This project truly is an American requiem as the opening track states; it’s Beyoncé’s reminder that much has been sacrificed to allow her to claim her identity as a southern girl and fully partake in all of America’s unique artistic and cultural traditions.

In short, WE DON’T TRUST YOU should have been shorter. The first half dozen tracks, with a few other gems scattered scarcely throughout, show just how musically connected Metro and Future truly are but fans will be able to tell when the focused material ends and the frivolous filler starts.

Overall, Tyla’s debut fulfills the promise of her first international hit: sonically, she is truly the foreign exchange student who is ready to take America by storm. And she has all of the makings of a relatable, cross-genre, international star intent on carving a lane of her own.

Ironically, though, the high points on the album are the songs that sound like old JT. This isn’t to say the new creative path he’s on won’t sprout new favorites for new fans and new generations, but for longtime fans, it’s hard to see how this will have any replay value.

The album is littered with allusions to Whack’s mental health struggles, but it never feels overbearing, owing to Whack’s ability to balance darkness with her trademark wit and playfulness.

Whereas a lot of listeners might be tempted to ask themselves if ScHoolboy Q’s latest offering was worth the wait, his remarkable growth also suggests that years of experience is perhaps what births the richest music, especially in a word-heavy genre like rap.

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.

On GRIP, the singer-songwriter has a voracious appetite to be loved, but equally apparent is his capacity to give love, too. This is an album of romance and sexuality, but in these general terms is a symphony of emotions and feelings.

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

On COMING HOME, Usher meets the moment without trying to eclipse the past, serving as a reminder that the King of R&B hasn’t gone anywhere.

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.

The 12-cut package is a concoction of sharply digitized beats and eloquent instrumentation in mechanical form, processed further to synthesize hard-headed mafioso bars. .... Lyrically, Everybody Can’t Go is the latest addition to the empirical evidence piling up in favor of Benny The Butcher’s craftiness with words.

Even at over an hour long and spanning a multitude of genres, it lacks any depth of feeling that grows tiring over 64 minutes. There’s a truly great 12-track version of INSANO hiding away somewhere.

The tension that fuels this album is exciting, dynamic, and worth examining. It’s when 21 sits back and coasts or tries to land a radio hit that this record comes up short.

With this sequel, Minaj transitions from innovator to adapter, producing a polished collection of songs that stick to the Rap trends that are hot right now, not quite living up to the expectations of the original, but still giving her fans a solid body of work that asserts her legacy.

The album largely succeeds off the natural chemistry of its co-creators and the wide range of instrumentals that touch on several regional rap styles that both rappers learned to conquer during their decades-long careers.

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.

Yes, New Blue Sun is receiving a healthy amount of praise because it’s André 3000, but it’s also a truly wonderful piece of music.

Heaven knows may not creatively propel PinkPantheress to new heights, but it’s a poetic and dramatic compilation of breakup songs that will leave a listener dancing around their living room while yearning for their toxic ex.

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.

Though each installment seamlessly fluctuates from one temperature to another, redemption and regret guide the package’s dark enchantment.

The light, nimble, casual nature of Robed in Rareness makes it a pleasant interlude within the Shabazz Palaces discography.

Water Made Us, Woods’ third, and best, album, tackles an even more grand and universal experience: relationships. But she does so with a fine-tooth comb, crafting songs bursting with intimate details on a diorama-sized scale that loosely trace the relationship lifecycle.

Ultimately, amid very high highs, it heavy-handedly embraces a sound that his most devout fans often turn to Griselda to avoid. Whether the initial shell shock wears off for those listeners remains to be seen.

With its glitchy instrumental palette backing it, Lahai is a serene look to the future where Sampha can be at peace with his memories and can raise his family in a positive environment.

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.

Despite the somewhat lethargic back half, falling or flying ends on a high note thanks to a powerful set of closing tracks in “Backwards” and “What if my heart beats faster.”

We Buy Diabetic Test Strips feels like an accumulation of that gained experience, a moment of breakthrough clarity. Kenny Segal, Messiah Musik, SteeltippedDove, JPEGMAFIA, and Child Actor handle the production, with every beat maker retreading past ideas to create invigorating new ones.

Scarlet is an album worth hearing but not listening to. It’s still arguably Doja’s most gripping body of work to date because it sounds amazing, but it lacks the integrality to secure a legacy.

Monét weaves an instant R&B classic out of empowerment anthems, genuine respect for her soul elders, and an unflappable confidence that can only be admired.

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.

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.

Maintaining its cohesion while avoiding monotony, Nudy’s latest is at once chill and animated — an extravagant adventure that’s as controlled as it is fun.

Brimming with synth undercurrents, transfluid melodies, and delightfully jarring production shifts, Raven is a transfixing ode to human connection, interpersonal communication, and Black femininity.

Girl In The Half Pearl emits confidence despite being out of bounds for the average musically unconscious listener. Liv.e makes it clear she’s not here for external approval.

Let’s Start Here. is exciting at the first listen because the style is new to Lil Yachty himself. Alas, the shiny sheen of new experiences tends to dull over time and with repetition.

The rhythmic excellence of producer RIOTUSA and Ice Spice comes to a peak on “Actin A Smoochie.”

This project is simply too long. The songs themselves are actually quite good in their own unique way but it’s difficult for anyone to jump around a 25-track album and get the most out of it. The Mansion would have been better off as a collection of mini condos.

The theme of newfound optimism opens Beware of the Money with “Nuthin I Can Do Is Wrong.” The DJ Blackpower produced record contains a soothing soul sample from Forrest’s “I Just Want to Love You,” in which MIKE sings along halfway through the opening hook. It’s not hard to imagine a cheeky grin from the esoteric rapper as he raps with radiant pride.

The peaks on SOS, (“Used,” “Smoking on my Ex Pack,” and “Forgiveless”) find SZA sounding refreshingly comfortable rapping over gritty, hazy, and grimy productions.

Component System with the Auto Reverse is no landmark of rap music, but it is rock solid, and contains enough pearls of wisdom and displays of swagger to justify Open Mike Eagle’s endless tenure.

KD3 keeps Nas in the relevancy conversation because his voice is still impactful, calling to action when some might say he doesn’t need to do this anymore. It’s a lesson in purposeful storytelling and aging with grace.

One of Cudi’s most digestible albums in a long time. The songs are equal parts catchy, meaningful and galaxy-brain without taking more than 45 minutes altogether.

For better or worse, at an overwhelming 23 tracks, It’s Only Me is more of a playlist experience than a concise and focused album, an endless stream with occasional stylistic flourishes but a mostly consistent energy.

The realization of internet dream collaboration chatter, where the result is better than fantasy.

A vulnerable, sexy, and fun record, Age/Sex/Location is a fitting eye-roll at the R&B is dead debate.

Offset or no Offset, Quavo and Takeoff’s stylistic DNA holds steady. It’s home-grown. It’s theirs, and it’s as potent as ever.

It’s quite good, and a good Freddie Gibbs album is an already high standard to match.

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.

JID raps like a Harlem Globetrotter on The Forever Story; the skills are there, it’s littered with flashy displays of technique and it sounds better than fine most of the time. But there’s nothing on the line: at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter who wins the game.

Those who are less dedicated to the soul-trap genre might find the hour-long, 24-track album a test of their aural endurance. Beautiful Mind shows every element that contributed to Wave’s rapid ascent to the top of his genre: the interplay between his vocals and verse; the bitter honesty with which he describes his early life experiences; and his skill for turning any sample – no matter how well-known – into his own anthemic trap-soul style.

Gemini Rights is a coming of age album where Lacy asserts that whatever journey he’s been on, it’s clear he now knows who he wants to become.

Although You Still Here, Ho? doesn’t boast as many catchy hits as its predecessor, Flo Milli’s studio debut still finds success by exploring new genres. Contrary to the record’s cohesiveness, each track is unpredictably experimental in sound and style when compared to Flo Milli’s previous work.

It’s an unexpectedly, confusingly good collection of rap songs.

There’s plenty of substance peppered in, but listeners will have to skip around to find it.

On Traumazine, Meg recaptures her narrative, sound and essence, ready to swing into the next chapter of her life.

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.

While Cheat Codes sometimes walks the tight-rope of being another installment in the Streams of Thought series, it’s still a lesson in supreme lyricism and pristine production that should have any aspiring MC/producer combo aspiring to get on their level.

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

Renaissance is both backward-looking and forward-thinking. A colorful, euphoric and glittery celebration of what has passed and what is still to come.

The good far outweighs the bad on 2000. It doesn’t reach the highs the hype promised and, no matter how much he believes it, the album doesn’t make the case for his self-proclaimed G.O.A.T. status. It is, however, a highly listenable, uncomplicated rap album, not burdened by any weighty conceit; a showcase for an MC with a great ear for production and innate rapping ability.

Even with a lengthy tracklist, WASTELAND is economical and patient with its time. Songs are given a chance to breathe and arrive at their full potential rather than being sequenced and chopped to appease streaming requirements.

With no filler or fluff, this album is bound to satisfy those who like their bars bountiful and Lupe Fiasco in peak form.

Listeners who like Drake’s pop songs will have plenty to enjoy here, while huge fans of his old stuff can play “Jimmy Cooks” on repeat until Scary Hours 3 drops. ... It’s simply an album of Drake songs people will actually listen to in public, not just while driving, or at the pregame, or through headphones in the early AM uber home.

It’s a continuation of his intense focus on a singular topic, which results in a clear elevation in quality that few could hope to achieve, setting the standard for any plan to follow his formula.

As a follow up to the massive success of her self titled – and only her second full length feature, Heart on My Sleeve does what needs to be done to secure Mai a path to longevity.

For nearly 49 minutes, her voice oscillates between the foreground and background like she’s constantly trying to decide whether she wants to unleash the full capabilities of her warbling croons. This inconsistency is distracting at times but is often masked by an eclectic mix of production styles that feel invigorating at every turn.

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.

Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers paints a gripping portrait of how trauma and therapy have morphed the 34-year-old artist beyond recognition. Even with superior production choices and a semi-triumphant tone of self-actualization, it feels as if listeners can’t fully define what place he’s in — the question of what’s left for him lingers.