Scattershot as the features may be, Drake still opts to tackle the majority of the album on his own, which have some highlights. “Away From Home” is Drake at his best, offering the only real glimpse into maturity.

The Patience is a rewarding opening chapter, a satisfying burst of fresh air after a period of holding his breath.

With a debut studio album as refreshing and well-rounded as MID AIR, it seems like they’ve found that lane, and may be the leaders.

The Love Album is at its best when Diddy creatively assembles unexpected collaborations, chooses inspired beats, and lets his co-stars lead the show.

It’s not exactly the blockbuster conclusion Nas fans were looking for. Instead, it’s the cliffhanger ending that offers the chance for a reunion in the future.

This album won’t go down as a modern day classic, nor will it slingshot NLE to the top of the charts, but it will give listeners a battery in their back for their next big gym session or block party.

Teezo’s debut wants to convince you that he’s this generation’s ODB, but really, he’s closer to a zanier Kid Cudi, but without the influence. His beats, while eclectic to some degree, feel like a minor subversion of the indie-rock-rap crossover that’s become increasingly popular. His lyrics remain juvenile at best with hints of maturity sporadically hidden in the deeper cuts.

Voir Dire is an exceptional collection of raps, but missing connectivity between Earl and Alc holds back the tape’s potential. Where Earl breathes life into his verses, Alc plays it safe with more simple ideas that feel a bit boring and recycled.

It, like so many mainstream rap records, could be five songs shorter, and would be more successful if some of this fat was trimmed. Even though some of the material sounds like it was left over for solo work pre-tragedy, or supposed to be on the second Unc & Phew tape, it holds back an album that could have been in the best of the year conversation.

In a crowd of colorful guests, Scott’s contributions can feel listless. His rapping is more dexterous than ever, but he’s still saying things like “deep in her throat… I’m her favorite beverage.” When Westside Gunn swans into the Alchemist-produced “LOST FOREVER” with “poles in the Rolls/…alligators on the toes,” it makes a decent Travis verse look bland and unfocused.

Flying High leaves you wanting more, and that’s a good thing.

Pink Tape is a sprawling listening experience that struggles to ever find its footing – and tries to be too much at once without taking the time to offer much of any substance.

The Idol’s soundtrack narrowly avoids disaster thanks to a few good guests and captivating solo performances from its lead, but just like the show, it severely mishandles its women. Lily-Rose Depp has a decent enough voice but instead, she’s relegated to generic pop girl, while Suzanna Son doubles down on the Halsey effect to make her voice stand out.

Magic 2 has a high floor as a rehashing of a proverbial tried and true formula of a Nas and Hit-Boy collaboration. It can still be magical, but you’re left with the sense that Hit could use a few new tricks.

The result is a fun, irreverent showcase of women’s empowerment and underdog grit with plenty of room to grow.

She’s unafraid of uncharted territory and willing to step outside the conventional box Americans place on Afrobeats, all while broadening the umbrella of dance music.

Dixon is locked in as his verses speak on the duality of gripping steel while hitting the concrete to earn a living. It’s beautifully written, using imagery of fists clenched, finding your heart, and smiling in the sunshine. It’s the clear-eyed Dixon you want to hear more of.

There isn’t much more context to be found in the music, which isn’t nearly as fun or inventive as his previous work. It’s unclear exactly what Thug was trying to communicate here; if it’s meant to be a good bit of escapism, both for artist and audience, it’s a little too brooding.

It’s powered by honesty that goes beyond any titles fans have come to associate with the venerable spitter. In a career that’s stretched more than 20 years, Michael sees Mike as his most honest self, and it’s his most comfortable role yet.

Stuffed with a handful of sub-two-minute tracks and a few interludes, The Age of Pleasure sounds more like a short week of longing and sexual liberation, the epilogue to a coming of age story.

Gunna’s still making songs that would fit on a Drip Season deluxe, but it’s juxtaposed with pain ballads you’d hear on a Lil Durk album. And though the instrumentals and somber delivery evoke the pain he’s clearly going through, he keeps the audience at a distance, making the album poignant, but also obligatory.

The two have undeniable chemistry; woods always sounds exceptionally comfortable over a Kenny Segal beat, and Segal complements woods’s intricate writing brilliantly, keeping the backdrops uncluttered but ever-evolving.

Durk just has no grasp on what he wants this album to be, leading to a project made strictly to appeal to everyone, but satisfying no one.

Subversion is what distinguishes Never Enough from his previous efforts. Instead of sprinkling female voices across the album as he did on Freudian, this record exclusively focuses on the male perspective — save for a handful of background harmonies from women and a Summer Walker remix on the deluxe.

Jackman. sounds disjointed and dull.

The masterful way in which Thought delivers his bars, the sequencing and the soulful, almost comforting tone of the production (outside of a few cuts) make it a highly enjoyable listen.

In Pieces misses the mark sounding too much like a rebrand for Chloe instead of earnest songwriting.

It’s fun and inventive; a mashup of experimental Hip Hop that harnesses a truly demented collection of sounds and influences from 80s commercials to gospel chorus. That combination might not make sense to everyone, but it’ll be a long revisited cult classic for those who get it.