LIQUID FUNK
Hip hop
what a wonderful year it has been.
The irony of hearing people say this was a “down year” for the culture
is almost laughable, because subjectively, spiritually, emotionally, I feel the opposite. This has been one of the most fulfilling years hip hop has given us in over a decade. Maybe more. For those of us who are students of the craft, traditionalists, devotees, disciples, we’ve known deprivation. We’ve lived through exile. Pushed to the edges of our own culture, forced to observe from the sidelines while drill, pop-rap, over-commercialization, exploitation, and the mumble era dominated what we don’t simply call music, but a game, a religion, a way of life.
We watched as meaning was diluted.
As skill became optional.
As substance was treated like nostalgia
instead of necessity.
But seasons change.
As some foretold, hip hop is in the midst of a rebirth. A reawakening. A remembering of itself. Moments like the Kendrick vs. Drake battle didn’t just feel like entertainment, they felt like a cultural reset. A line drawn in the sand. A reminder of what this art form is capable of when ego meets excellence, when pen meets purpose. It echoed the spirit of that sacred era from the mid-1980s through the mid-1990s, when hip hop exploded with creativity, diversity, and fearless innovation, when it matured into a sophisticated art form with global consequence.
And now, once again, talent is cool.
Skill is respected.
Craftsmanship matters.
Empowerment, self-love, and knowledge
of self aren’t corny, they’re celebrated.
That matters.
Because for those of us who listen closely, who study bars like scripture, who treat albums like chapters in a living text, this year felt like a gift. No, gifts. Plural. Offerings laid at the altar by artists who remembered why they started, who honored the lineage, who poured intention back into the sound.
As a student.
As an appreciator.
As a worshiper of this game, this religion,
this craft we call hip hop
I could cry thinking about what we were given this year. And maybe that’s how you know something sacred is happening again.
Kendrick Lamar — GNX
Let’s start with what is arguably the most important project to drop over the course of this past “year”: Kendrick Lamar’s GNX.
An album that feels like a beautiful, honest balance, street anthems living comfortably beside moments of deep introspection. Celebration and triumph woven together with meditation. Legacy. Identity. Purpose.
What I love most about GNX is how Kendrick restores regionality to creative expression. Not just sonically, but spiritually. This album feels like home. It feels rooted. Like an artist fully aware of where he’s from and no longer interested in
explaining himself to anyone outside of that truth. Even more than that, Kendrick brings back contentment as a creative posture. There’s no chasing. No pleading for validation. No sense of performing for algorithms, critics, or expectations. GNX feels like an artist at peace, creating because he loves to create. I hear GNX as a masterful blend of Breakin’, COLORS, and Estevan Oriol energy, raw movement, global minimalism, and unapologetic street photography colliding into one body of work. It’s visual without trying to be cinematic. Gritty without being exploitative. Intentional without being preachy. I see GNX as a painter finally painting exactly what he wants to paint. No commission. No outside voices. No concern for reception. Just brush to canvas, instinct to execution. Culturally, GNX feels like a tectonic shift. The kind you don’t fully understand until years later, when everything that followed traces back to this moment. An advancement of the art. An elevation of the culture. A reminder that mastery still exists, and that it still moves the ground beneath our feet. With GNX, Kendrick doesn’t just release another album. He cements his status as an icon—not through spectacle, but through restraint, intention, and truth.
Dave — The Boy Who Plays the Harp
Next up and perhaps my personal favorite of the year—
Dave’s The Boy Who Plays the Harp.
When the final track faded, the first words that came to mind were storytelling, depth, and substance. Not in passing, but in weight. In intention. This is an album that asks to be sat with, not skimmed.
For me, The Boy Who Plays the Harp contains multiple creative centerpieces, songs that feel meaningful, powerful, and resonant regardless of the international, cultural, or linguistic distances that might exist between the artist and the listener. That alone is a rare achievement. I never truly believed I would experience the same emotional gravity I feel listening to artists like Cole or Kendrick from an international voice, but Dave proves that truth, when delivered with care, travels without resistance.
Artistically and professionally, Dave delivers everything
I expect from someone I consider legendary. Growth over time.
Deep care for the craft. A willingness to push boundaries and test the limits of what hip hop can hold. This album doesn’t just document evolution, it is evolution, fully manifested. What moved me most was the way Dave continually
highlighted the tension between success and conscience. He interrogates the cost of fame without pretending to reject it. He questions the price of visibility while still affirming that making history, real history, is worth the weight it carries. There’s no moral grandstanding here, only honest reckoning.
Throughout the project, Dave frames his life and music as part of something larger than himself, a generational mission rather than a personal victory lap. He speaks on the residue of colonialism. On moral hypocrisy. He engages in conversation with his forebears about purpose, protest, and progress. He links personal action to collective responsibility, reminding us that impact is never isolated. By the time the album ends, it feels as though Dave has stripped away every layer of ego. What remains is intention. Accountability. And a quiet confidence that comes not from bravado, but from clarity.
The Boy Who Plays the Harp doesn’t demand attention, it earns it. And once it has you, it doesn’t let go.
Chance the Rapper — Star Line
Next on the list is Chance the Rapper’s Star Line.
I view this project in a similar light to Dave’s, as a meaningful, impactful work of art rooted in honesty and intention. Like The Boy Who Plays the Harp, Star Line feels like a sincere exploration of personal growth, family, faith, and societal responsibility. It’s reflective without being heavy-handed. Personal without becoming insular.
Much like Dave’s album, Star Line contains several creative centerpieces for me, moments that linger, moments that reward repeat listens. In connection to some of my favorite Chance records, this project feels like a more refined and contemporary evolution of his sound. Not a departure from who he’s always been, but a sharpening of it. What stands out is how seamlessly Chance blends nostalgia with modern production. There’s warmth here. Familiarity. Yet nothing feels dated. His mature storytelling carries a sense of calm confidence, less urgency to prove, more desire to express. You can hear the growth. You can feel the lived experience behind the bars. I love the way Chance balances introspection with upbeat life-affirming energy. Even in moments of self-examination, the music never feels drained of joy. That duality, reflection without heaviness, celebration without emptiness, has always been one of his greatest strengths, and Star Line leans fully into it. And as always, Chance’s lyrical depth remains intact. He speaks thoughtfully on Black life, healthcare, justice, survival, while also interrogating faith, challenging dogma, and documenting personal transformation. It’s nuanced. It’s compassionate. It’s grounded in love rather than cynicism.
Star Line feels like an artist at peace with who he is, unafraid to grow publicly, and confident enough to let the music speak without spectacle. Another
reminder that evolution doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful.
Wale – Everything is a lot.
There’s hardly a better feeling as a fan, of any craft, than witnessing a legend finally receive the flowers they’ve long deserved.
Wale’s career, in many ways, mirrors how lost our society has become when it comes to truly recognizing and appreciating talent. Substance has too often been overshadowed by spectacle. Consistency mistaken for complacency. Depth overlooked in favor of noise. Yet through it all, Wale has remained, writing, refining, evolving. This project feels deeply soulful and mature. A body of work rooted in vulnerability rather than bravado. Wale opens himself up, offering an introspective examination of both his career and his personal struggles. There’s honesty here. Weariness. And wisdom earned, not borrowed. His storytelling remains as sharp as ever, precise, intentional, emotionally aware. What stands out most is the way he blends intricate lyricism with contemporary sounds, never chasing trends but never feeling disconnected from the present either. It’s the
balance of someone who understands the past and respects the moment.
I loved the way Wale explored love and loss, allowing tenderness
to exist alongside pain. I loved the way he addressed mental health, not as a concept, but as a lived reality. These moments feel reminiscent of his blog era, but sharpened by time, experience, and mastery. The same honesty, now delivered with the control of a seasoned craftsman who knows exactly where to place every word. This isn’t a comeback. It’s a continuation. A reminder. Proof that some artists don’t need reinvention, only recognition. And seeing Wale finally receive that recognition feels like a small correction in the universe. A moment of balance restored.
Clipse – Let God Sort Em Out
“I’m your PUSHHAAA.”
What more can I really say?
Clipse are the embodiment of mature evolution and masterful lyricism. Listening to them feels less like entertainment and more like enrollment, like sitting in an institution where the curriculum is precision, discipline, and truth. By the time you finish unpacking their intricate wordplay, you don’t just feel impressed, you feel educated.
What I love most is how effortlessly they weave deeper themes into their craft. This isn’t lyricism for sport. It’s artistry with purpose. Life lessons delivered with sharp edges. Reflections on loss, faith, and survival presented without dilution or apology. As with any Clipse offering, the cohesion is undeniable. Every sound feels intentional. Every beat feels selected, not settled for. And Pharrell’s diverse production acts as the perfect complement, polished, inventive, restrained when necessary. The cherry on top of a body of work that already stands tall. There’s no desperation here. No need to prove relevance. Clipse operate from a place of authority, fully aware of who they are, what they represent, and the lineage they protect. This wasn’t just a release. It was an offering. And honestly, I couldn’t have asked for more from this group.
Gunna — The Last Wun
Gunna is the epitome of cream rising to the top.
His project quietly, but clearly, highlights something hip hop is remembering in real time: the importance of caring about writing, of being a writer, of committing to the craft. When everything else is stripped away, momentum, machine, controversy, timing, what remains is talent. And talent, when real, sustains. There was a period, not entirely anyone’s fault, when hip hop drifted into a pop phase. Labels and A&Rs scouted local standouts, sometimes talented, sometimes simply visible: dope boys, popular kids, personalities who moved the room. They were then given pop-star infrastructure, writers, budgets, resources, placements, opportunities, everything needed to manufacture momentum.
And for a while, it worked.
But the problem is that hip hop began to be valued through the same commercial lens as pop. Image over ability. Output over depth. Presence over pen. Now, as the culture recalibrates, we’re watching a necessary transition unfold, one where the art form is once again judged on skill, and where underlying talent must be the cornerstone of the profession.
That’s where Gunna stands out.
Not loud about it. Not begging for acknowledgment. Just consistently delivering music that reflects growth, refinement, and an understanding of what it takes to last. His success feels less like a moment and more like inevitability, the result of someone who invested in their ability when shortcuts were readily available. In this current chapter of hip hop’s rebirth, Gunna represents a quiet truth: when the noise fades, when the machine slows, when trends cycle out, talent remains.
And right now, the culture is finally listening again.