There are so many interesting, fascinating, and captivating things Yeat does with his voice, but very rarely does that consist of compelling words coming out of his mouth. If he consistently put bars together, this would easily be one of the best albums released this year so far. That’s how good everything else about the record is.

This is Me… Now hears Jennifer Lopez constantly tell fans how great her love life is. She rarely bothers to explain why.

All in all, Vultures 1 doesn’t move the needle for Kanye West — or Ty Dolla $ign, for that matter. Listeners, fans, haters and hopefuls will be in the same place they were before the album dropped: confused, disappointed, but holding onto the idea that the Kanye we all fell in love with can still deliver undeniably good music that is worth defending.

Aside from a few moments where his trademark live-wire energy shines through, Blockbusta tries too hard to capture the charts and new fans alike, relegating its headliner’s usually dominant personality to second fiddle.

Though Scary Hours 3 is longer than its predecessors, almost nothing approaches the earworm potential of “God’s Plan” or the uncut menace of “Wants and Needs.” The EP comes with the unmistakable stench of streaming bait; Scary Hours 3 is not actually its own separate project, but comes stitched onto an expanded deluxe edition of For All The Dogs.

Although SET IT OFF is a teaser in the right direction, there isn’t enough substance to distinguish him as a solo artist, aside from the good graces he received with the Migos.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Jackman. sounds disjointed and dull.

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

The best boundary-pushers use parts of their own style to traverse new musical territory. While tracks like “Sooner” are a success, UGLY doesn’t manage to complete the journey.

Despite some solid songwriting about addiction and mortality, Macklemore’s comeback album still experiences the same struggles with corniness and over-sincerity that torpedoed him from a household name to an afterthought, leading to a mixed bag that’s more admirable than actualized.

The LP comes up short in delivering songs that standout amongst his peers. For the most part, Love Sick isn’t going to move the needle for Toliver. Those that were fans before will like this, while others that are apprehensive about him probably won’t start liking him now.

Demons Protected By Angels alludes to an artist self-aware enough to acknowledge his flaws, but the passivity of his music suggests he’d rather stew in the toxicity than work through it.

30 tracks is just indigestible and frankly unacceptable, especially with a stark lack of variety. Perhaps it’s a streaming/algorithm strategy or maybe even a way to fulfill his contract with Atlantic Records in attempts to leave the label early; either way The Last Slimeto can’t be enjoyed as a full “project” but instead a half dozen songs scattered across playlists that have the same album cover.

An indistinct retread of his past work that falters further under self importance and desire for ambition that falls flat.

Lukewarm contributions from Doja Cat, The KID LAROI, Roddy Ricch and others can’t help Post Malone get out of the quicksand. He continues to be pulled in an obvious direction of glitzy Hollywood stardom but instead, maintains a chokehold on comfortability.

Jack Harlow’s sophomore effort was meant as a testament to his passion for the game but instead, it translates into a monotonous record that often plays out like a direct contradiction to what he’s claimed — and that contradiction is ultimately damning.

In attempting to recreate his peak, he offers some familiar flows but mostly unimpressive lyrics that lean more toward grown-up nursery rhymes than his catchy, skillful couplets of days past.

His rapping capabilities are clearly present and his newfound singing abilities hints at some more engaging possibilities down the road. But in order to translate those skills to his listeners, he’ll need to stray from the path already traveled, quit trying to prove himself and blaze his own trail rather than trying to please every rapper dead or alive he clearly wants to become.

The ambition is commendable but in the process of Ricch trying to slow things down, he’s relegated his lambo to autopilot.

The protocol for new DJ Khaled albums is as follows: expect nothing, delight in finding a few songs which clear that floor-high bar, tell your friends that Khaled is back, and forget about it for the rest of your life. His most recent effort, Khaled Khaled, falls directly in line with the rest of the world’s most profitable yet forgettable discography.

The apprentice runs laps around the master throughout the 54-minute overstuffed marathon. Though toxic masculinity is his calling card, there’s only so many times Future can say he’s going to steal my girl without hesitation and I’ll wear it like a badge of honor before it becomes disinteresting.

No Pressure is far too busy and easily distracted. ... When Logic just kicks back and shows off his skills, without trying to prove himself to anyone, No Pressure feels true to its title.

Even if Lil Boat 3 came out in a time without so much surface tension (is such a thing still possible?), it’d still feel sloppy and forgettable. The presence of personalities like Lil Yachty’s should be welcomed, but the execution still needs to be there.