A hip-hop album is usually a community affair, and Lecrae's Gravity is no exception, employing the talents of Mali Music, Mathai (The Voice), Big K.R.I.T., labelmates Trip Lee and Tedashii, as well as production from DJ Khalil (Dr. Dre, Eminem, Jay Z), Street Symphony's Heat Academy and The Watchmen. The follow-up to the mixtape Church Clothes, Gravity finds Lecrae expanding on his past work with tracks, like "Tell the World," that move seamlessly between swagger and spirituality. Lecrae doesn't sugarcoat. Life is hard and you will get hurt, but in God he's found a reason to hope.
DJ Drama's Quality Street Music compiles dozens of stars, from Rick Ross to Miguel, Cee-Lo to Jeremih, and Childish Gambino to B.o.B. It's not a coherent album, and it's not meant to be. "My Moment," with Meek Mill, 2 Chainz and Jeremih, is a virtual remake of DJ Khaled's "I'm On One," and Wale, Tyga and Roscoe Dash's "So Many Girls" is a fluffy bit of braggadocio pop-rap. There are some stinkers, like Travis Porter and Kirko Bangz's "Real N*gg*s In The Building," but fans who just want to hear a new verse from, say, Drake ("We In This 1.5") won't care about that.
"They call me backpacker," says Murs on "The Other Side." "I'd rather just be me." Still, this might be his funkiest record since Murray's Revenge, and that's due to Beatnick & K-Salaam, who add a heavy bass backbeat to tracks like the G-funk bumper "64' Impala" and the rock-infused "Slash Gordan." Some of Murs and Fashawn's tracks have a bland workmanlike quality, but at their best they leave an impression with everyman perspectives on L.A. life, including "Peace Treaty," "Reina de Barrio (Ghetto Queen)" and "Heartbreaks & Handcuffs."
Boots Riley returns to the mic after months spent as a high-profile leader of Oakland's Occupy movement. His Coup has changed -- Pam the Funkstress is gone, replaced by a band that includes backing vocalist Silk-E. He adds a punkish rock touch to The Coup's usual Bay Area funk, from a kazoo rhythm on "Your Parents' Cocaine" to a folksy accordion and guest vocals from Jolie Holland on "We've Got a Lot To Teach You, Cassius Green." It's a striking evolution, but as usual it's just a backdrop for Boots' memorable agit-rap critiques of armchair hipster activism ("You Are Not a Riot").
Tech N9ne's third EP in 2012 has two outstanding tracks. On "Fire in AC," he declares his support for Aurora, Colorado, where James Holmes massacred a theater full of moviegoers in the summer of 2012. "Burn in hell for eternity for what you did," he says. Then he imagines himself as a hunchbacked monster on "Heavy." "Ugly/ Bloody/ Pussin'/ Heavy/ Way more sinister than a deformed Jason or f*ck*n Freddy," he raps in a vivid description. The rest of Boiling Point riffs on familiar Tecca Nina themes, like the abortion debate ("Should I Killer") and his love for his rabid fan base ("Alone").
Whether you love or hate Lupe's radical progressive views, you can't argue his commitment to them. On "B*tch Bad" he offers another lightning rod by blaming women for using the word "b*tch" as a source of empowerment and a "double entendre." Still, Food & Liquor II is an improvement for him: He doesn't have great taste in beats, but he avoids the histrionic pop-rock of Lasers in favor of the orchestral swells of "Strange Fruition" and "Lamborghini Angels." It allows us to focus on divisive yet eloquent lyrics that make him one of the most controversial figures in rap.
"Regardless of Pitchfork co-signs, I've jumped," raps Macklemore on "Ten Thousand Hours," the first track in an hour-long treatise on issues like gay marriage ("Same Love") and the price of Air Jordans ("Wing$"). A "Thrift Shop" satire falls flat, as does an attempt to hang with Schoolboy Q, one of the hip kids Pitchfork's tastemakers love; but a song in which he kidnaps label exec "Jimmy Iovine" is spot-on. Produced by Ryan Lewis, The Heist's earnestness is its weakness and strength. Macklemore's bleeding-heart politics may make you squirm, but he'll draw you in with his conviction.
Like so many mainstream "street" albums these days, Lace Up is a compromise all the way down to MGK's name itself, which was shortened from the less marketable Machine Gun Kelly. So there's "Wild Boy" with Waka Flocka Flame and "D3MONS" with DMX for the fans who think rap is just thuggery; and there's "Runnin'" and "Stereo" for the fans who think rap is just an airy emo-pop confessional. Each approach leads to small rewards like "What I Do," where Bun B outshines MGK with a single verse, and "All We Have," where an argument with a girlfriend leads to a surprisingly tragic ending.
This career retrospective doesn't include Shadow's seminal, genre-defining tracks like "Entropy" and "What Does Your Soul Look Like?" Instead, he presents an argument that his later albums, like The Less You Know, the Better, are on par with his near-perfect debut Endtroducing, or are at least part of a singular, soul-gazing vision. Lesser-known material like "This Time (I'm Gonna Try It My Way)" and "You Made It," as well as new tracks like "Won't You Be" shine brightly here. Shadow may never escape the legacy of Endtroducing, but it's not as if he didn't make his best effort.
"Back on the grind, back on the clock, I'm comin' back for mine, back on the block," barks DMX on "Get Your Money Up." And so the original energy god reopens his old bag of tricks: The sex ritual ("Sucka for Love," where he debases a girl by claiming, "You ain't never been nothin' but a nut"), the prison rape metaphors, and the earnest "Prayer" to God for forgiveness. But this isn't 1999, and so the best songs come when he admits times have changed, like "Head Up" and its Earth, Wind & Fire sample, and "No Love." Yes, it's "Slippin' Again," but you can't make an old dog perform new tricks.
Not even Kanye West is immune to the rap comp jinx. Despite great singles such as "Mercy" and "New God Flow," Cruel Summer isn't as vacuously fun as, say, Rick Ross and MMG's Self Made. He clearly wants to do more than just talk sh*t with G.O.O.D. Music folks like Pusha T and Big Sean, but his pop-operatic pretensions about fame and fortune result in overwrought songs like "Sin City" and "Creepers." Meanwhile, his inclusion of a decent remix for Chicago rapper Chief Keef's regional hit "Don't Like" is bad timing in light of the Windy City's tragic gang violence epidemic.
Brother Ali has become an interrogator of American values. He claims on "Letter to My Countrymen" that "We don't really like to talk about the race thing"; and compares rap stars to slave commodities on "Won More Hit." On "Stop the Press," he picks apart his own career and personal failings, and admits that his last album Us wasn't up to standard. "Energy I brought might have been a bit off," he states. At least Mourning in America can't be called spiritless. Breathing fire on "Gather Round," and playing with his children on "My Beloved," he authors a new kind of grown-man rap.
"I've been selling records for 10 (years), but I'm finally getting my buzz," brags Z-Ro on "Phuq With Me." It seems the wormhole of regional rap fandom has finally reached this veteran. Angel Dust continues a spate of hard-drug-themed titles, but he doesn't waste time talking about selling PCP. Its highlights include "Young Ni**a," where he interpolates Ahmad's '90s hit "Back in the Day" to describe a knucklehead imprisoned for life, plus "These Days," "Truth Is" and "Jaccers Wanna Know." His gangsta persona is a metaphor for surviving Houston's mean ghetto streets.
Ryan Leslie is not a humble dude. So when he enrolls in the Kanye West school of luxury rap for Les Is More, a departure from his usual Neptunes-inspired R&B, it leads to him flaunting his (money) "figures" and claiming to be the "black aristocracy." "Damn, look at my life, such a Helmut Newton flick," he brags on "Dress to Undress You." He mimics Rick Ross ("Swiss Francs") and Drake ("Good Girl") without the latter's pathos, or the former's penchant for wordplay. In other words, he shouldn't give up his day job -- the imaginative keyboard arrangement he makes for "Ups & Downs" only proves it.
