Southsiders is Atmosphere’s follow-up to their lush, highly musical 2011 album, The Family Sign. The veteran Minneapolis hip-hop group’s last album was a culmination of their evolving sound. Their newest offering, though, is a bit more rugged, with traditional hip hop beats and distorted samples from producer Ant taking the place of live guitar and piano.

Slug, the group’s MC, delivers his trademark relationship humor on the call and response anthem “Kanye West”: “She said she wants somebody she can take care/And right then is when we paired up.”

“She Don’t Know Why She Love It” employs a sinister beat paired with Slug’s unique battle rhymes: “I’m the s**t, I get followed by a courtesy flush.” The album’s opener, “Camera Thief,” sets the tone, with Slug’s sharply syncopated raps. As usual, he is at once abstract and acutely observational:: “Direct attention to the craftsmanship/Neglect to mention that the past will stick/Like the initials carved in the concrete/Like the tattoo that hides on your mommy.”

A long way from his promiscuous, road warrior days, much of Southsiders chronicles Slug’s continued maturity as he, somewhat self-righteously, rips his jealous former acquaintances (“Bitter”) and ditches the hard drinking days of yore (“Hell” as in, “hell yeah, I had a good time”). It’s well tread territory for him and he may be running out of ways to say it.

The album comes to an emotional high point with “Flicker,” an ode to a lost friend (“Who told you you could die before me?”), possibly former collaborator Eyedea, who died in 2010. The best part of the song, perhaps, is Slug’s own admission that his dead friend may not appreciate the tone of it: “I’m certain if you were here right now/You’d ridicule these lyrics, you’d hate the chorus/You’d probably tell me that the concept is too straight forward.”

Amazingly, Atmosphere has been around for roughly 25 years, forming in 1989. In any context, that’s a legend act. In hip hop years, it’s beyond an eternity. The truth is they’re no longer as experimental or as fun as they used to be, just like anyone who gets older. However, they make up for it with expert craftsmanship in their songs. Their dedication to quality and refusal to grab at mainstream success sets them apart and explains their longevity.

Southsiders, like all of the group’s work, doesn’t chase trends, and for that reason it’s likely to sound just as good next year as it does now.

You’ll notice when Kendrick Lamar dropped his now infamous verse on “Control,” Tyler the Creator was one of the names he called out as his competition. Earl Sweatshirt, Tyler’s supposedly more lyrically potent running mate, was left off the list.

Multiple listens to his debut, Doris, confirms that Kendrick has nothing to worry about from Earl.

“Burgundy” featuring Vince Staples seems to sum up what may have been the problem with Doris’ creation. Earl’s troubled rhymes seem to indicate he just wasn’t ready for this: “Grandma’s passing/But I’m too busy tryna get this f**ckin’ album cracking to see her/So I apologize in advance if anything should happen/And my priorities f***ed up, I know it, I’m afraid I’m going to blow it/And when them expectations raising because daddy was a poet, right?”

Much of Earl’s output on Doris sounds like that of a kid overwhelmed by the moment.

The 19-year-old member of the cult favorite group Odd Future has garnered almost mythical buzz with his mixtape, Earl, and his subsequent disappearance having been sent to a boarding school in Samoa by his mother. He re-emerged notably with a memorable verse on “Super Rich Kids” off Frank Ocean’s (another Odd Future member) seminal channel ORANGE album.

There’s nothing on Doris, though, to match the high of that star guest appearance. At times he sounds completely lost – with the laughable braggadocio on “Pre” (“Pop artillery…Just watch, I’ma kill ‘em all in a minute”) or the utterly morose “Guild,” which sounds like sludge and features tired lyrics from Mac Miller (“Marilyn Manson channeling, panicking, spar with Anakin”) and Earl (“We could play doctor, ma/open wide for the thermometer”).

On “Sunday,” one of the album’s better cuts, he’s out-rhymed by Ocean, who seemingly has some things to say to Chris Brown:

“They thought me soft in high school, thank God I’m jagged/Forgot you don’t like it rough, I mean he called me a fa**ot/I was just calling his bluff I mean how anal am I gon’ be/When I’m aiming my gun/And why’s his mug all bloody, that was a three on one?”

Earl does have a unique and complex flow, able to topple one rhyme on top of another with no space in between. But it’s a fine line between complicated, like the wordplay on “Chum” (“Sixteen, I’m hollow, intolerant, skip shots, I storm that whole bottle, I’ll show you a role model, I’m drunk, pissy, pissing on somebody front lawn/Trying to figure out how and when the f**k I missed moderate”) and gibberish like on “Hive” (“…these critics and interns admitting the s*it spit/It just burn like six furnaces writ it/I affixed learning them digits and simultaneously/Dispelling one-trick pony myths, isn’t he?”).

Earl is the type of rapper you have to listen to hard, paying attention to every word. Unfortunately, there’s nothing about the music here that deserves that kind of respect.

From a production standpoint, Doris feels like it’s in slow motion. It never gets going. Instead it plods at the same tempo with the same depressing style of beats that glumly slur along.

He gets a little help from The Neptunes on “Burgundy,” but even that is downbeat for them. RZA lends his voice and production experience to “Molasses” and it’s one of the more energized efforts musically, but RZA’s chorus isn’t even worth repeating.

Earl also doesn’t differentiate himself from his mentor Tyler, whose album Wolf that came out earlier this year is a much better, more fully realized version of what Doris aspires to be, and it wasn’t even that good.

Doris is cluttered with guest spots, many of which outshine Earl, including the not exactly household names Domo Genesis and Vince Staples.

Whatever the opposite of a crowning achievement is, that’s what this is for the Odd Future collective. Sort of the epitome of this scattered, overhyped movement. Maybe Earl still has a future. Perhaps his brilliance is yet to be untapped. Right now he’s just an amateur who’s nowhere near close to being on Kendrick’s list.

Florida native Ace Hood got some unwanted publicity recently when his supposedly Rolodex watch fell to pieces during an interview at the BET Awards. Whoops. It was an embarrassing moment for a guy who rubs shoulders with bigwigs like Rick Ross, Lil’ Wayne, 2 Chainz and Wiz Khalifa, and is signed with DJ Khaled and Cash Money.

Maybe next time he just shouldn’t wear the watch, because Ace Hood is at his best when he’s not concerned with the flash.

On his fourth studio album, Trial & Tribulations, he comes out with some deeply personal material, reflecting on the loss of his baby daughter:

“I’m a walkin’ testimony and I mean just what I say/Looked my daughter in the eyes right before she passed away/Watched them doctors pull the plug don’t wanna live another day,” he confesses on the album’s title track.

He follows that up with this timely reference on “Another Statistic”: “God bless Trayvon Martin I’m in my hoodie/Another innocent young brother who met a bully.” The name has been mentioned in plenty of other songs, but perhaps not with as much context as this track about the dangers of being young and black.

Ace has the heart and flow that should be the calling card that separates him from the aforementioned heavyweights.

The ups and downs on Trials & Tribulations, though, can be tied almost directly to his tendency to fall into the materialistic, empty boasts that mark much of today’s popular mainstream rap. Most obviously on the lead single “Bugatti” featuring Rick Ross and its remix featuring Wiz, T.I., Meek Mill, Future, 2 Chainz and French Montana among others. Almost a laundry list of today’s showy, substanceless rappers. Actually, they’re very good at what they do, what they do just happens to be shallow and banal.

When Rick Ross groans, “I woke up in a new Bugatti,” this reviewer can’t help but think, why is such a man of means sleeping in his car?

“We Outchea” sounds like production we’ve heard on more than a few songs with heavy synths, ratchety sped up drums and a very unhelpful appearance from Wayne, dropping awful juvenile lyrics like, “I f**k the b***h with a broom stick/the same broom that I didn’t clean my room with.”

When Ace sticks with his own identity, however, he really shines. He sounds especially invigorated on the overtly religious “My Bible,” over a Just Blaze-esque beat from StreetRunner, spitting a series of creative spiritual quips: “Keep my bible on my side just know I’m armed and ready/If we got a problem, scripture like 100 choppers … 20 Jesus pieces on me like I can’t be touched/Every soul needs saved but it can’t be rushed.”

He also add another worthy entry into the cannon of hip-hop songs about moms with “Mama,” featuring a soulful appearance by Betty Wright.

Trials & Tribulations is a very God-heavy album, with countless references to prayer and Christ. He’s not, of course, wholly reverent in his Biblical references like on “Have Mercy” when he paraphrases, “As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, see no p**sy.”

The track is also one of several on Trials that prove Ace can spit fire. Talking about exclusive sports cars over generic beats may be good for sales, it’s just not the best of use of his considerable talent.

Released on the same day as Kanye West’s Yeezus and J. Cole’s Born Sinner, Mac Miller’s second studio album, Watching Movies With The Sound Off seems like almost an afterthought. But instead, it acts more like a balm. While Kanye and Cole’s releases have a darker, hopeless feel, Mac Miller comes off almost enlightened.

Listen to “YouForia,” a lush, almost 80s-style ballad with Mac singing, “when you look in my eyes, the pain goes away.” Or “Someone Like You,” an introspective, honest look inside Mac’s addiction issues:

“That fentanyl it numb me/Beautiful it get ugly/Turn you into a junkie/Still searching for something, but I don’t know what … F***ed up, I can’t feel myself/Work hard might kill myself/Exist through audio, but all my problems that’s real as hell.”

Not that Mac is in danger of becoming some kind of feminist, or a great MC for that matter. There’s still plenty of macho, juvenile crass talk (“Gees” featuring Schoolboy Q), but there’s at least a humility behind it. He’s not claiming to be God or even a legend. He’s just a somewhat drug-addled rhymer out of Pittsburgh.

There is some heavyweight production on Watching Movies. Alchemist produces “Red Dot Music” featuring Action Bronson, using keys and some warped singing to create a well-fitted backdrop for the two MCs, with the chorus explaining, “it must be the drugs that got us thinking crazy s**t.”

Pharrell gives Mac another laid back love track on “Objects in the Mirror” and a hook: “Just a little taste and you know she got you.” The song also finds Mac delivering some of his darker lines:

“Please give me the chance to go and live again/I’m having some trouble can you give a hand/It seems perfection really is unattainable/Don’t even say you about to end it all.”

Much of Watching Movies is also self-produced effectively enough. “Aquarium” has Mac searching for a greater truth (“Is what we do really important in the grand scheme of things?”), “Remember” is a mournful elegy for a lost friend (“You had a girl, I kinda wish you knocked her up/So I could meet your son and talk you up”).

While this release certainly doesn’t have the power and innovation of Yeezus or the slick production and MCing skills of Born Sinner, it’s quieter and more thoughtful, less pretentious and hateful. These qualities certainly don’t make it better. But listening to it just feels like a bit of a relief.

Late on Born Sinner, J. Cole issues one of the most unnecessary apologies in hip-hop history. On “Let Nas Down,” he goes into great detail about how in his desperation to come up with a single for his debut album, Cole World: The Sideline Story, he disappointed his idol:

“Dion called me when it dropped, sounded sad but sincere/Told me Nas heard your single and he hate that s**t/Said you the one, yo why you make that s**t? I can’t believe I let Nas down/Damn, my heart sunk to my stomach, I can’t believe I let Nas down.”

Really? Nas? The same guy who made “Oochie Wally”, “You Owe Me” (which Cole even references on the song) and even the recent commercial trash “Summer on Smash”? While the song itself is great with a jazz saxophone (a la Jay-Z’s “Death of Autotune”) and Cole hitting on all cylinders lyrically, it would have been even better if he was telling Nas where to stick it.

“Let Nas Down” illustrates a larger problem for the supremely talented J. Cole on his sophomore effort, Born Sinner. He positions the album as being a lot darker than the first, a rejection of the more radio-friendly material on The Sideline Story. However, despite his intentions the second major label release is neither as substantive nor as original as the first.

Almost the entire album is produced by Cole himself and there are only a few guest spots that go by mostly unnoticed, and it would be an impressive effort if so much weren’t expected. This is not another mixtape from an up-and-comer. Cole is this reviewer’s favorite MC in the game today, so it’s disappointing not to see him assume more of his own identity.

Homages to his past heroes are scattered throughout Born Sinner.

“LAnd of the Snakes” borrows quite liberally from Outkast’s “Da Art of Storytelling (Pt. 1)”; “Villuminati” samples Biggie’s voice (“Born sinner/the opposite of a winner”); “Forbidden Fruit,” on which Kendrick Lamar is tragically underused, only for the hook, is steeped in A Tribe Called Quest’s “Electric Relaxation” sample of “Mystic Brew.”

It’s difficult to be too critical, because some of it sounds pretty great. It did the first time, after all. Still, we’ve waited a couple years for Born Sinner and you might expect a new direction, a sound all its own. Instead it’s a, albeit very good, rehash of material we’re already familiar with.

Cole is a prodigious student of the game, but it’s working against him here. He’s borrowing too much from Jay, Nas and Biggie. The lack of identity, sad to say it, makes Born Sinner reminiscent of a Game album.

The other overriding problem here is a lack of substance. There’s too much talk about b**ches and hoes. It’s more tired than dark. It feels misogynist and petty on “Trouble” when Cole raps, “Want flowers, cards and the purses next/Nah, b**ch can’t a dollar/Cole on Twitter, b**ch can’t get a follow.”

He sounds just silly and weird on “LAnd of the Snakes” rapping, “My kicks hard, my whip hard/I came out the womb with my d*ck hard.”

Many of the songs on Born Sinner follow a similar narrative: Cole is an increasingly rich, horny dude, who will use ‘em and then lose ‘em, but there’s a few he really likes, although he’ll probably still cheat on them. The lead single “Power Trip” featuring Miguel is a prime example with Cole explaining:

“The same clubs I used to get tossed out/Life got crisscrossed, totally crossed out/Cause now I’m in this b**ch and I’m totally bossed out/Old chicks crying cause they know that they lost out/But I’m still on you, I’m still on you.”

Despite these complaints, Born Sinner is easy on the ears with solid production throughout and Cole having flow for days.

The operatic production on “Trouble” stands out, the rich strings and eager beat of “Villuminati” is a perfect backdrop for Cole’s skills. The thump of “She Knows” is impossible to hard to resist, with Cole imagining himself as a Martin Luther King of the clubs (“In the back of his mind is Coretta.”) “Is She Gon Pop” and “Forbidden Fruit” are fun even if they’re filled with overly simplistic come-ons.

Born Sinner will get you through the day, but it’s sort of like one of the many nameless women Cole relentlessly pursues – pretty to look at it, hollow on the inside.

There is a lingering affection among hip-hop heads for the grimy New York sound that was prominent in the 1990s. Today there’s something almost comforting about those rugged beats and rhymes, especially in contrast to today’s rinky dink production and de-emphasis on lyricism. Styles P, formerly of the Lox with Jadakiss and Sheek Louch, is one MC who seems to have never left that particular comfort zone. While he’s never again reached the heights in popularity he had with the Lox and P. Diddy back in the late 90s, he’s steadily produced over the years with a familiar streetwise style. On his sixth studio release, Float, ain’t a damn thing changed.

“Manson Murder” has Styles P professing, “I ain’t one for the small talk…A bull’s eye on the forehead/F*** wack rappers, I leave ‘em all dead.” Produced entirely by Scram Jones, who has contributed significantly to recent releases from Raekwon, Float has a simple sound of scratches, samples and hard beats. The dusty old thump and clap of “Take It Back” is a perfect example with Styles P rapping about how far he’s come.

The production is steady throughout and there is something refreshing about the back-to-basics sound, but Styles P seems to have nothing new to offer here. On “Redeye” with Jadakiss, he drops forgettable brags like, “I go with it, I’m so with it/First class flight overseas, I’m low with it…Plush life, laugh and I smile a lot/Light it up, bottle pop.”

Yawn.

Then on “Reckless,” with Raekwon, he touts himself: “Rap style proper and I’m a gun popper/West side highway flyin coke chopper.” “I Need Weed,” a song that really needs no description, is obviously yet another corny anthem for smokers.

While many of us like to harken back to what some consider better times, you still have to come up with something new to say, or at least an exciting way to deliver it. Styles P offers neither on Float. Just standard issue New York rap at its most mediocre. He wastes a seemingly perfect set of complementary guest spots (Raekwon, Jadakiss, N.O.R.E.) on a series of uninspired tracks. Rather than remind us of what “real rap” is all about, he just makes it clear it’s time to move on.

Tyga is having one of those rare bursts of creativity in music. It’s reminiscent of Kanye when he put out My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy concurrently with the GOOD Fridays sessions, or Bruce Springsteen’s wealth of material that came out of the Darkness on the Edge Town recordings.

Well, okay, maybe Careless World, the Well Done 3 mixtape and now Hotel California won’t go down in history as a landmark moment in the history of popular music, but Tyga is putting in work. You can’t take that away from him. Three lengthy releases in little more than a year is an impressive output.
He doesn’t lack for new material on Hotel California, with 18 full-fledged tracks and only one track carrying over from the mixtape. He does, however, seem to have taken a step back from the surprisingly well-rounded Careless World. He’s also missing some of the energy and fun of Well Done 3.

He comes out of the gate unabashed on “500 Degrees” featuring Lil Wayne, who at this point just needs to lie down. It’s been a long time since his presence has adding anything of value to a track other than his name, including his own material. Tyga leaves no doubt, however, of his extravagant lifestyle with one over-the-top boast after another:
“T-raww, fuck y’all, money tall, dick large/Tiger in my backyard/bitcheses on my futon…Thrilla manila, I buy straight from the dealer/I’m politickin’ in Paris, I’m buying statues and pillars/All from the Louvre…mosaics from the museum…”
The money, the cars, the women, the clothes, the art pieces – Tyga leaves no doubt through the album that he’s bathing in these status symbols.

The next track, “Dope,” raises your hopes to the highest level. A sinister cocktail of bassline, synth and sample propel Tyga and Rick Ross to their bests. Ross sounds uncharacteristically nimble, though not out of character: “I done seen it all but it’s back to these broads.” Ah, the grind of being a Don.

The rest of Hotel California’s seemingly endless first half is illustrative of a major problem in rap right now. A minimalism so tinny and deadening it comes off as hollow and nearly depressing. It’s a sound personified by everyone from Rick Ross to Weezy to 2 Chainz – an almost anti-quality aesthetic with no depth, vibrancy or musicality. Its end can’t come soon enough.

“Get Loose” makes you feel anything but with its series of beeps and handclaps, and bone-headed, repetitive lyrics: “Bitch ‘cause I’m loose off the goose, goose/Loose off the goose, goose/Real shit, I ain’t never been a liar.”

The lead single “Molly” is a catchy, but murky, dark ode to a purer form of ecstasy. “For the Road” is one of the few tender moments on Hotel California, featuring Chris Brown of all people. “Show You” features the awful autotune stylings of Future and “It Neva Rains” is corny Cali sentiment, using the same effects we heard on “California Love” nearly 20 years ago now. Will West Coast rap ever let go of its undying affection for Roger Troutman’s Electro Harmonix?
Tyga seemed to be aiming to create as many versions of “Faded” and “Rack City” as he could muster on this latest record.
However, just when you’re ready to write Tyga off for his crass banality and low-brow instincts, he somehow manages to find his footing. In the final tracks, he presents a picture of the young, rich and reckless, but also the vulnerable.
On “Enemies,” he’s tormented by a secret love affair: “I wanna tell the world about you, but it’s like we’re sworn secrecy/Why do we sacrifice growing up to fall in love so fast, hope we don’t become enemies.” But later he declares, “Lies, you can’t take it, cheated before, but not much lately/Lately I’ve been so into this shit, love is amazing.”

“Drive Fast, Live Young” forgoes the clanky production quality of much of Hotel California for more of an epic scale. “Palm Trees” captures the California feel much better than the derivative “It Neva Rains,” and Tyga gives new insight to his high rolling lifestyle: “All-white neighborhood, I feel alone/8 bedrooms, let my thoughts roam.”

Fame comes at a price and the 23-year-old Tyga seems to actually realize that, even if he will dedicate track after blusterous track to denying it.

“Dad’s Letter” is even more revelatory as he imagines what he would say to his missing-in-action father: “Growing up all I wanted was a father figure/Me and mom alone every dinner…”

Hotel California is far more uneven than Careless World, but there’s just enough here to get us into the summer. You may not find much of it is very good, you may be turned off by its simplicity and profanity, but you’ll bang it anyway. It’s another interesting chapter in Tyga’s young but extremely prolific and still promising career.

The work of collective Odd Future has a love-it-or-hate-it relationship with its audience. While Tyler has received his fair share of criticism and attention for his profane shock and horror lyrics and homophobia, the Odd Future sound isn’t really intended for anyone seeking an intelligent or even coherent thought. It’s most likely for high school kids getting high. Enter Tyler’s third LP, Wolf.

Produced almost entirely by the 22-year-old Tyler, Wolf has a muddled quality. It’s slower than it should be, lacking in momentum from one track to the next. Most tracks are downbeat and laid back. You won’t find any club bangers here, which is not necessarily a bad thing.

The interesting thing that emerges, though, is that amid his desire to offend and juvenile humor, there lies the personality of a shy, young kid riding around with his friend on the handlebars of his bicycle (“Slater”).

On “Answer,” he levies a flurry of slurs at his neglectful father, only to hope that he answers his call. With “Rusty,” he says for all the talk of his violent persona, he’s really just a harmless “drama club kid.”

Tyler shows more of his soft side on “IFHY” featuring Pharrell, rambling on about a crush: “Cellular convos getting left in the wrong/Cause I get so fucking mad when you don’t write back/This isn’t a song I just happen to rhyme when I get emo/And find time to write facts, fuck, I love you.”

There are even heartwrenching references to his deceased grandmother throughout the album. It’s just that they’re hard to pick out amongst all the hate and anger that seems to spew out in the front and background of the record. Having recently reviewed Tyga’s Hotel California album, it’s interesting to compare the similarities of these two artists in their early 20s, who couldn’t be more different, yet share an angry, depressive attitude towards life that hides their more interesting vulnerabilities. Who are they lashing out against? What are they so mad about?

For music from the such young rappers, you might expect some fun. But it’s all shrouded in this dark, often drug-fueled haze. Still, there’s something happening behind all the bluster. There’s creativity in Tyler’s production work on Wolf and occasional nuggets of cleverness in his lyrics. It’s just hard to drown out all the inside jokes and outmoded homophobic slurs. You can comb through the mess in search of the talent, but it’s too easy to just turn off.

Chief Keef is one of these artists whose personal drama is as or more interesting than his music. The 17-year-old from the South Side of Chicago has not only led a surge in popularity for a new local subgenre called “drill music”, he’s admittedly shot at police (so he says at the beginning of this record), been under house arrest on gun charges, and when rival rapper Lil JoJo was murdered earlier this year, he appeared to be gloating on his twitter account. Chief Keef later said his account had been hacked. He also had another Twitter beef with Lupe Fiasco that’s since been resolved.

He’s signed to Interscope and is also the CEO of his own record label, Glory Boys Entertainment. And, oh yeah, his popular anthem “I Don’t Like” was remixed by none other than fellow Chicagoan Kanye West.

Chicago has certainly had its share of tremendous talents (Common, Kanye, Twista), but what’s happening recently is one of the city’s biggest swells as far as a generation of young rappers coming up at once. It includes King L (signed to Sony/Epic), Lil Durk and Lil Reese (both signed with Def Jam), 13-year-old hardcore gangsta Lil Mouse (was featured on the cover of the Chicago Sun-Times), female rapper Sasha Go Hard, Rockie Fresh (with Rick Ross’ MMG label), Fredo Santana (with Keef’s own GBE label) and the aforementioned Lil JoJo (unfortunately now deceased).

With Keef being the figurehead of this movement, it stands to reason there’s a lot riding on Finally Rich. Yes, we’re finally getting to the music.

Oh, the music. The point where we must begin to question the validity of this Chicago-based renaissance.

It’s not without its moments, for sure. “I Don’t Like” featuring Lil Reese is almost an instant classic of reckless abandonment on record. “A fuck ni**a, that’s that shit I don’t like/A snitch ni**a, that’s that shit I don’t like/A bitch ni**a, that’s that shit I don’t like,” the chorus goes.

The song goes on to list a sort of checklist of Don’t Likes: “Fake Trues,” “Fake shoes,” “a stalking a** b****.” You don’t have dislike the things they’re talking about on the track, you just have to dislike anything and you will find yourself irresistibly nodding your head, turning up the volume on Spotify. Playing it again and again.

“Hate Bein’ Sober” featuring 50 Cent and Wiz Khalifa is another triumph. Belligerent, hilarious and unapologetic, it’s one of the best tracks on Finally Rich.

“Damn I hate being sober, I’m a smoker…We can’t spell sober,” Keef rambles about the track, a raucous mix of synths and sped up drums.

Much of the backdrops are provided here by Young Chop and “Hallelujah” is another one of his gems that you will like whether you want to or not. Looped strings and a big menacing bass make everything from Keef sound right even with lyrics like, “Every time I look up my b**** starting some s***/Damn I hate a b**** that like to argue and s***/Got so much designer s*** you’ll think I model this s***.”

Whatever, at this point, he could literally be rapping “blah, blah blah” and it would sound like fire.

But eventually you need your front man to deliver and the missing element to Finally Rich seems to be Keef himself. While not terribly overbloated with guest appearances, it remains to be seen what makes him so distinctive. Why has he gained such popularity?

Certainly it’s not on “Kay Kay” where he almost unintelligibly autotunes his way through meaningless brags about “ballin’ like Jordan.” Or the downright annoying “Laughin’ to the Bank” where he raps, “I’m laughin’ to the bank like, ‘HA HA HA,’ I’m laughin’ at these lames like ‘HA HA HA.’”

There’s also a mixtape quality to Finally Rich with callouts to Young Chop on various tracks, and a monotony to much of the production. Listen to “Diamonds,” “Ballin” and “Understand Me” and tell me why we needed all three?

Much has been made of Keef’s glorifying a violent lifestyle against the backdrop of the horrifying murders that take place every night in the streets of Chicago. Is he a product of his environment? Is he, in his own way, giving voice to this tragedy? Or is he just making it worse by embracing it?

This kind of analysis gives him almost too much credit though. There’s no deeper pathos here. He’s rapping about women and blunts and being rich, though he doesn’t even properly describe his supposed status.

“A f*** n**** don’t wanna be it/I like my b**** conceited/I’m Sosa, b****, Chief Keef yeah/My gun, don’t make me beat it,” he starts out on “3Hunna” featuring Rick Ross. He lacks the specific details, the storytelling, the passion that make for a captivating MC. Ross, who usually sounds like he’s coming off too big a big meal, sounds almost erudite alongside Keef.

Granted, he’s only a teenager. But for all the hype, where is the spark? It’s a question this reviewer asks of several recent acts that are being lauded not only in the hip-hop community but in the broader media. Future, Odd Future, Chief Keef; they all sound, for lack of a better term, sort of terrible. Where is the flow, the rhythm, the poetry?

As Finally Rich drags on it becomes increasingly jumbled, monotonous and depressing. On the title track, Keef sounds like he may not make it to the end of the song: “Imma show you how to ball/Once you walk up in the mall/Hit every store and buy it all cause it ain’t s***,” he mumbles. Then, “F*** every f*****’ body getting robbed/For that night job and day job (so I got rich).”

“I smoke all the dope,” he brags on the hook. Yeah, and it shows.

While there are some bursts of life, Keef’s performance on Finally Rich is mostly like the drunk at a party, stumbling around and breathing nonsense in everyone’s faces. They were fun when they first got there. Now you wish they would just go home. Hopefully this doesn’t set the trend for the rest of the Chicago scene, but much of it seems to be caught up in this vein, aimlessly drinking and smoking and shooting, all to the backdrop of a singular mind-numbing drum beat.

Big Boi introduces himself on Vicious Lies and Dangerous Rumors as one half of Outkast, and while he and Andre 3000 have taken different creative paths, Big Boi’s solo work is proving he is more than capable of holding his own. This is technically his second solo effort, a follow-up to 2010’s Sir Lucious Left-Foot, but he was also almost entirely responsible for the Speakerboxxx half of Outkast’s two-disc album, the other half being Andre’s The Love Below.

In a year packed with dense, intelligent quality releases (see: Kendrick Lamar, Killer Mike, El-P), Big Boi delivers a rhythmically intricate, sometimes reflective, late-year release.

Early on, we get “Apple of My Eye,” surely one of the best tracks of the year, produced by an old Outkast friend, Mr. DJ, who also produced “Ms. Jackson” and was a DJ for the group. The song is a scrumptious mix of drums, horn blasts and a hypnotic chorus. The second verse effectively verbalizes the feel of the wonderfully energetic song: “Some say the preacher’s daughters are some of the freakiest ones/They been deprived of fun and now they just wanna cut loose/Like everybody else they wildin’ try to find they self.”

When Big Boi raps on the subsequent track, “Objectum Sexuality,” that he wants a “slice of her pie,” it reinforces the notion that these songs are part of a rich Southern meal with multiple dishes, sides and flavors. “Objectum Sexuality” switches seamlessly between electronic drums, violin solos and sampled voices. The end of “Lines” features a choppy piano and sped up tempo that enlivens an otherwise more straightforward track.

Vicious Lies also finds Big Boi a bit more introspective than on his previous solo work. “Shoes for Running” offers his rapid-fire take on the state of society: “What about the people that’s barefoot/With no shoes for running when the sun come up?/Hey one percenters, the 99 say what you gonna do for us?”

Kid Cudi adds to the table on “She Hates Me,” with his trademark depressive vocals guiding a song about a relationship gone wrong. “Tremendous Damage” is a lengthy reflection where he looks back on the recent death of his father: “February 28th, the day my daddy died/Well, not really, his energy passed to the other side/And ever since that day I’ve seen him fade away with my own eyes.”

There is some throwaway stuff here too, namely “Gossip” and “She Said Ok,” which deal in more banal territory. Although “In the A” is a step up from the typical posse cut with the all-Atlanta teaming of T.I. and Ludacris.

His music may not be quite as affecting or memorable as Andre 3000’s, but it’s packed with so many musical nuggets – unexpected combinations of beats and samples and transitions – it creates a kind of wall of sound that makes for a wealth of ear candy.

After the disappointingly pop and overly slick Lasers, Lupe Fiasco has returned with his fourth album, the somewhat ridiculously titled Food & Liquor II: The Great American Rap Album Pt. 1. Does this mean there will be a Food & Liquor II: Pt. 2? That seems like a fairly ludicrous possibility. More likely, there won’t be a part two, or we’ll get a Food & Liquor III. [Editor's Note: Or perhaps Lasers 2: The Great American Rap Album Part 2: The Sequel]”

In any case, this latest effort is not entirely recent, as much of it was recorded during the production of Lasers, which was delayed several times because of artistic disputes between Lupe and Atlantic Records. With its all black everything album cover and the title referencing his arguably classic debut, it seems to be an attempt to return to the Chicago rapper’s roots.

The first half of Food & Liquor II accomplishes this with more rugged beats and provocative lyrics that we heard on Lasers. On “Strange Fruition,” Lupe comes out expressing his disillusion with America’s tattered racial past and vapid present. “Around My Way [Freedom Ain’t Free]” lifts the sample from Pete Rock and CL Smooth’s “They Reminisce Over You (T.R.O.Y.),” which apparently created no shortage of ill will from Rock. Still, Lupe sounds much more comfortable on a classic track like this than on the more electronic production of his recent work. “Bitch Bad” and “Lamborghini Angels” are perhaps the highlights of the album, showing off Lupe’s excellent dexterity as a lyricist.

Food & Liquor II begins to sag in the middle, though, with a series of overcooked love-gone-wrong anthems (“Heart Donor,” “How Dare You,” “Battle Scars,” and “Brave Heart”). Not only are they repetitive but the singing on the hooks is hokey and unfortunately, this style of rap love ballad was done better earlier this by Tyga with “Love Game.” Lupe regains his footing somewhat towards the end, but this whole thing is still packed with too much soulless singing on the hooks.

When an artist releases a classic the first time out, they’re always kind of fighting against the shadow it casts. While all his work since has been solid in the bigger picture, and there are probably excellent albums buried within, Lupe’s work remains shrouded in a murky darkness.

Harlem native Azealia Banks is part of a modest surge in female rappers, joining the likes of Kreayshawn, Iggy Azalea and the ubiquitous Nicki Minaj. With her new mixtape, Fantasea, Banks makes a forgettable impression.

The first 10 tracks of the nearly hour-long mixtape are filled with non-stop frenetic, high-pitched, sped up electro-dance house beats. For some reason, this style of production is met with universal respect across genres, but it’s become so de jour in hip-hop and R&B these days that it’s taking on an auto-tune like redundancy.

It’s hard to make a fair judgement on whether or not Banks is a promising MC/singer, because she is so drowned out by these unnerving beat selections. Her personality or style really don’t come to the fore, aside from that of an electro-dance pop master of ceremonies. Oddly enough, there are short jazzy interludes sprinkled throughout Fantasea. The contrast couldn’t be more stark.

Taken alone, tracks like “F*ck Up the Fun” are actually sort of catchy. But amidst the onslaught, it’s easy to hit skip, or even just put it on shuffle so as not to get two in a row.

As for lyrical content, Banks seems content to be utterly vapid. On “Jumanji”, she invokes Foxy Brown, but it’s hard to take her seriously with lyrics like, “you’re fruity tutey and booty.”

Fantasea really only has one note, a kind of constant thumping, that ultimately lands with a thud.

Usher hasn’t seemed interested in making good music for some time now. Back when he put out Confessions, which feels like forever ago, he appeared to be taking his talent to new heights and evolving as an artist. But he’s made it clear with his last couple albums (Here I Stand and Raymond v. Raymond) that all he’s really interested in is sexin’ you in the club and making the songs to go with it.

Looking 4 Myself does nothing to change this trajectory (or should we call it a flatlining?), but it’s also hard to deny there’s a sort of brilliance to many of these soaring, super-synth dance club symphonies.

The Diplo-produced lead single “Climax” is particularly addictive with its electro-pulse backing Usher’s falsetto. The same can be said for the Pharell-laced “Twisted.” Songs like these and others (“Care for You,” “Show Me”) will move all but the most hard-assed among us.

Looking 4 Myself also further removes Usher from the R&B realm and even more decidedly into the purely pop. For R&B fans, this is a disappointment, because his talents are more than worthy of both. Usher just no longer seems interested in the influences of anything but what will give him the most radio play and DJ spin.

This album is so heavily produced that, despite being more than high-quality summer fun, it takes on a kind of lifelessness. Usher’s potent vocal instrument is put through so many digital layers it takes on a tinny quality.

He fails thematically too, with tracks like the backward-thinking “Lessons of the Lover,” where he advises the ladies that even though your man may constantly ridicule, curse and hurt you, it might just be worth sticking around. Lord help us if women are taking Usher’s romantic advice on the value of abusive relationships.

It’s not just vapid lyrical content that plagues Usher these days, either. Like Beyonce, there’s also a sort of tone-deafness to his crooning. Everything is bombast. There is nothing approaching nuance or subtlety. He’s either “twerking” you out or…well, mostly he’s just twerking you out.

None of this will or should stop a lot of people from really enjoying this material, as we all have for years. It’s really good for what it is, but this is a man approaching his mid-30s. Does he have nothing else on his mind or in his heart? On the title track, “Looking 4 Myself,” he acknowledges that he may have lost something along the way (“Walking with my head down/counting every step/hoping that the next one/Brings me closer to the man I was/Cause I was way better…”).

We probably shouldn’t look for depth from our pop stars. But if Usher is truly looking for his true self, he should try harder.

De La Soul’s new concept album, First Serve, follows a rap duo starting out in the late 90s, as they rise to stardom, flame out and then get back together again. At this point in their career, with a deep catalog of classic and quality releases, it seems like the right time for the legendary group to look backward. It also takes off the pressure of making a hit for today’s market–not that De La has ever been too concerned with commercial success.

Musically, First Serve, is much what you would expect from a De La album–spirited beats, clever rhymes and an off the wall, wink and a nod sense of humor. All the things that have allowed them to endure since their groundbreaking debut, 3 Feet High and Rising, in 1989. French DJ duo Chokolate and Khalid, who provide First Serve’s musical backdrops, are welcome partners on this go-round.

The chemistry between Posdnous and Dave (the group’s third member Maseo is absent from this release) is evident. These two (also known as Plug 1 and Plug 2) have worked together for so long, it seems as easy as breathing for them to trade the mic back and forth, as they do on stand-out tracks like “Pushin’ Aside, Pushin’ Along” and “Clash Symphony,” which finds their fictional characters at odds, but musically the two emcees kill the track together.

What almost ruins “Clash Symphony” and really the whole album, is the “comic” skit littered behind this and other songs, as the overbearing mother of one of the group’s members screams in the background.

This mother character, who chastises them at the beginning of the album for pursuing rap rather than a traditional job, is obviously being voiced by a man, probably Pos or Dave, and is so embarrassingly unfunny it makes you cringe.

Part of this wackiness is to be expected from De La, but it’s so brutal it makes your skin crawl, impeding your enjoyment of the rest of the album.

It’s a shame because it takes some of the air out of yet another very credible, consistent De La Soul album and defeats the believability of a fairly compelling hip-hop concept album.

When the fictional group in First Serve reunites on “Tennis” and “The Top Chefs” it sounds as if they’ve never been apart. The same can be said for the real life artists.

Odd Future (full name Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All) seems to make a brand of music that is intentionally garbage – crass, crude, misogynist, lacking in any musicality or substance. It’s the kind of thing you don’t want your mom to catch you listening to, which maybe partially explains its appeal to teenagers and cultural elites alike.

The Los Angeles collective, which includes Tyler, The Creator, Earl Sweatshirt, Hodgy Beats, Domo Genesis, Mike G, Frank Ocean and a host of others not worth mentioning, has accumulated a cult following through a series of free albums, videos and a more formal release, 12 Odd Future Songs. They were even the subject of a lengthy profile in the The New Yorker magazine, which focused on the disappearance of Earl, the group’s most revered member.

They’ve been hailed as a genius creation, tapping into the new frontier of music as it disseminates through the Internet, by both the street and high-brow outlets like Pitchfork and The New Yorker.

But then you actually listen to them and you get a “What am I missing?” reaction from the music itself.

The Odd Future Tape Vol. 2 is being billed as their first studio album and it really doesn’t offer polish or anything we haven’t heard before. Instead, it’s a steady beat of tiring, angry tracks mixed with a few commercial-ish tracks (“Analog 2”, “Ya Know”) that not only don’t work, but don’t really fit either.

Crooner Frank Ocean appears on “Analog 2” and “Snow White,” and it’s clear he just doesn’t belong in this group.

On “Snow White” Hodgy raps, “I ain’t the one to be tampered with/I’ll make you shit all in your pants and your pamper, bitch.” This is a typical Odd Future line—nasty, angry and nonsensical.

Odd Future is neither tough enough to be scary nor off-the-wall enough to be funny. That’s what is particularly disappointing. For a group that’s supposed to be something kids are into, there’s not much in the way of fun here at all.

Having three separate songs titled “Bitches,” “Real Bitch” and “We Got Bitches” is crass, yes, but worse, it belies a lack of creativity.

As for the much-mythologized Earl Sweatshirt, he’s not even on the album aside from an appearance seven minutes into the final track. It’s a test to even get that far into “Oldie” to appreciate his unspectacular verse. If Earl is the second coming, this reviewer is still waiting.

It’s not known for sure what happened to Earl when he disappeared from the group for a time, but rumor has it his mother sent him away to some type of boarding school. Who can blame her for getting him away from these guys?

With as much buzz as there is surrounding Odd Future, it would be nice to find some hidden genius in their shoddy work.