the Hole”: “It’s no rewinding/For the umpteenth time, it’s only forward.”

EARTHGANG are proud, boundary-pushing Atlantans, celebrating the city’s rap legacy with eclectic hybrids of soul, funk, trap percussion, and alien electronic textures that bump beneath their often-melodic delivery and idiosyncratic cadences. Backed by that modernized Southern sound, the Dreamville duo continue to exist as insightful yet laidback stoners, the affable and cloud-shrouded deep thinkers who see through the smoke blown by politicians, police, and the like while trying to find their joy. Olu and WowGr8 will show up for a protest and show out for a pool party, their verses juggling incisive social commentary with comedy and the pursuit of physical pleasures. On *GHETTO GODS*, their second major-label effort, they dissect trauma (on the title track), mental health (“STRONG FRIENDS”), the ills of capitalism (“LIE TO ME”), and the lingering ramifications of slavery (“AMERICAN HORROR STORY”) with assists from Dreamville compatriots JID and J.Cole and fellow Atlantans like Future. Throughout, EARTHGANG maintain their impressive gift for addressing heavy subjects on bouncing songs that don\'t kill the vibe.

EST Gee’s *I Never Felt Nun* is a continuation of a mixtape series that began in 2020 with *Ion Feel Nun*, continued with *I Still Don’t Feel Nun*), and, in 2022, finds that same detachment maybe stronger than ever. Feelings, however—or a pronounced lack thereof in Gee’s case—aren’t wholly indicative of self-awareness, and the MC knows exactly who he is across *I Never Felt Nun*. EST Gee stands proudly atop his own street general mythology on songs like “Shoot It Myself,” “Hell,” and “Both Arms.” He’s cranked his aggression up to about an 11 (at least) for veritable war hymns like “Come Home,” “Bow and Say Grace,” and “Blood,” but there’s plenty of wisdom to absorb from songs like “Have Mercy,” “I Can’t Feel a Thing,” and “Is Heaven for a Gangsta.” He disarms, if only briefly, for the Bryson Tiller collab “Sabotage” and perhaps the grizzliest love song in recent memory, “Double Back,” but closes out the tape with “The Realest,” a clear celebration of the countless hands he’s won with the cards he was dealt.

Mobile, Alabama-hailing MC Flo Milli was here for any and all of the smoke upon release of her 2020 debut mixtape *Ho, why is you here ?*. If the title of that project\'s follow-up—*You Still Here, Ho?*—tells us anything about the MC today, it’s that the two years that passed between those efforts did little to soften her resolve. Milli spends the large majority of *You Still Here, Ho?* reminding other MCs that they cannot compete where they don\'t compare. The whole thing is a collection of anthems of affirmation, songs with titles like “Hottie,” “Conceited,” and “Big Steppa” that allude to the kind of confidence Milli wishes for fans. For her competitors, though, she’s got little more than secondhand embarrassment, a feeling that stems from Milli’s own ability to write hip-pop songs in the vein of admitted influence Nicki Minaj (“Pretty Girls,” “Pay Day”) and then purer rap anthems like “F.N.G.M.,” which contains an interpolation of Junior M.A.F.I.A.\'s golden-era classic “Get Money.”

The thing about Freddie Gibbs’ music is that you know it when you hear it but can imagine him almost anywhere: alongside DJ Paul on some throwback Southern trap (“PYS”) or over a lounge-y Alchemist beat (“Blackest in the Room”), next to newcomers like Moneybagg Yo (“Too Much”) or pioneers like Raekwon (“Feel No Pain”). Were his voice weaker or his writing less sharp, his workingman’s kingpin persona might get washed out, but they aren’t. And over the course of 45 minutes, he confirms that his stylistic flexibility isn’t creative indecision so much as proof of his gift for bridging hip-hop’s past with its ever-evolving present. After 2019’s underground-leaning Madlib collaboration *Bandana* and the self-consciously classic sound of 2020’s Alchemist-produced *Alfredo*, *$oul $old $eparately* sounds like Gibbs locking in his niche: the rapper’s rapper that a general audience can understand.

*I NEVER LIKED YOU*, the first Future project since his and Lil Uzi Vert’s *Pluto x Baby Pluto* and his first solo outing since 2020’s *High Off Life*, was likely titled to cause a stir. Future has been a poster boy for the kind of toxic romantic engagements that turn well-intentioned social media users into self-certified relationship experts since about the time of his split with one-time fiancée Ciara. But rather than defend his lifestyle choices in earnest or make a case for himself as misunderstood, he drops an album whose title posits him as either a vindictive lover or a victim of a betrayal. But Future is nobody’s victim. With *I NEVER LIKED YOU*, he\'s more likely a master of marketing. The album has far less to do with the rhetoric that surrounds his dating life than it does the MC’s lifestyle, drawing open the blinds within a single bar of “HOLY GHOST”: “I was in my big truck, my wrist up, getting my dick sucked.” The MC sounds as happy as ever across *I NEVER LIKED YOU*, lamenting only—in the rare instance that he laments—a perceived lack of credit for his stylistic influence (“I\'M DAT N\*\*\*A,” “PUFFIN ON ZOOTIEZ”). There are two instances, however, wherein his influence is wholly undeniable: “I’M ON ONE” and “KEEP IT BURNIN,” where Drake and Kanye West each take a turn paying tribute to one of their most cherished collaborators, rattling off volatile non sequiturs in classic Future style.

When Jack Harlow settled in to record “Movie Star,” something had been weighing on his heart: “I’m done faking humble, actin’ like I ain’t conceited/’Cause, bitch, I am conceited, you know you can’t defeat it,” he rapped. It’s a wonder he held out as long as he did. By the time of *Come Home the Kids Miss You*’s release, he’d been a performing guest on *SNL*, been called “Top 5 out right now” by one Kanye West, and released his Fergie-sampling, TikTok-conquering “First Class.” But as he remarks on that very song, life has been moving maybe quicker than he can comprehend. “They say, \'You a superstar now,\' damn, I guess I am,” he raps. “You might be the man, well, that\'s unless I am/Okay, I\'ll confess I am.” *Come Home the Kids Miss You* is Harlow coming to terms with his still-ascending star, reflections on his position sandwiched between meticulous wordplay and appeals for affection (“I’d Do Anything to Make You Smile,” “Side Piece,” “Lil Secret,” “Like a Blade of Grass”). It’s a series of diary entries authored by the coolest kid in school, and, as such, is not without moments of self-doubt. “Am I fancy enough?/Am I dancing enough?/Am I handsome enough?/Tell me right now so I can be enough,” he raps on “Young Harleezy.” But don’t think for a minute that Harlow isn’t also having heaps of fun. He’s called on people he likely once considered musical heroes for guest slots (Pharrell, Drake, Justin Timberlake, Lil Wayne), and if album closer “State Fair” is to be believed, Harlow’s been working so hard for so long that he’s finally ready to celebrate.

Listening to Atlanta MC JID’s third studio album *The Forever Story*, it’s hard to imagine the Dreamville signee pursuing a career in anything other than rap, but according to the man born Destin Choice Route, establishing himself as one of his generation’s most clever wordsmiths was plan B. “I ain\'t always want to be a rapper, artist, or nothing like this,” he told Apple Music’s Ebro Darden ahead of the album’s release. “This wasn\'t my dream. This was just like, ‘I’m really fire at this. I\'m really gifted at this.’ I always wanted to be a football player, you feel me? That was my whole shit.” Though he’s long ago moved on from any delusions of playing the sport professionally, the voicemail tacked on to the end of album intro “Galaxy” reveals a closeness to the sport, and more specifically those who helped him learn it. “That\'s my old football coach,” JID says of the voice we hear chewing him out for not answering the phone. “He was just giving me shit. That was his whole demeanor, but it was always for the better. He was my father away from home. He was just a big part of the whole story.” *The Forever Story*, to be specific, is a deep dive into the MC’s family lore and an exploration of what growing up the youngest of seven meant for his outlook. If JID’s last proper album, *The Never Story*, was an introduction to his lyrical prowess and a declaration that he had a story to tell, *The Forever Story* is an expansion of that universe. “*Never* came from a very humble mindset,” he says. “It was coming from, I *never* had shit. *The Forever Story*\'s just the evolved origin story, really just giving you more of who I am—more family stories, where I\'m from, why I am kind of how I am.” He tells these stories in grave detail on songs like “Raydar,” “Can’t Punk Me,” “Kody Blu 31,” and “Can’t Make U Change” and then includes collaborations with heroes-turned-peers (“Stars” featuring Yasiin Bey, “Just in Time” with Lil Wayne) that acknowledge a reverence for his craft. He raps about his siblings on songs like “Bruddanem” and “Sistanem,” but it’s “Crack Sandwich,” a song where the MC details an encounter in which his family fought together, that seems the most like a story JID will enjoy telling forever. “We were all together like Avengers and shit,” he says. “Back-to-back brawling in New Orleans. It was crazy.”

Throughout a handful of interludes across Joey Bada\$$’s *2000*—two of which feature words from Diddy and Nas—it’s not hard to picture Bada\$$ holding court in a smoky jazz lounge, an untied bow tie hanging against the lapels of his tuxedo and a drink occupying whichever hand isn’t clutching the mic. Between songs that draw influence from the catalogs of celebrated Big Willie-style philosophers like Nas, JAY-Z, and The Notorious B.I.G., Bada\$$ positions himself as a performer from a bygone era—someone happy to tell the stories of his life, just as long as there are people around to listen. As talented an MC as he is, there’ll likely always be butts in the seats, but *2000*, specifically, speaks to Bada\$$’s legacy. The MC calls on beatsmiths like Statik Selektah, Mike WiLL Made-It, Sean C & LV, and then also his Pro Era brethren Kirk Knight and Chuck Strangers, who deliver contemporary takes on the late-’90s boom bap and R&B that inspired his career-making 2012 mixtape *1999*, while Bada\$$ himself raps about making good on his potential, women in his life, and maybe most surprisingly, the heart-wrenching loss of friend and Pro Era MC Capital Steez. *2000* is no sequel to *1999*, to be clear. It’s a body of work that further solidifies Bada\$$ as both curator and MC, an artist who would’ve carved himself a place in music history regardless of era.

When Kendrick Lamar popped up on two tracks from Baby Keem’s *The Melodic Blue* (“range brothers” and “family ties”), it felt like one of hip-hop’s prophets had descended a mountain to deliver scripture. His verses were stellar, to be sure, but it also just felt like way too much time had passed since we’d heard his voice. He’d helmed 2018’s *Black Panther* compilation/soundtrack, but his last proper release was 2017’s *DAMN.* That kind of scarcity in hip-hop can only serve to deify an artist as beloved as Lamar. But if the Compton MC is broadcasting anything across his fifth proper album *Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers*, it’s that he’s only human. The project is split into two parts, each comprising nine songs, all of which serve to illuminate Lamar’s continually evolving worldview. Central to Lamar’s thesis is accountability. The MC has painstakingly itemized his shortcomings, assessing his relationships with money (“United in Grief”), white women (“Worldwide Steppers”), his father (“Father Time”), the limits of his loyalty (“Rich Spirit”), love in the context of heteronormative relationships (“We Cry Together,” “Purple Hearts”), motivation (“Count Me Out”), responsibility (“Crown”), gender (“Auntie Diaries”), and generational trauma (“Mother I Sober”). It’s a dense and heavy listen. But just as sure as Kendrick Lamar is human like the rest of us, he’s also a Pulitzer Prize winner, one of the most thoughtful MCs alive, and someone whose honesty across *Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers* could help us understand why any of us are the way we are.

Latto (Alyssa Michelle Stephens) started rapping at 10, won Jermaine Dupri’s *The Rap Game* at 17, and released her debut album, *Queen of Da Souf*, at 21. Now 23, with a new rap moniker (dropping the controversial Mu- at the front of her title), she’s back with her sophomore LP, recorded across two years in Miami, LA, and Atlanta. “I’m reintroducing myself to the world on a clean slate,” she tells Apple Music. “I was adamant about its versatility, standing out as an artist—not just a female, but an artist in general.” And she’s accomplished that, with A-list collaborators (Lil Wayne and Childish Gambino on “Sunshine,” the Pharrell Williams-produced “Real One”), hard-as-hell empowerment bangers (“It’s Givin,” “Trust No Bitch”), and surprising sonic detours (Tom Tom Club’s “Genius of Love” sample on her biggest track to date, “Big Energy”). “I hope people hear the passion,” she says of *777*, which she named as a reference to God and the lottery —“hitting the jackpot” in two different ways. “I’m serious about what I do. My heart is really in the music.” Below, she walks Apple Music through the album, track-by-track. **“777 Pt. 1” and “777 Pt. 2”** “I wanted to set the tone of the album. I knew the intro was going to be something very unique, heavy punch lines, very aggressive—real rapper aesthetic. I actually recorded ‘Pt. 2’ first, and as soon as I did that one, I knew that was the intro. Then, months after, I ended up doing a special \[song\] with Sonny Digital, what is now ‘777 Pt. 1.’ It gave me intro vibes, but I didn’t want to scrap the other intro that I already had.” **“Wheelie” (feat. 21 Savage)** “\[21 Savage and I\] already had a relationship because of my previous album. We had a song called ‘Pull Up.’ When I heard ‘Wheelie,’ after I did the first verse, I’m like, ‘I don’t even want to do the second verse,’ so I’m thinking of people that would be perfect for that sound. It reminded me of ‘Pull Up,’ as far as that sticky, choppy, catchy flow. He put the second verse on there, sent it right back. That’s Atlanta culture, strip-club culture—that’s the ratchet song, the turn-up song on the album.“ **“Big Energy”** “I did this one in LA. When I walked in the session, my A&R were talking about this beat that they wanted to play for me. It felt nostalgic, it felt big and super mainstream, commercial for me. I wanted to really just challenge myself. I was trying to catch the flow and figure out my tone on the beat for a week straight until I got it. And by the time I got it, I was like, ‘I think this is special.’” **“Sunshine” (feat. Lil Wayne and Childish Gambino)** “I still can’t even believe that I got them both on the song. I had originally recorded it as a solo song, but I felt like it was bigger than me. I wanted a feature on it. So, I’m thinking out loud. I’m thinking of very ‘artistic’ artists. I want somebody who has a universal sound and someone who can go more in-depth and play on the word ‘sunshine.’ Who is the clever rapper? I’m thinking of these names and I’m shooting for the stars. And to my surprise, both of them did the song request, which is like huge, huge, huge. I’m still a new artist. I’m from Atlanta, so Childish is extra special, and I just grew up on Wayne.” **“Like a Thug” (feat. Lil Durk)** “‘Like a Thug’ was one of the ones that I had been sleeping on it. I have had it in the vault since 2020. I just never gave up on the song. That’s a different sound for me, but I knew it had some special components to it, too. Come around to this year, and I rerecord it, fix it up, change a bar here and there. It’s so pretty, super radio, and I wanted it to still have edginess—that raw, uncut feel. Lil Durk, in my opinion, kills all the slow songs; he features on these slow R&B songs, girl songs. He eats them up. To my surprise, he did it, no questions asked.\" **“It’s Givin”** “In my opinion, it’s the sassy, girl-power song on the album. It’s so fun. That’s a girl anthem. When you making your videos on Instagram, walking in your heels, and you ready to go to the club—makeup done, hair done, nails done—this is the song. This is the song you going to be playing, adding behind your videos and stuff. It’s just boss bitch, bad bitch energy.” **“Stepper” (feat. Nardo Wick)** “‘Stepper’ was another one of those that I had originally in mind as a solo song. I actually freestyled this song—I was in the booth, just going part to part, punching in; it was just getting more aggressive. I was like, ‘You know what? I feel like I need a male to offset my energy. I feel like I hear Nardo Wick on this.’ I’m a fan of his music. Then I found out we was labelmates, so I’m like, ‘Oh, y’all got to make this happen.’ Nardo jumped on there and when I heard his verse, I fell in love. This song, from jump, I never second-guessed it.” **“Trust No Bitch”** “‘Trust No Bitch’ is my personal favorite. Sitting in the studio one day, it’s close to album wrap-up time. I’m just seeing what else I have left in me. It’s just me and the engineer. I’m going through beats and I’m not finding anything that’s jumping out at me. Soon as I played this beat, I sent it to the engineer, like, ‘Pull it up right now. I’m going in the booth.’ The aggression literally was just flowing out of my mouth. And it’s a buildup of all my experiences—I’m growing up as a woman and an artist at the same time. So, I think it’s just a buildup of all the relationships and friendships that I’ve been through that make people skate on thin ice around me. Everybody can’t be trusted.“ **“Bussdown” (feat. Kodak Black)** “I recorded that song in Miami. One of my A&Rs, they had a relationship with \[Kodak’s\] engineer. I wasn’t mad at the idea at all. So, I gave them the green light to send it over to him, and he sent the verse back the next day. He was super excited to do it. I fell in love with the verse.\" **“Soufside”** “‘Soufside’ came about because I never wanted to go too mainstream or commercial with my music. I never wanted to get away from my roots and the sound that made me who I am. So, after I dropped ‘Big Energy,’ I was very adamant about dropping another song that offset it a little bit, just so people know that I’m not forgetting where I came from. ‘Soufside’ is like, ‘OK, I got all these new eyes on me. “Big Energy” is bubbling and it’s reeling in a new fanbase, so let me tell these people who I am, where I’m from, and how I get down.’” **“Sleep Sleep”** “On the verse, I did a flow that I had never done before. For that one, I just set the lights in the studio to a moody light. There wasn’t any yellow or white lights in the studio or the booth. I’m literally just feeling things about what goes down in the bedroom.” **“Real One”** “Pharrell produced ‘Real One.’ I could not believe that he even wanted to work with me. I pulled up on him for a week straight and we cut five, six songs. This was my favorite out of the songs that we did. I definitely couldn’t *not* put a Pharrell-produced song on my album. I think it’s just one of those songs that girls can relate to. Men make mistakes, and sometimes they don’t really realize what they lost or realize what they had.”

What better vessel for Lil Durk’s most personal raps to date than an album named for the address of his beloved grandmother’s home? “7220, that’s where I went through it,” Durk says on the album’s “Headtaps.” “Like my first life experience, know what I mean.” He then goes on to rap about the time he wished he could watch cartoons with his children when he was locked up and how news of a cousin’s passing once sent him into a state of disbelief. Durk has seen more than his fair share of loss over the course of his young life, and *7220* is peppered with references to the many friends and family members he’s already outlived. Music-making has functioned as therapy for nearly every MC who’s ever picked up a mic, but you can’t help but feel for Durk listening to him talk about a real-life home invasion he suffered on “Shootout @ My Crib,” remind listeners that tomorrow isn’t promised to anyone on “Love Dior Banks,” or live out a revenge fantasy for friend and collaborator King Von on “AHHH HA.” Guests on *7220* include stars like Future, Gunna, Summer Walker, and, most peculiarly, country singer Morgen Wallen, who more than anything else serve as emblems of how far the MC has come since his childhood address.

Megan Thee Stallion wastes no time getting to the heart of the matter on *Traumazine*, the long-awaited follow-up to the Houston MC’s 2020 album, *Good News*. “I ain’t perfect/But anything I did to any of you n\*\*\*\*s, y’all deserved it!” she raps at the outset of album opener “NDA.” Indeed, Thee Stallion, who’s unwittingly made more headlines over the past two years for her role as a victim of a high-profile shooting than she has for the hits she continues to deliver, is not here to apologize. In fact, she’s here to remind both well-wishers and detractors alike that she’s going to win regardless, because that’s just how she’s built. “Fuck it, bitch, I’m not nice/I’m the shit/I’m done with being humble/’Cause I know that I’m that bitch,” she declares on “Not Nice.” Now, that’s “real hot girl shit.” And you’ll find it in abundance across *Traumazine*, Meg making time to address “fake-ass, snake-ass, backstabbing, hating-ass, no-money-getting-ass bitches” (“Ungrateful”), fair-weather friends (“Flip Flop”), and even her own mental health struggles (“Anxiety”). She’s having plenty of fun here, too, mostly in describing what sounds like really amazing sex (“Ms. Nasty,” “Who Me,” “Red Wine”), but also on a four-on-the-floor house jam (“Her”), a high-energy duet with Future (“Pressurelicious”), and an ode to her H-Town roots (“Southside Royalty Freestyle”). Thee Stallion draws power here from surviving fame as she knows it, basking in her own greatness on “Star” as she proclaims, “I’m a motherfuckin’ superstar.”

“You can’t come get this work until it’s dry. I made this album while the streets were closed during the pandemic. Made entirely with the greatest producers of all time—Pharrell and Ye. ONLY I can get the best out of these guys. ENJOY!!” —Pusha T, in an exclusive message provided to Apple Music

Call it naivete if you must, but when all three members of Migos unleashed solo projects over the course of a few months beginning in 2018, the idea of the group disbanding was likely the furthest thing from anyone’s mind—they guested on each other’s projects, for goodness sake. But in the timeless words of one Nasir Jones, “a thug changes, and love changes, and best friends become strangers (word up).” If dissension within a crew of three preternaturally talented Atlanta MCs wasn’t inevitable, it was undeniable by summer 2022, when fans discovered that Offset was suing Migos’ label Quality Control Records for exclusive rights to his solo recordings. This may not have had to affect Migos’ members’ relationships with one another—see the continually muddy comings and goings of artists and producers within the Cash Money Records camp at the turn of the century. But it did, which led to Quavo and Takeoff, real life uncle and nephew, affirming the family ties with *Only Built for Infinity Links*. And those guys seem to be getting along fine. “An infinity link, see, that’s the strongest link in the world,” Quavo explains on album opener “Two Infinity Links.” “By far stronger than a Cuban,” Takeoff adds, setting the table for an attempt to push the vision of Raekwon and Ghostface showcase *Only Built 4 Cuban Linx* an iced-out step further. But who, exactly, are Quavo and Takeoff without Offset? To be VVS-quality clear, they are the same MCs they were with him. Across the album, they’ve commissioned beats from longtime Migos collaborators—DJ Durel, Mustard, and Murda Beatz, among others—to talk big money (“HOTEL LOBBY,” “Hell Yeah”), big drip (“Not Out,” “Integration”), and, of course, big jewels (“Chocolate,” “Look @ This,” “Big Stunna”). Life as two-thirds of hip-hop’s favorite trio for roughly a decade running has clearly been good to Quavo and Takeoff, and they have no plans to stop living it to the fullest, whether Offset is in the studio with them or not. Above all, they sound happy, and especially so in the face of doubters still perplexed by their longevity. “We balling on n\*\*\*as they thought it was gon’ be an upset,” Takeoff says on “Tools.” “They look at us like leprechauns, like, ‘Damn, them n\*\*\*as ain’t run out of luck yet’ (No!).”

Chicago rapper/producer Saba’s first full-length since 2018’s critically acclaimed *CARE FOR ME* looks existentially inward instead of projecting outward. Whereas its predecessor was often perceived through the lens of grief, with his cousin John Walt’s tragic death weighing considerably on the proceedings, his third album explodes such listener myopia with a thoughtful and thought-provoking expression of American Blackness. Though its title might suggest scarcity on a surface level, these 14 songs exude richness in their textures and complexity in their themes. “Stop That” imbues its gauzy trap beat with self-motivating logic, while “Come My Way” gets to reminiscing over a laidback R&B groove. His choice of collaborators demonstrates a carefully curated approach, with 6LACK and Smino bringing a sense of community to the funk-infused “Still” and fellow Chicago native G Herbo helping to unravel multigenerational programming on the gripping “Survivor’s Guilt.” The presence of hip-hop elder statesman Black Thought on the title track only serves to further validate Saba’s experiences, the connection implicitly showing solidarity with sentiments and values of the preceding songs.

After a long stint living in Australia, Zambian rapper Sampa Tembo returned to the country of her birth to make her second studio album. A swaggering celebration of self-love and cultural identity, *As Above So Below* sees Tembo incorporate traditional Zambian music as well as cutting-edge hip-hop and subtler stylistic cues from psych, blues, and folk. “It has the traditional spiritual elements,” Tembo tells Apple Music, “but then we are venturing off into worlds that are not considered Zambian music and we are creating a new genre, which is really exciting for me.” Setting out to smash preconceptions about African women, Tembo scoffs at the idea of staying in her lane on the Denzel Curry-featuring “Lane” and enlists trailblazing Beninese singer Angelique Kidjo to further lift the self-affirming finale “Let Me Be Great.” Tembo’s younger sister Mwanje also sings on two tracks, while Joey Bada\$$ adds his own spin to the theme of hiding one’s true self on the slinking, bass-blasted “Mask On.” *As Above So Below* even showcases some of Zambia’s native languages, reinforcing the central concept of embracing home. “There’s a vibration in language,” says Tembo. “That\'s why I’m very adamant of adding my language to the situation. You can’t change it. You can’t change it and you can’t fake it.”

“Money made me numb,” Vince Staples repeats over and over again on “THE BLUES,” from his fifth full-length studio album. It’s not the song’s chorus and you can picture him saying it in the mirror, attempting to reckon with a truth he clearly understands but also maybe doesn’t quite know what to do with. At the time of *RAMONA PARK BROKE MY HEART*’s release, the Long Beach, California, MC was more popular and financially successful than he’s ever been. So, he chose—beginning with 2021’s *Vince Staples*—to release some of the most affecting and autobiographical music of his career. The decision sounds, across the album, much less a professional risk than a personal one, Staples utilizing production from Mustard, Cardo, and Coop the Truth, among others, to expose his innermost thoughts about turf politics, romantic relationships, and the ways money may or may not be changing him. More than anything else, he aims to honor those who have in some way contributed to his survival, often calling them out by name, holding especially close the memories of those no longer in his orbit. “Tryna make it to the top, we can’t take everybody with us,” he sings on “THE BEACH.” There are few artists who come off as comfortable as Staples does regarding their contributions to music culture at large, but what *RAMONA PARK BROKE MY HEART* makes abundantly clear is that few things mean as much to Staples’ art as the neighborhood that made him.