His bitterness about that fate may be the only black mark against this album--there's a tinge of resignation here and little effort to make himself more palatable to the masses.

Every time you turn the page to another chapter of "Shaolin vs. Wu-Tang" you get a pleasant surprise.

There is no doubt that the first half of the album is where the "money" is – a top-heavy reflection of pop-muscle tracks where Lupe is generally playing second fiddle to the beats/choruses. That would have fine if the Chicago native had been allowed to go all out and express himself on the other six tracks, more akin to "All Black Everything" so you may well find yourself stalling after "The Show Goes On."

There's immense lyrical potential, manifesting itself in lines like "Emotional luggage, nothin' of it, I don't check bags / I just carry on, leave that bullshit in the past," or "Master the flow, Alaska-cold / silent foot, assassin approach / high when I stroll / not even leavin' footprints in the snow," but it never quite carries over to the entire song. From that point of view this sequel is more of an afterthought to "Pilot Talk" than an afterburner.

At 10 songs and nearly an hour long the "Back to Reality" album packs a lot of bang for the buck, and if you're in the mood to go retro this is the perfect album to fire up when you put on your Michael Jackson glove, fire up the Coleco, play Donkey Kong 'til your hands get sore then go party at Studio 54.

An artistic statement and a brilliant debut, Gas Mask should be Motown's unofficial soundtrack, but its listenership should know no regional boundaries.

Saigon has had the time to craft an epic hip-hop album that's a fitting testament to his skill and his sheer force of will.

Talib Kweli keeps the level of discourse high throughout Gutter Rainbows, and it should come as a surprise that some references he makes will go right over your head (props if you knew who knew Yohji Yamamoto was or what the Bhagavad Gita is).

The beats are banging, and Waka proves that owning a thesaurus and being clever aren't the only way to be a rapper. Waka is a blunt instrument that beats you into submission.

Utterly forgettable and insubstantial, No Mercy is a contrived, sputtering guest-filled affair certain to alienate his longtime fans and disappoint those who jumped aboard for "Paper Trail."

While it won't be the best or most important album in the entire catalogue, "Redman Presents... Reggie" fits perfectly into his body of work as a whole and will be worthy of multiple replays after the purchase date.

So ultimately the way I'll sum up Slime Flu is like this--I liked more than I hated and if his name came up on a mixtape in the near future I wouldn't skip over his track.

His delivery is just as smooth and his lyrics are as slyly clever as before. Shad continues to grow as an artist and has adjusted well to his newfound success. While the old prince no longer has to live at home, he shows true leadership skills in the ability to connect with listeners.

If you're willing to put up with the headaches of finding and acquiring the right version though, 5.0 is a worthy follow-up to "Brass Knuckles" that should keep his millions of fans well satisfied.

If this was pop music with terrible lyrics and shitty beats that hurt my ears, you know I'd tell you so (see Soulja Boy) but nothing on Only One Flo (Part 1) would make me want to change the station if I heard it on the radio.

If you're not looking for an album that will change the world, but simply change your mood for an hour or two, there's definitely something to be said for Nothing.

On the tracks of I Am the West that work the best, he's still got the vintage gruff demeanor, lyrical ferocity and hard hitting beats to claim some significant ownership of the Pacific shoreline. At other times he desperately desires to have a contemporary sound, and that's where things fall apart, but those mistakes can be overlooked or easily skipped compared to the quality of the overall presentation.

This is The Roots band, jamming their way through the wealth of protest soul that rocks and rolls, and obviously a crooner like the Grammy award winning John Legend is far more important to capture that soul and make it his own.

Through soaking in various travails, and pouring them through the microphone, he has truly grabbed us. His beats have almost taken a backseat on this journey but it is worth it just to prove that his story, his journey and his life are much more interesting that a mere drum pattern and a sample.

This isn't the album to introduce the uninitiated to his unique and often oddball style and flow, but long time fans will appreciate this slice of history as proof that Dumile really does rap his own concerts and doesn't send out impostors under his famed Metal Face.

If you can focus more on the beats and not so much on the words the overall experience improves, but even then it still tends to be monotonous.

I fully respect his artistic and creative choices and his right to be his own man and not be defined by his years as a seminal underground rapper. I respect his choices, but I still pine for a Camu Tao we don't hear on this album and that we won't hear ever again. In the end I feel that his potential still went untapped.

It would be more fitting to say Hell3 is an album that challenges conventional understanding of WHAT beginnings and endings are, leaving it up to the listener to draw their own conclusions, and that's what makes Hell3 both interesting and frustrating--but far moreso of the former than the latter.

It's awfully hard to name a bad track on Trill O.G. anywhere.

If not here, then on the EP as a whole, Freddie Gibbs is clearly in command, fully aware of his own potential and self-assured that if we don't get it now...we'll catch up eventually.

While the pull of the charts is hard to resist, the tracks with Primo and Just Blaze show he knows where his heart truly is, while the rest of the album tries and either fails or succeeds at pulling him away from the grime, grease and grit of the street corner.

While it's good to see hip-hop stick up for Ross and his charismatic storytelling, their support sometimes gets in the way of hearing what Ross actually has to say, and at the end of 50 minutes you're left wanting more of Ross than you actually got.

Favoring melody over raucous beats is a risky strategy, but she just about pulls it off.