Clipse Restore That Feeling and Rick James' Nostrils Couldn't Be Happier
16 years after their amicable divorce, Clipse finally return with the rap album of the year in tow.
Marked safe from federal drug trafficking and conspiracy charges after bumping “Let God Sort Em Out” all weekend.
In May, after Clipse miraculously escaped Def Jam and announced that their first album in almost 16 years would be arriving on July 11th, courtesy of Roc Nation, I was ill-prepared for the snowstorm that would ensue upon the album’s release:
A blizzard warning is in effect for the area. Expect heavy snowfall, strong winds, and significant drifting. Travel is not recommended.
Yet here I am, dead smack in the middle of what’s supposed to be another gorgeous Los Angeles summer, rocking snow boots, ear muffs, and frostbite—because ladies and gentlemen, it’s cocaine o’clock.
“Let God Sort Em Out” masterfully delivers on one of the greatest album rollouts in the history of ever. Equal parts pompous and introspective, it’s completely unfair to have such an endless deluge of elite lyricism coupled with a reinvigorated Pharrell Williams—who’s fresh out of rehab after successfully beating his addiction to superfluous 808s.
But because I have neither the bandwidth nor brain power to bless Blue Ivy’s internet with the immaculate review this glorious magnum opus deserves, I’ll just share a few random thoughts I had while bumping the absolute shit out of this album and dodging the DEA all weekend.
You’re welcome in advance.
Tyler, the Creator is the biggest Clipse fan in the entire universe. So it’s not exactly a secret that he’s been waiting his entire life to jump on a song with the good brothers Thornton. Thankfully, he caught the Holy Ghost when the opportunity arose on “P.O.V.,” and we’re all better for it because how else would I have found cocaine under my fingernails immediately after listening to his verse?
You know you’re cooking with straight butane when you have Lenny Kravitz and Stevie fucking Wonder (!!!!!!!!) playing piano (“The Birds Don’t Sing”) and guitar (“Chains & Whips”) on your album.
Okay, I know Tyler committed first-degree murder on “P.O.V.,” but let’s not act like
NoMalice didn’t go Super Saiyan on that shit too. “Came back for the money, that's the Devil in me/ Had to hide it from the church, that's the Jekyll in me.” BRUHHHHHH. Who knew sin could sound so delightful?After decades in the game and way too much lackluster output in recent years, I was beginning to wonder if Pharrell had finally lost his mutant powers. But lo and behold, Clipse have the same type of symbiotic relationship with him as Aaliyah and Justin Timberlake have with Timbaland. So no matter how much dreck Pharrell peddles to everyone else, Clipse will always get that fire.
Over the course of approximately 40 minutes and 47 seconds, Pusha T raps like he’s standing over a campfire holding a flashlight under his chin, and there’s no better example of this than on “M.T.B.T.T.F (Mike Tyson Blow to the Face).” That dude must’ve held a séance and channeled the ghost of Christoper Wallace before stepping in the booth because WTFFFFFFFFFFFFFF!
You know how insanely good your album has to be for a Nas feature to be an afterthought?! Nas?! As in Nasir Jones?! As in the greatest rapper who ever inhaled oxygen after going to hell for snuffing Jesus?!
This album is unquestionably culturally inappropriate.