To call 2015 hip-hop’s greatest year of the 2010s still manages to feel like an understatement. Hip-hop was so strong this year, so bursting with vital information and ideas and emotions, that it singlehandedly gave another genre a comeback â rappers’ newfound affinity for jazz got people listening to Kendrick Lamar-approved saxophonist Kamasi Washington and Chance the Rapper’s main man Donnie Trumpet after the music America was built on reached its all-time sales nadir.
But more importantly, rap became the “black CNN” again, through Vince Staples‘ “I ain’t never run from nothing but the police” and Kendrick’s “The blacker the berry, the bigger I shoot.” Hedonists like Future revealed the darkness behind their hard-partying. The growing profiles of Lizzo, Junglepussy, and DeJ Loaf will help end the practice of only one female rapper being heralded at a time. Even pop-rap received a newfound respect thanks to Fetty Wap, an inexhaustible fount of charisma and hooks. With Kendrick leading 2016’s Grammy nominees, and Chance performing (incredibly) on SNLÂ â despite only releasing music you can acquire for $0 â rap impacted the world more than ever in 2015, as it deserved to. Here are 50 reasons why.
50. Drake and Future
What a Time to Be Alive
The mixtape that spawned a million memes, What a Time to Be Alive had you rooting for Drake and Future again even after their overflowing 2015 output made them insufferably omnipresent to plenty. The latterâs on his most mumbling grind here, gargling his way through cold stunners like âJumpmanâ (in which Future shouts out popular sushi restaurant Nobu six times in a row). Drake makes some noise too, joining his compadre in the depths of Magic City, adapting his flow to Metro Boominâs glittery beats, and slinging some deliverables of his own: âI might take Quentin to Follies / You hate your life, just be honest,â he sneers on âDigital Dash,â poking fun at his summer feud with the disgraced Meek Mill. If anyone disagrees with this collaboration’s title it’s probably that guy. â BRENNAN CARLEY
49. Tech N9ne
Special Effects
The greatest Juggalo rapper of all time is one of the fastest âtechniciansâ in the world, as they call him â he raps along with 21 unloaded machine-gun rounds at every concert. At age 44, the only guy who can snag collaborations with both Lil Wayne and Slipknotâs Corey Taylor hit the top five on the Billboard Top 200 for hard-won reasons, and itâs time the gatekeepers noticed. Gearing his syllables to spin cleanly like helicopter blades â or guillotines â he name-checks soft-folkie Richie Havens (!) on the best-in-show whirlwind âSpeedom (WWC2),â which also proudly features the most blinding Eminem verse since âRap God.â Weezy holds his own on the more laid-back âBass Ackwards,â while 2 Chainz helps the atypically patient âHood Go Crazyâ become a sparse banger. But the guests showcase Techanina’s wide-reaching charisma, and his sales numbers are proof that talent alone is sometimes enough. â DAN WEISS
48. Rap Monster
RM
K-Pop has an ugly history of appropriating black culture, with performers appearing in blackface being a dishearteningly common practice. Even Rap Monster, the promising 20-year-old breakout star from seven-piece hip-hop group BTS demonstrated his âspecial talentâ of âtalking blackâ in one horrifying on-air appearance. After the whole group attended a TV-friendly âhip-hop boot campâ with lessons from Coolio and Warren G, maybe they matured some, but more importantly, Rap Monsterâs debut solo mixtape, RM, takes his chosen genre seriously (even if its cover artwork is circumstantially unwise at best). With smartly snagged instrumentals from Run the Jewels and Big K.R.I.T., a cameo from Tech N9ne sidekick Krizz Kaliko, and surprisingly sturdy hooks on the piano-bar blues âLifeâ and the hammering standout single âDo You,â Kim Namjoon actually stands a chance of making a dent in the States. Provided he sticks to doing him. â D.W.
47. Migos
Yung Rich Nation
Legal trouble and one-hit-wonder naysayers be damned â in the midst of a trying year, this quick-lipped trio of ATLiens not only managed to finally release their studio debut following mixtapes, delays, and legal troubles (including the incarceration of member Offset), but it also turned out to be a triumphant, surprisingly strong album despite having a worse debut sales week than gimmicky YouTube rapper Lil Dicky. âTrap Funkâ is a glossy celebration, and the stealthy, smoothed-out âGangsta Rapâ gives Migos a change of scenery for their clipped bursts of zonked choruses. âI know you been patiently waitinâ,â they rap over the frenzied keys and fat-bellied synths of opening track âMemoirs.â It was worth it. â REBECCA HAITHCOAT
46. BeatKing
Houston 3 AM
BeatKing, a rapper-producer from Houston and the self-proclaimed Club Godzilla, often sounds like heâs recording live from the champagne room. Most of his songs meet at the intersection of comic wit and club debauchery (âYour girl all in my DM messages/ Your bitch, she give me neck like Exorcistâ), and on his eighth mixtape, Houston 3 AM, he has a laugh at everyoneâs expense, ignoring political correctness and going full-on #problematic for rambunctious party-starters like âThat Ainât My Thot,â âDeposit,â and âWTH.â What might get lost in all the blatant misogyny is that none of these songs are meant to be unpacked or engaged with; this heir apparent to 2 Live Crew and Lil Jon makes sub rattlers and twerk anthems designed for gyrating across the stages of his cityâs world-renowned strip joints. â SHELDON PEARCE
45. Paris
Pistol Politics
To Pimp a Butterfly was praised for avoiding the heavy-handed trappings of political masterworks; meanwhile, Bay Area vet Parisâ double-CD Pistol Politics is like two gigantic hardcover texts being dropped on your head. Connected to firebrands like Public Enemy and dead prez, the 48-year-old rapper self-funded this post-Ferguson/post-Charleston saga of pointed criticism and wonderfully dated MIDI funk that sits comfy between the Coup and DJ Quik. But it’s more shameless than either, with louche interpolations of âJungle Boogieâ and âLand of a Thousand Dancesâ just because the Ice-T-cum-Method-Man-voiced stockbroker can afford them. The funereal âBuck, Buck, Passâ and the breathless, Dylann Roof-naming title track are just two of many moments that weigh the inconsistencies of American gun culture, and even an inert Obama gets censured on âChange We Can Believe Inâ: âThey hate âcause he black / We hate âcause he wrong.â Anger, who can direct it? â D.W.
44. Cavanaugh
Time and Materials
Temporarily putting the brakes on his middle-aged, baseball-loving alter ego, Serengeti finally had room to get back to realms more pointed and abstract. With help from fellow Angeleno and longtime pal Open Mike Eagle, the L.A.-via-Chicago rapper launched Cavanaugh as an outlet for his more psychedelic and sociological impulses. Blunted beats storm aboard the astral plane as Mike and Geti inhabit the all-seething personas of maintenance men at a mixed-income apartment building in Florida. It’s high-concept as ever for the pair, but through the haze comes newly potent messages of class conflict and self-improvement â the benefit of slowing down to take stock of a moment rather than turning this project into another absurdist riff session. Turns out they just needed more Time and Materials. â COLIN JOYCE
43. DonMonique
Thirst Trap EP
This 20-year-old Brooklyn MC slinked onto the scene with âPilates (Kendall, Kylie, Miley),â a sparse, boss-bitch anthem punctuated with finger snaps that fit neatly into the current futuristic-rap soundscape. However, with (literally) phoned-in skits, wintry beats, and a slick shout to Big Poppa, her debut EP, Thirst Trap, owes a little bit more to the past. She does her hood’s legacy proud, too, switching up her cadence and flows so the throwback vibe doesnât get dull â as she raps on âUNTLDâ: âGotta stay fit, âcause Iâm runninâ the s**t / How you gonna try to spit if you illiterate?â After years of East Coast rappers of varying caliber screaming âNew York is back,â maybe it finally is. â R.H.
42. Dr. Dre
Compton
As the box-office blockbuster Straight Outta Compton only solidifies even more, Dre has always been a studio rat, and heâs always had an exceptional gift for plucking out and priming newcomers. Compton â the guest-list heavy followup to 1999âs gangster-ed up 2001, whose wait was rivaled only by GN’Râs too-big-to-whoops Chinese Democracy â only confirms this. Obviously, Dre has spent the past 16 years holed up and honing his skills not only as a producer, but also as a talent scout. Upstart accomplice Anderson .Paak, whoâs been popping up to play the funky drummer at shows around L.A. for years, finally gets a chance to shine, most notably on the soul-bared âAnimals.â And the laid-back, hydraulic-equipped âGenocide,â produced by relative newcomer Dem Jointz, is one of the most gripping beats of the year. No, this isnât the Chevy-raising, chronic-blazing album the world was expecting â itâs better. â R.H.
41. Michete
Cool Tricks
Dropping the word âfaggotâ more than Rajon Rondo, transfeminine Spokane rapper Michete is a case study in intersectionality that many wonât want to touch with a ten-foot pole. Others will giggle because Michete would probably make excellent ten-foot pole jokes. The basic beats and old-school cypher-style flow on his debut are more Beasties than Eminem, and you can hear the influence of his buddy Shamir on lines like âYouâre severely misguided, get a GPS.â He interrupts â#F**kboyâ with an astounding blink-and-youâll-miss-it Nicki Minaj impression, and even makes something relatively poignant out of the slur usage on the Kreayshawn-esque âCloset Case Fags,â about the dudes who blow up his phone all day despite having a girlfriend; a line like âIf youâre a straight guy / Iâm a paraplegic Asian chickâ is spat with lived-in bitterness. Pitchfork dubbed this branch of elephant-in-the-room queer rap âqrapâ; Call him Thomas Qrapper. Helpful reminder: âCan I be any more gay? Yaaaaaaaaas.â â D.W.
40. Death Grips
The Powers That B
“We had no plans on disappointing our fans again,” Death Grips’ foul-mouthedpiece Stefan “MC Ride” Burnett told SPIN in 2012, referencing their notorious tour full of no-shows; a year later, he and damage-inducing drummer Zach Hill “chose not to show up” at their Lollapalooza set in Chicago. They said double LP The Powers That B would be their final release; later that year, they announced (surprise?) the arrival of another album, Bottomless Pit. Whatever they say and then do, or don’t do, these sludge-punk corrosives remain impossible to ignore. Björk’s chopped-and-chewed vocals on Powers‘ first disc, niggas on the moon, will never hit as hard as Burnett’s barks, but Jenny Death, the second one, affirms what we’d be missing in a world without Death Grips. With its slow-mo doom-metal guitar screeches and Burnett’s f**k-spattered lyrics ricocheting inside his own head, “Centuries of Damn” burns a hole through Generation Jobless futility, while “I Break Mirrors With My Face In the United States” burrows further inward with Hill’s hardcore tempo and Burnett breathlessly insisting, “I DON’T CARE ABOUT REAL LIFE!” Maybe he doesn’t, according to their track record of pissing people off, but The Powers That B bristles with the articulated rage of two people who DGAFOS. â HARLEY BROWN
39. K Camp
Only Way Is Up
Atlanta has hogged the national hip-hop stage for a few years now, and Kristopher Campbellâs string of singles â notably 2013’s mean-spirited snip-snip anthem âCut Her Offâ â are merely the city’s latest to bogart the spotlight. So while his long-simmering studio debut Only Way Is Up isnât as codeine-crazy or deep-sea dark as Future or Young Thug, bouncing tracks like âLil Bitâ and island-breezy love songs like âComfortableâ carve out a fine little niche for uncomplicated, radio-ready hooks in a year when we even needed a breather from our own favorites. â R.H.
38. Public Enemy
Man Plans God Laughs
Chuck D is almost indie-rock at this point, taking inspiration from Run the Jewels and To Pimp a Butterfly without a single damn guest spot on his #BlackLivesMatter album. Declining to try and match Kendrick or El-P’s sonic density, he opts for an un-P.E.-like minimalism, with lone producer Gary G-Wiz delivering church organs on âMe to We,â jingling glockenspiel on âGive Peace a Damn,â and Keith Richards-style guitar moves on âHonky Tonk Rules.â At 55, Chuckâs still good for damning truth torpedos like âItâs cool to be black / Until itâs time to be black.â The most trusted name in rap; Chuck’s long since proven he’s the genre’s Walter Cronkite. â D.W.
37. milo
So the Flies Donât Come
This year, the former Hellfyre Club rapper milo traded Los Angeles for Milwaukee, and with it he swapped his trademark soul-searching spoken word for tightly wound art-rap exercises. The Chicago-bred upstart floats on his second (and best) album, So the Flies Donât Come: lower stakes, sharper vocals, grimmer outlook. There are odes to his mentor, the tongue-twisting underground legend Busdriver; there are also thinly veiled shots for his contemporaries back in the L.A. scene. Flies declines to mull the twentysomething coming-of-age story that guided last yearâs a toothpaste suburb, confining its existential battles to four-bar vignettes. ââYo, milo, why you front like youâre enlightened?â/ Because presently itâs advantageous / Now please tell me what the bad manâs name is / Thatâs the same box that my 404 came in / Do you think your soul will fit in there?â Thatâs what Flies is: an attempt to squeeze all that lingering dread inside packing material. â PAUL THOMPSON
36. Blackalicious
Imani, Vol. 1
Itâs no small feat making hip-hopâs most fastidiously melodic album in a year when Fetty Wap, Makonnen, and Ty Dolla $ign have all proven that you barely have to rap at all when youâre a human hook. But those Auto-Tune scholars have nothing on this cryogenically unfrozen Quannum project, whom after a decade absent (Rae Sremmurd out-of-nowhere sampling âDeceptionâ aside) sound less like 2015 than Chuck D and Cannibal Ox combined. I mean, on the organ/guitar/clavinet vamp âAshes to Ashes,â the duo of Chief Xcel and Gift of Gab boast about having ârhymes galoreâ for chrissakes. Anyone who mistakes this stuff for âconsciousâ needs to discover Vince Staples, stat. But Staples fans could use the cheery piano of âThe Sun,â the brass P-funk orchestra of âInspired By,â and the sampler-stretched guitar of âI Like the Way That You Talkâ more than they know. â D.W.
35. Big Sean
Dark Sky Paradise
Detroit cornball Big Sean often exists solely as the conduit for proving other rappersâ skills â his flimsy âassquakeâ bars on the G.O.O.D. clique’s 2012-beating âMercy,â his inessential presence on Nicki Minaj’s show-stealing âDance (A$$)â â but the murky fortress of solitude that is Dark Sky Paradise boosts his cache considerably. For the first time in three solo records, Sean holds his own against his guests; he goes staccato shot-for-shot with Drake on the rattling confidence booster âBlessingsâ and turns verses into barbs on the Naya Rivera-slamming âI Donât F**k With You,â as E-40 fades sheepishly aside. Though the quickly tiring DJ Mustard handles most of the production, Seanâs quick to cede to upstarts like Vinylz (âF**k With Youâ) and DJ Dahi (âOutroâ) to show his gratitude for having made it this far . Dark Sky Paradise hints he may make one yet. â B.C.
34. Mick Jenkins
Wave(s)
Don’t call him conscious, but Chicago’s other H20-fixated rapper put a little more choppiness in 2015 rap’s hardly placid waters with Wave[s], an EP whose political and social fixations plop like tablets of antacid into the soothingly aqueous production. He sings of displacement and dissociation both personal (“I don’t ever really feel myself” on “Alchemy”) and societal (“The audience all white / I thought we been blacks out” on “Get Up Get Down”). As the desolation builds, his ever-present water metaphors feel especially prescient. Each drop can create or destroy life, and Wave[s] recognizes the multiplicity: It’s both imposing tsunami and cooling spring rain. Future was wrong, there is no drought. â C.J.
33. Sicko Mobb
Super Saiyan Vol. 2
There are times when Lil Trav and Lil Ceno of Sicko Mobb, two singsong rapping brothers in their early 20s from Chicagoâs West Side, sound like Alvin & the Chipmunks on a lean binge, springing around yet somehow slowed by the warping drawl of Auto-Tune on songs like âKool Aidâ and âGo Plug.â The sequel fleshes out Vol. 1 with warmer sounds so the duo’s tweaked voices bounce off the synth walls of their gleeful productions. Super Saiyan Vol. 2 is as charged up as the anime for which it is named, with the cartoon energy of an alternate universe that subverts the dark, 808-heavy soundscapes of traditional trap for something decidedly more playful. â S.P.
32. Le1f
Riot Boi
“Rap takes a lot of words and I don’t want to say anything embarrassing,” New York rapper Le1f said recently of the early material he made as a late teen. But with Riot Boi his explorations of queer desire and entrenched societal racism finally feel fearless. Romantic denials ( become defiant tools for dismantling a culture of oppression, subjugation, and sexualization â casual subversions of societal norms as disorienting and dizzy as the candy-rush beats (c/o SOPHIE, Balam Acab, other A-list electro-weirdos) that upgrade his art-rap weaponry. He’s always wanted to riot, but without the worry of tripping over his words, he’s finally ready for a riot of his own. â C.J.
31. Cannibal Ox
Blade of the Ronin
Merely returning the voices of long-dormant New York duo Cannibal Ox â the stretched-out sneer of Vast Aire and metronomic monotone of Vordul Mega â to our lives for the first time since 2001’s singularly dystopian The Cold Vein would be reason enough to be grateful for Blade of the Ronin‘s existence. But with the help of producer Black Cosmiq (filling the role left open by former musical director El-P) cloaking them in their trademark odd-future fog, Blade reminds us how CanOx were the missing link between Wu-Tang and Madvillain. The duo “kicking that digital audible” is even more refreshing in an era where their sci-fi soundscapes and smart-aleck rhymes have precious few RIYL comparisons. “We got higher heights to reach,” Vast Aire promises on “Iron Rose,” and we just hope it’s not another 14 years until he proves himself right. â ANDREW UNTERBERGER
30. Tink
Winterâs Diary 3
Tinkâs Winterâs Diary series has always proven the Detroit MC’s emotional resonance; maybe itâs the sweeping openness the 20-year-old adopts on the third entry that turns the tape into something more profound. Treating her rhymes like lyrical Kleenex, the Timbaland protĂ©gĂ© makes good on her mentor’s assertions that sheâs the new Aaliyah. Her singing is pristine and beautiful, sprinkling tears all over these confessionals. âYou are the bell to my door / Sweat to my pores / Summer in the box when I’m nailed to the floor,â she sings on the somberly funky âH2O.â Tinkâs not all whispered sweet-nothings though; on the Timbo-produced âL.E.A.S.H.â she asserts herself as a self-made woman over a quietly piping flute. âHe see me rollin’ round on my grown shit / I made it real clear that I owns it,â she proclaims. If this is her in mixtape mode, stand back for the album. â B.C.
29. Monster Rally & Jay Stone
Foreign Pedestrians
The IPA-goosed rap of this dynamic duo had few parallels in 2015, with producer Monster Rallyâs store of flutes, obscuro soul, and tropical resort-style samples underscoring Jay Stoneâs vexing, Madvillainy-meets-Del the Funky Homosapien flow on tales like the trippy âParthenogenesisâ and the hypnotically long-intro’d âPermeate/No Cilantro.â Think Mos Defâs exotica-happy The Ecstatic if Action Bronson was helping curate behind the boards. Anachronistic types have to fight for their place in rap almost harder than anyone these days. â D.W.
28. Shy Glizzy & Zaytoven
For Trappers Only
Washington, D.C.âs exuberant Shy Glizzy appears to be on the precipice of stardom; he has the requisite grit to be a favorite with the Southern (and nearly-Southern) street-rap crowd. Heâs also winking just enough to cross over: âBefore I was a rapper I had 20 and a flow / This rap s**t ainât too bad I get 20 [thousand] for a show.â So one might expect that a full-length collaboration with Zaytoven â the dirty-drummed Atlanta producer who helped map out Gucci Maneâs late-2000s mixtape run â would mark Glizzy’s entree to the A-list. Instead, For Trappers Only is delightfully anathematic: 42 minutes of ghoulish, sneering, hating-from-outside-the-club antipathy. â P.T.
27. Gangsta Boo
Candy, Diamonds & Pills
Memphisâ Queen Boo has been rapping for nearly two decades, but thanks to the recent appreciation for and appropriation of Three 6 Mafiaâs early-â90s sound, sheâs finally getting national recognition. Her ninth tape (or 12th solo release overall), Candy, Diamonds & Pills, respects the murky, skulking sound of her past while smartly employing Houston sleaze-scientist Beatking to subtly update it â most successfully on the kush-dizzy âWeed World,â and the poorly-tipped stripper’s revenge tale âCan I Get Paid.â Boo’s standout appearance on Run the Jewels 2 was hopefully a springboard towards the forefront that’s always denied her, and Pills is a good reminder of why she deserves it. If A$AP Rocky can ride a new Triple Six-inspired wave, shouldnât one of its original members? â R.H.
26. Lupe Fiasco
Tetsuo & Youth
There was a time when it seemed like a good snicker to deride Azealia Banks as the female Lupe Fiasco; once she started accosting gay flight attendants it seemed like Fiasco would be horrified if someone tagged him the male A.B. Theyâre both wondrously talented neâer do-wells but Lupe cares deeply about everything he says and who it touches â even if itâs just a boast that he likes his pancakes cut in swirls. And challenge us he will, beginning with the nine-minute âMuralâ that he knew was engaging enough to open his best album since the well-respected days of Food & Liquor and The Cool. Seventy-eight minutes is a long running time for any blowhard, but it helps that the stoutest tracks are the show-stoppers, like the terse, orchestral âPrisoner 1 & 2,â which folds in jackhammer sounds for an actual chain-gang middle eight. The rap game’s Relative Who Ruins Thanksgiving Dinner has doubled down on his Lasers regrets with his least commercial album ever, vividly imagined with stream-of-un-self-conscious raps and touches of Ani DiFranco-like cult jazz. Arenât you at least curious? â D.W.