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.

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.

NAV’s biggest problem is that he doesn’t provide anything new with his music other than another generic serving of NAV.

Everything from the production to the subject matter on this new album is frustratingly similar to the first two projects.

A frustrating project that falls short of its composer’s talent.

Whether or not listeners make it through all 24 tracks on Funeral, it’s easy to see what Wayne is definitely in his own world. His rhyming remains unlike anyone else in the entire genre and despite this album not being his strongest, you don’t have to go far to find a Wayne quotable that inherently makes one admire his seasoned lyrical dexterity.

This 25-song compilation renders itself as a gift to the die-hard X fans that are rightfully craving anything new from the late rapper – even if it’s simply lo-fi humming over baselines for a hot second.

Ultimately, 03 Greedo and Kenny Beats’ Netflix & Deal contains some exciting moments, but otherwise, the short-sighted project that relies too heavily on production and features instead of Greedo’s raw and unbridled ability to tell stories.

There is little here that challenges the listener — let alone Gucci himself. Your take away from it rests on how willing you are to listen to the ATL pillar cruise-control over particularly predictable soundscapes with lazy bars that make themselves malleable to mainstream playlists and simultaneously unworthy of multiple replays.

Common has been delivering solid material for three decades, but this album can be chalked up as a mediocre comeback, not for lyrical ability. Rather, it’s for the lack of soul “by the pound” in the album’s soundscapes. It just doesn’t hold as much weight in his discography.

Nobody expected Azalea to come back super talented and with an entirely new shtick. Nonetheless, In My Defense could have been a tad bit more introspective or at the very least, fun.

The fact that it’s 22 songs only highlights how disorganized the project is. There are some tracks that I actually like scattered throughout, but none that really compare to the best from his previous projects. His two mixtapes were also similarly eclectic, but these collaborations feel less exciting and more calculated. ... The Big Day will go down as one of the biggest disappointments in rap in recent memory, in no small part because Coloring Book was so great.

While there are plenty of people who are able to seamlessly blend their preferred musical genre with Hip Hop (Machine Gun Kelly, Travis Barker, Billy Ray Cyrus), Ed Sheeran isn’t one of them. And because he spent the whole album trying too hard, it falls flat, overall.

On the surface, it’s an overwhelmingly average album, and if you were to strip away all the unnecessary intermissions and segue ways, it’d probably venture into plus territory. As it is, however, it’s a futuristic skyscraper of an album that lacks the foundation to keep from collapsing, and the more you buy into his staggering concept, the more likely you are to come away disappointed.

Not only are the song structures disappointingly formulaic but the samples picked for the project rank as some of the laziest in recent Hip Hop Years.

Across the album, there’s a looming question--what makes any of these canned Confessions even remotely Dangerous? If Logic wants to be above commercial Hip Hop, he will have to try a lot harder than this. Scratch that, maybe he should stop trying this hard.

Free Spirit isn’t an outright failure. For it to be a failure, Khalid would have to at least take a few risks.

Although songs like “BEBE” kindly pay tribute to 6ix9ine’s Puerto Rican roots, his rapping quickly proves to be tolerable in tiny, almost microscopic doses, while the album closer “DUMMY” is like a carbon copy of the homogenized sound currently infiltrating mainstream rap.

By Quality Control’s standards, Nuthin’ 2 Prove is a brisk listen-through as it clocks in at just over 45 minutes, but it certainly feels as bloated as recent projects from Migos and Quavo’s solo album.

While she’s making a valiant effort to mimic a lot of the mainstream rap currently infiltrating the airwaves, it’s going to be challenging for people to not immediately dismiss her as an unwelcome gimmick. That’s not to say the 15-year-old doesn’t have an arsenal of slick jabs ready to go. Much like her fiery personality, Bhad Bhabie’s song lyrics exude healthy doses of attitude toward anyone who tries to stand in her way.

At the end of the day, Slime Language suffers from being predictable, which is the last thing you’d ever want or expect from a Young Thug-affiliated project. The lesser-known artists don’t make much of a mark, the more notorious features are the clear highlights, and the project, as a whole, offers nothing to compete with the highs of Beautiful Thugger Girls--let alone the hallucinatory string of releases from 2015.

Instead of creating a new wave, A$AP Rocky has drowned himself in his own ambitions and lost his identity along the way.

Through a more respectable body of work--is unlikely to win over any naysayers.

While the bulk of the songs can’t disguise their rush-job origins, tinges of Trap Boy Magic do spring up from time to time.

It’s disappointing no standalone soundbed reaches the hypnotic levels of Sean’s “Bounce Back” instant classic, but there’s still a tremendous amount of experimentation worth noting throughout the 10-song ultimate misfire. ... Sean spends a ridiculous amount of time skeeting on tracks with no filter on the filler.

Like most projects that get recorded without the guise of a meticulous A&R, Without Warning’s billing never exceeds the expectations of any artist--rapper or producer--let alone offer a glimpse of what allows these individuals to rank amongst 2017 Hip Hop’s most popular figures.

When Macklemore deviates from his familiar sound, he gets mixed results.

There’s not much range here, just an excess of swag, but it’s worth a listen solely for the moments where Carti seems to accidentally stumble upon a wild flow (“Dothatshit!”), or an irresistible infection (“Half & Half”)

Although he’s far from a punk, the caricature we’ve come to know as Gucci Mane has shed a chunk of his unrepentant hood mentality in favor of a wiser narrator of the trap. Once he fully discovers how to convincingly put that into the music, the world had better brace itself.

Drake feeds his own ego and starves his humility. There are engaging moments scattered throughout, such as the subtle outro to “9” or dvsn’s stellar turn on “Faithful,” but from the content to the execution, Views is strangled by the 6ix God’s own delusions.

As it stands, EVOL is nothing out of the ordinary from his past endeavors. With no measures in place preventing from Future releasing new full-length projects, this album could easily be surpassed in a month or two.

There’s no number of stars that can save this album from aiming high, falling short, and still somehow being quite entertaining at moments along the way.

When his conscious aligns with his songwriting We Didn’t Talk excels. He needs only seek himself and lead by example rather than trip over cliches.

While showing progression here, Chris Brown still is quite far from being the best man and artist that he can be. On Royalty, Chris Brown shows what happens when Peter Pan tries to grow up, but loves turning up in the club even more.

On a sonic level, much of this album is strong but the identity and continuity are lackluster.

It’s when Bieber’s honesty feels less-than-honest and the tracks feel less-than-groundbreaking that this album falls short of the heights it should by all means be capable of reaching.

At 15 tracks, Heart Blanche is not much longer than 2010’s The Lady Killer and noticeably shorter than his first two albums, which both had no less than 18 tracks. However, sequencing is the heart of any album and Heart Blanche palpitates from its redundancy.

A heavy knock on Church in These Streets lies in its length; at 19 tracks, a few of the hustle-hard anthems, i.e. the lackluster “Hustlaz Holiday” would have better been served for the cutting room floor. And while most of Jeezy’s signature trap sound is enjoyable, the alarm sounds of “God,” are a jolting earsore. Fortunately, moments like this are the exception.

Dillatronic highlights the producer’s grand vision, but in the end, we’re left with pieces of what could’ve been.

There’s no creative expansion, just two acts trying to exist in their own worlds simultaneously instead of finding a new and interesting middle ground. Mixing classic Big Boi verses over old Phantogram songs would’ve probably been just as effective.

The problem is that the album is creatively too safe even when taking on large gambles.

The Meth Lab may be Method Man’s return to solo work, but without a true connection between the tracks the album feels more like a mixtape than an album, a string of songs that range from uninspiring to a reminder that Method Man was once one of Hip Hop’s elite.

While his long journey has finally paid off, Living Legend lacks it factor to have listeners clamoring for a follow-up anytime soon.

The Gold Album is underscored by its poor creative choices.

Troy Ave’s self-confidence skews towards myopic arrogance, as high points like “Young King” are practically ruined by intentionally off-key vocal melodies and “Real Nigga” comes off as Maybach Music Group karaoke.

Regardless of whether his hands are tied creatively to coded lyrics, such as “500 Homicides,” the music undoubtedly suffers as a result. But there are ephemeral periods on Remember My Name where Durk is more illuminative of his world, like “Resume.”

When Wale showcases his growth in being able to link his classic skillset with modern content, the album unequivocally succeeds. However, in attempting to placate current mainstream tastes, he falls short of the album being the unique and iconic success of the mixtape that truly launched his career to another level five years ago.

His seemingly unshakeable integrity and forthright spirit in music making shrouds Ludaversal in serious tones, marking a stark departure from the Georgia emcee’s status quo, making this one a novel and welcome addition to his catalog.

Fan of a Fan reads like a mimicking of that, missing a key ingredient in the Pop-Rap alchemy it takes to create something truly ingenius and infectious.

Most of the songs on Full Speed are catchy in their own right, but on the heels of tracks that sound so much alike just now seeing their expiration on radio, the feeling is mixed at best.

What will disappoint Wayne fans on S4TW2 is his predictable beat selection.

The album skips along predictably and offers nothing much outside of Rozay’s usual narrative.

Personality aside, Chris Brown’s ability to succeed artistically at delivering sounds in all three sectors of urban Pop makes this release a great, yet disjointed listen.

While the misses hold Blacc Hollywood back from being great, Wiz still reminds listeners that regardless of what they’re looking for, he’s capable of providing.

When listening to this record, there isn’t much to enjoy or appreciate. It’s a struggle to sit through, partly because it reads like the ramblings of an ex-genius turned affectless braggart, but mostly because it’s monotonous and unimaginative.

It attempts to do many of the same things [as Kilt II] sonically but falls short of the mark.

He’s returned with a slightly updated, less flawed version of 2012’s Pluto.

Iggy Azalea’s The New Classic aims high, but ultimately falls flat.

The trouble with Illmatic XX isn’t what you hear, but what you don’t hear. In a vacuum, it’s an unexpectedly well-preserved snapshot of Golden Era, New York Hip Hop. Sonically, it strikes the perfect balance between cleaning up the original recordings through the advent of digital remastering without eliminating subtleties such as the crackle of a needle over vinyl.

It’s a tepid set of songs that will undoubtedly satisfy his growing fanbase and, if lucky, make a run with the right program directors. For the rest of us, and not by design, Winter & The Wolves leaves you more than a bit cold.

Remember Me’s faults definitely hold it back, but it’s still largely likeable and satisfying when it comes to simply being festive West Coast party Hip Hop.

With the exception of “Me & My Bitch” (a tale of two way infidelity) wedged in between a festive midsection, the Pushaz Ink crew has pieced together a well sequenced and cohesive package with My Krazy Life, but this aspect and his street credibility aren’t enough to win over naysayers expecting an overall greater performance.

He should listen to Rise of an Empire more closely, though: He may be part of an empire now, but it’s looking more and more like Rome in decline.

If only its last few tracks were just as focused and compelling [as "Wake Me Up"]. Lift Your Spirit only suffers when it winds down, as it panders to Blacc’s booming audience.

Mastermind simply lacks flair.

What My Own Lane ultimately lacks is a true sense of creative risk from Kid Ink.

At the end of the day, I Am’s overall passable production and flashes of potency and strength keep it afloat for a time.

It’s hard to blame B.o.B. for wanting to acclimate himself to a different scene. But the startling lack of creativity he exercises in doing so makes Underground Luxury easy to write off, and the duality that once powered crossover appeal is now hard to detect.

As a byproduct of a team that has actualized potential for groundbreaking contributions, MellowHigh misses the mark by a wide margin.

While Suffering From Success has all of the coherency one would assume comes from locking down the A-Room of one of Cash Money Records’ studios, DJ Khaled offers none of the earmarks which have previously separated his collections from everyone else’s.

It’s obvious Justin had quite a bit to say but sometimes, some things are just better left unsaid.