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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Live From The Kitchen is just about the most predictable rap album you could ever listen to.

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.

Ace Hood fails to deliver on Trials & Tribulations, and with four albums under his belt that have produced similar results, no rapper has arguably done so much and so little at the same time

The 17 tracks that precede Oldie are a hodgepodge of styles and line-ups; they're random in an ineffective way, with crew members seemingly shoe-horned together and the songs rolled out with little thought as to how the mixtape-slash-album plays as a whole.

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

Only traces of Lupe Fiasco's greatness are present on Lasers, and even then he sounds less focused.

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.

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

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.

What makes 3 listenable in its darkest moments is the production, where P often struggles to sound comfortable.

B.o.B. has been adamant about his latest album being created organically, yet that doesn't justify the lack of cohesion or quality found on Strange Clouds.

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.

Doggumentary isn't a frustrating listen because of shortcomings, as many of them that there are; it's frustrating because there are some real glimpses of late-career genius on it that Snoop continues to neglect.

Though French Montana fits well on "Diamonds," his presence distracts from the youngster's appeal with similarly dull results stemming from rivals Young Jeezy & Rick Ross on "Understand Me" and an updated "3Hunna" respectively. These flaws along with the senseless experimental delivery of "Laughin' To The Bank" water down an otherwise exciting listen for anyone willing to humor Keef's madness.

Lacking any cohesion, Kiss The Ring is a series of single tracks that hit or miss.

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.

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

Excuse My French comes off as extremely formulaic.

Overall, it feels like Last Train to Paris will be an album more tailored to the Pop scene, rather than the Hip Hop audience.

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

There’s no doubt that this project will have traction with some listeners, but that will based on the names involved and not the quality control (or lack thereof) presented.

While there are some highlights on the album, they don't nearly make up for the glaring flaws throughout, the lack of noteworthy lyrics or the redundancy in topics, flows, hooks and beats.

The heart of the issue with Lip Lock is that Eve hasn’t restored the command she once had, which subsequently allows these new sounds to lead her down a road of uncertainty.

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

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.

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

Unfortunately, Authentic suffers the same fate as LL’s other late-career missteps: too many features and a superficial brand of R&B bog down another release from one of rap’s earliest superstars.

Love & Danger leaves a confusing stain on the veteran's legacy and does little to strengthen the cause of loyalists with a vested interest in his haphazard easily misunderstood art.

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.

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

His sexual callousness wears off quickly, and what listeners are left with is a release better fit for a Ramada Inn than a Four Seasons.

Gunz N Butta has all the makings of a classic Dipset banger, but like many of Cam'ron's albums, suffers from a lack of both direction and editing.

Loyal 2 Chainz supporters and casual fans may enjoy B.O.A.T.S. II: #MeTime as functional, turn up music. But listeners that don’t fall into either of those categories would do well picking up more uniform offerings from similar artists.

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

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

Jackman. sounds disjointed and dull.

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

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.

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.

While convincingly spry, Cali Swag District are unable to outlive the resonance of success that they attained with "Teach Me How To Dougie" as this one-sided affair of party tunes and fairly expendable production rarely impresses.

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.

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.

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.

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

Jackson's progressiveness and laser-aimed focus on perfection was always the foundation of everything he ever did and resonated through every song he ever made....Given the patch-work necessary to piece Michael together posthumously, it's impossible to imagine that this is a collection of songs Michael intended to deliver.

Though The DeAndre's Way only has 10 tracks, it feels as if it has four or five too many.

In a business where artists come and go with quickness, Flo has managed to remain relevant. Only One Flo will only strengthen Flo's relevance, but it will never be mistaken for a solid piece of art.

In its own perverse way, Vultures 2 is emblematic of 2024 — it is loud, brash, utterly devoid of substance and almost certain to be lauded as Kanye West’s latest masterpiece by his rabid legions of stans.

Simply put, this album suffers from Beyonce syndrome--it does nothing to further the group's catalogue. Last time around, the Black Eyed Peas were exploring new territory, and the results were contagious. Now, it seems as though the group, particularly will.i.am, is stuck on auto-pilot.

There are no surprises here, no growth shown, but the one thing worth crediting to Gucci and Waka is their consistency – the audience will know what to expect, and as long as that is all that they expect, their expectations will be fulfilled.

No Boys Allowed doesn't match its polished predecessor success a whole project. The songwriting feels more in line with her R&B/Pop peers than anything else.

The Gold Album is underscored by its poor creative choices.

There is more to Black Rob than "Whoa," but there is nothing that quite lives up to it on Game Tested, Streets Approved.

At times tasteful and other times tasteless, Pluto demonstrates a bravado that knows no shame.

Wild Ones is an unfilfilling [sic] and detached listen.

Much like Brass Knuckles before it, 5.0 might just be another forgettable release from the St. Lunatic.

A purported concept album, The Death of Slim Shady (Coup de Grâce) is in fact a disjointed and incoherent clump of non-sequiturs, loosely held together by infantile wordplay, forced goading and desperate attempts at one final hurrah in celebration of a past that seems suspiciously indistinguishable from the present.