
Call Me If You Get Lost Review: Tyler, The Creator’s Most Complete Record — 8.8/10
A wide-ranging rap record moving through soul, jazz and pop, never sitting still, never losing its rap base across sixteen tracks.

Records we have scored.

A wide-ranging rap record moving through soul, jazz and pop, never sitting still, never losing its rap base across sixteen tracks.

A record of swelling strings and bare confession, from stadium address to lone diary entry across many tracks.

Freddie Gibbs and Madlib return with a tighter, rougher record than their first, full of force, control, and dark old soul.

A record of Run the Jewels 3, wherein El-P and his partner rage against power, their chemistry never keener nor more resolute.

A grim, spare demon of Atlanta rap arises full-formed, its ad-libs a low murmur, its silence a terror never once apologized for.

A theme park of guest verses and shifting beats, this record turns spectacle into song, matching its own bluster at last.

Mac Miller's Swimming: a steady, candid record of staying afloat, thirteen songs deep, closing the loop it opened.

A tale of fourteen songs, wherein a man of rhyme tells of the doom and destiny of his own soul and country. A precise, singular work.

A restless, uneven album of prayer, boast, and grief that argues with itself and mostly wins.

Bieber's Swag: 21 tracks of hazy dreams, half-finished sketches, cracks left bare. Ambition true, order broken.

A brisk, thirty-three minute record moves a personality toward song rather than confession, through pace and mood alone.

A record of twelve songs and thirty-eight minutes wherein a lady of song grows bolder, and each jest becomes a melody unto itself.
As an Amazon Associate, Clay Tribune earns from qualifying purchases.