
Pusha T’s ‘It’s Almost Dry’ Sharpens a Formula He Already Owned
A rapper of drug-trade narrative builds twelve tracks in thirty-five minutes, no wasted verse, no wasted breath.


A rapper of drug-trade narrative builds twelve tracks in thirty-five minutes, no wasted verse, no wasted breath.

Freddie Gibbs arrives with a well-built record of fifteen songs, bars sharp as ever, though the reach falls short of his earlier prized work.

A grave chronicle of Rapsody's wisdom-laden record, whose fourteen tracks flow, in patient measure, through soul and solemn rhyme.

A wild, discordant swing at remaking a voice's sound arrives 24 tracks strong, urgent yet burdened by its own bulk.

An album that promises exposure and delivers it, wavering between clamor and quiet confession from a voice unwilling to be one thing.

A tenth album of vast repetition and grief — ideas of true weight, marred by excess that mars the whole design.

A wide-ranging rap record moving through soul, jazz and pop, never sitting still, never losing its rap base across sixteen 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 theme park of guest verses and shifting beats, this record turns spectacle into song, matching its own bluster at last.
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