VIBE's 25 Best Albums of 2017

2 Chainz is a hit maker, but *Pretty Girls Like Trap Music* shows there are deeper ambitions afoot. His production arm is strong—Mike WiLL Made-It, Murda Beatz, and Mike Dean all put in work. He speaks his mind, dissing the government and “mumble-rap” while Nicki Minaj references her Remy Ma beef on “Realize.” Pharrell leaves his platinum imprint on “Bailan.” Then 2 Chainz puts his life story out there on the revelatory “Burglar Bars”—the realest song he’s ever cut.

The Mississippi MC’s ambitious third album is split between his stage persona and private life—the first half opens with “Big K.R.I.T.”; the second, “Justin Scott.” Fittingly, K.R.I.T.’s Southern rap purism is at its most personal here: “Price of Fame” explores the disconnect between success and true happiness. But the mood lifts on trunk-rattlers like the T.I.-featuring “Big Bank” and space-funk slow-burner “Aux Cord,” an homage to soul legends from Parliament to B.B. King.

On his fifth studio album, Calvin Harris redefines the banger. As one of EDM’s most unstoppable forces, the Scottish DJ/producer made euphoric dance-pop a Top 40 staple by pairing passionate pop hooks with explosive house beats. But *Funk Wav Bounces, Vol. 1* is post-EDM, with a laidback vibe better suited to barbecues than bottle service. Packed with feel-good summer anthems, it draws from dancehall (“Skrt on Me (feat. Nicki Minaj)”), Motown (“Heatstroke (feat. Young Thug, Pharrell Williams & Ariana Grande)”), and breezy California hip-hop (“Holiday (feat. Snoop Dogg, John Legend & Takeoff)”). Considering the guest list, there’s reason to believe *Bounces* reflects more than just a shift in Harris’ personal tastes: It’s a smooth and soulful forecast for where music is headed next.

“When I got kicked out of school, music saved my life,” Daniel Caesar told Beats 1. “I’m trying to live my hero\'s journey.” Caesar’s own journey found him questioning God, leaving home, finding love—and later, heartache—and ultimately penning *Freudian*. This gripping debut LP earned him a spot in the Apple Music Up Next program and eventually a GRAMMY® nomination for Best R&B Album. An exquisite mix of R&B, soul, and smoothed-out rock, it includes his breakout single “Get You (feat. Kali Uchis)” and intimate collaborations with Syd, H.E.R., and Charlotte Day Wilson.

French Montana doesn’t have much of a singing voice, but what he hasn’t got in pipes, he makes up for in knowing his audience (along with plenty of Auto-Tune). *Jungle Rules* comes four years after the Bronx native’s debut and is heavy on longing, loving, and leaning in to the notion that pop melody is integral for rap albums. The task is outsourced occasionally (Marc E. Bassy on “She Workin,” Swae Lee on “Unforgettable”) but falls on French for the most part, the rapper using Ben Billions and Harry Fraud to push his voice to new heights.

DC rapper GoldLink continues the forward momentum that turned heads on his 2015 mixtape *And After That, We Didn’t Talk*. *At What Cost* unspools like a film, transitioning seamlessly from late night to early morning. “Crew” pictures GoldLink stunting hard with Brent Faiyaz and Shy Glizzy. He can body a club track (“Meditation”) and shock listeners with a surprise ending. The fatalism that marked “When I Die” is back on “Pray Everyday (Survivor’s Guilt),” the realest song about self-medication since Kendrick Lamar’s “Swimming Pools.” *At What Cost* connects soul with noir, inward-facing narratives, chopped, off-kilter beats, and nocturnal moods.

“I feel like all eyes are on me,” the Colombian reggaetonero told Apple Music upon releasing *Energía*, of the pressure to make music that transcends borders and language barriers. “But I’m not afraid. I did it with all my heart, all my energy, all my *energía*. I think people will feel that.”

R&B singer Kelela’s deeply personal debut LP does just what it says on the label. Over beats from Jam City, Bok Bok, Kingdom, and Arca—which swerve from warped and aqueous to warm and lush to icy and danceable—Kelela turns her emotions inside out with a sultriness and self-assuredness that few underground artists can muster. She’s tough and forthright, tender and subdued on songs about breakups (“Frontline”), makeups (“Waitin”), and pickups (“LMK”)—and the way she spins from one mode to the next is dizzying in the best way possible.

In the two years since *To Pimp a Butterfly*, we’ve hung on Kendrick Lamar\'s every word—whether he’s destroying rivals on a cameo, performing the #blacklivesmatter anthem *on top of a police car* at the BET Awards, or hanging out with Obama. So when *DAMN.* opens with a seemingly innocuous line—\"So I was taking a walk the other day…”—we\'re all ears. The gunshot that abruptly ends the track is a signal: *DAMN.* is a grab-you-by-the-throat declaration that’s as blunt, complex, and unflinching as the name suggests. If *Butterfly* was jazz-inflected, soul-funk vibrance, *DAMN.* is visceral, spare, and straight to the point, whether he’s boasting about \"royalty inside my DNA” on the trunk-rattling \"DNA.\" or lamenting an anonymous, violent death on the soul-infused “FEAR.” No topic is too big to tackle, and the songs are as bold as their all-caps names: “PRIDE.” “LOYALTY.” “LOVE.” \"LUST.” “GOD.” When he repeats the opening line to close the album, that simple walk has become a profound journey—further proof that no one commands the conversation like Kendrick Lamar.

For the most part, Lana Del Rey’s fifth album is quintessentially her: gloomy, glamorous, and smitten with California. But a newfound lightness might surprise longtime fans. Each song on *Lust* feels like a postcard from a dream: She fantasizes about 1969 (“Coachella - Woodstock In My Mind”), outruns paparazzi on the Pacific Coast Highway (“13 Beaches”), and dances on the H of the Hollywood sign (“Lust for Life” feat. The Weeknd). She even duets with Stevie Nicks, the queen of bittersweet rock. On “Get Free,” she makes a vow to shift her mindset: \"Now I do, I want to move/Out of the black, into the blue.”

A vertiginous, gone-viral stage dive at 2017’s Rolling Loud Festival upheld Uzi’s claims to being a “rock star.” On *Luv Is Rage 2*, he engages one of rock’s other key tropes: peering into the abyss. With his sharply melodic flow, he makes plenty of allusions to his success, comparing his diamonds to Pharrell’s over the video-game bleeps of “For Real” before trading triumphant verses with the man himself on “Neon Guts.” However, he also peels back some layers of an unsettled soul, confronting the pain of a broken relationship on “Feelings Mutual” and “XO TOUR Llif 3.”

After years of strong guest features and acclaimed mixtapes, North Carolina MC Rapsody comes into her own with her ambitious second LP, *Laila\'s Wisdom*. Backed by a slew of vintage samples and soulful live instrumentation, Rapsody flaunts unhurried flow, consummate storytelling skills, and a knack for memorable choruses on songs like \"Pay Up,\" revealing her frustration with deadbeat dudes over slinky electric guitar and the swirling \'70s funk of \"Sassy.\" Longtime compatriot Anderson .Paak delivers the hook on the languid \"Nobody,\" and Kendrick Lamar, Rapsody\'s original cosigner, elevates the woozy, psychedelic \"Power.\"

If *Black Market* represented a nostalgic Ricky Rozay, *Rather You Than Me* reverses course. A-list rappers are all over this, with Chris Rock even adding a touch of comic relief. Moments of vengeance are embellished by a clarity that comes from experience. Ross paints a vivid picture—the brown bags, ankle monitors, pulling the ragtop back at a red light. “Apple of My Eye” and “Game Ain’t Based on Sympathy” contemplate the trap life as smoke twirls in the air. *Rather You Than Me* is the Bawse’s Michael Corleone moment: “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”

The album that finally reveals a superstar. Sampha Sisay spent his nascent career becoming music’s collaborator à la mode—his CV includes impeccable work with the likes of Solange, Drake, and Jessie Ware—and *Process* fully justifies his considered approach to unveiling a debut full-length. It’s a stunning album that sees the Londoner inject raw, gorgeous emotion into each of his mini-epics. His electronic R&B sounds dialed in from another dimension on transformative opener “Plastic 100°C,” and “Incomplete Kisses” is an anthem for the broken-hearted that retains a smoothness almost exclusive to this very special talent. “(No One Knows Me) Like the Piano,” meanwhile, makes a solid case for being 2017’s most beautiful song.

Until a late flurry of percussion arrives, doleful guitar and bass are Solána Rowe’s only accompaniment on opener “Supermodel,” a stinging kiss-off to an adulterous ex. It doesn’t prepare you for the inventively abstract production that follows—disembodied voices haunting the airy trap-soul of “Broken Clocks,” “Anything”’s stuttering video-game sonics—but it instantly establishes the emotive power of her rasping, percussive vocal. Whether she’s feeling empowered by her physicality on the Kendrick Lamar-assisted “Doves in the Wind” or wrestling with insecurity on “Drew Barrymore,” SZA’s songs impact quickly and deeply.

As its title suggests (albeit a little backhandedly), *Flower Boy* explores a softer side of Tyler, the Creator. Not that he wasn’t thoughtful before, or that he’s lost his edge now—if anything, the dark wit and internal conflict that made *Goblin* a lightning bolt in 2011 has only gotten richer and more resonant, offset by a sound that cherry-picks from early-\'90s hip-hop and plush, Stevie-style soul (“Garden Shed,” the Frank Ocean-featuring “911 / Mr. Lonely”). “Tell these black kids they can be who they are,” he raps on “Where This Flower Blooms.” “Dye your hair blue, s\*\*t, I’ll do it too.”

“WE IN YEAR 3230 WIT IT,” Vince Staples tweeted of his second album. “THIS THE FUTURE.” In fact, he’s in multiple time zones here. Delivered in his fluent, poetic flow, the lyrical references reach back to 16th-century composer Louis Bourgeois, while “BagBak” captures the stark contrasts of Staples’ present (“I pray for new McLarens/Pray the police don’t come blow me down because of my complexion.”) With trap hi-hats sprayed across ’70s funk basslines (“745”) and Bon Iver fused into UK garage beats (“Crabs in a Bucket”), the future is as bold as it is bright.