The 25 Best Hip-Hop Albums of 2025

Chicago-raised, Los Angeles-based rapper Open Mike Eagle has been making albums filled with observational comedy, self-deprecating wit, and quietly devastating tragedy for nearly two decades. Neighborhood Gods Unlimited marks a new creative peak. That’s partly due to excellent production from Child Actor, Kenny Segal, and others, who complement Mike’s “Dark Comedy Television” with softly insistent bops that fit him like a pair of comfortable shoes. Then there’s his own charms, which include imagining himself as a shift worker who transforms at night into a Superman-like bedroom rapper. —M.R.

On Am I the Drama?, Cardi B makes up for lost time with a massive comeback triumph. She’s got a long list of scores to settle, enemies to crush, crowns to claim. As always, she brings so much larger-than-life personality to the party that she could coast on charisma if she wanted. But Cardi’s been in the news lately for everything except her music, so it’s a trip to hear her finally get to cut loose and have fun. She’s out to remind everyone she’s looser, wilder, less predictable, and just plain funnier than anyone else in the game. As she declares, “All of my cars is chauffeured/I ain’t touched door handles in years!” —R.S.

At its best, Black Hole Superette elevates rap-for-rap’s-sake into an ennobled Zen practice. Its guests include Billy Woods and ELUCID of Armand Hammer on “1010 WINS,” and Woods is particularly game for Aesop Rock’s lyrical shadow play as he raps, “Luckily or unluckily for me, my brain discrete analgesics.” “So Be It” is anchored by Open Mike Eagle’s sung chorus, while “Charlie Horse” co-stars Homeboy Sandman and Lupe Fiasco. The contrast between Lupe and Aesop Rock is notable. The former fights against injustice, whether in national politics or the music industry, through deftly rendered yet sentimental opuses like last year’s Samurai. However, Aesop Rock finds joy in observing the strangeness of life, even as he remains aware of how brutal we can be toward one another. —M.R.

Mobb Deep’s Infinite represents the best-case scenario for a posthumous album. Havoc and the Alchemist built each song from the late Prodigy’s verses and hooks, arranging them atop production that upholds the classic Mobb Deep aesthetic. His bars aren’t the stitched-together, bottom-barrel verses that often plague posthumous albums — tracks like the Nas-featured “Pour the Henny,” and “Clear Black Nights,” with Raekwon and Ghostface Killah, are missives from beyond. True to that album title, Mobb Deep have made a boundless impact that will resonate as long as human history itself. —Andre Gee

Central Cee’s proven a reliable Gen Z hitmaker with the streaming stats to back it up, all before dropping a debut album. With Can’t Rush Greatness, he’s out to show that he can live up to the hype, and at 17 tracks spanning a range of sounds and styles, the album makes his case mightily. On opener “No Introduction,” Cench flexes the international scale of his appeal, making a quick melody of the countries he’s famous in — “Sweden, Norwegian, New Zealand/Australian, Arab, Armenian, even Asia and Indonesian.” You’re inclined to believe him. To debut the record, he joined the ascendant Twitch streamer Plaqueboymax, playing the album live for more than 200,000 people. A true representative of his generation (“Gen Z Love” has the makings of an anthem for an era), Cench is as attentive to the music as the optics surrounding it, and his acumen for both is what makes his debut album a success, and why his reign is likely just getting started. —J.I.

Billed as an R&B album in time for Valentine’s Day, $ome $exy $ongs 4 U is the first official project, albeit a collab, from Drake after a year of basically the entire world dragging his name through the mud. It’s a savvy diversion, given it was only a few weeks before its release that the entire country wondered if he’d get called a pedophile at the Super Bowl. That in mind, the LP is a clean, well-executed production of Drake’s signature product meant to push the plot along — a slick new offering from the embattled Drake Cinematic Universe. —J.I.

Victory pairs Slick Rick’s signature storytelling flair with a shimmering production palette that nods to the classic boom‑bap and club beats with which he entered the rap world spinning street fables over. Throughout the record, he punctuates his witty, melodic rhymes with colorful vocal inflections as he tells a story of redemption. The album emerged after a period of turmoil, when the MC faced legal struggles and a shifting hip‑hop landscape. Rather than feeling dated, Slick Rick’s comeback radiated a sense of liberation and resilience, reminding listeners why his earlier work was so influential. —R.S.

OsamaSon is a 21-year-old rapper from Goose Creek, South Carolina, who, alongside a small coterie of rising acts his age, is beginning to define the coming zeitgeist in modern hip-hop. His album, Jump Out, released in February, is a 45-minute trip into the blistering sonic universe of his generation. The record offers a cohesively chaotic vision for the future — razor-sharp synths set ablaze in digital audio workstations, drums modulated to frequencies at the edge of the ear’s functional limit, and lyrics like mantras punching straight through to one’s lizard brain. A product of rendering emotional precision from the endless feed of information available everywhere all of the time. —J.I.

With a deft mix of soulful samples and ­original loops from one of hip-hop’s most consequential producers, From the Private Collection of Saba and No ID feels like a sliver of ­sunlight hitting you while you uncover treasures in your grandma’s attic. Though the ever-low-key Saba has built a dedicated fan base, Private Collection feels like a reintroduction, in which he’s as skilled at magnifying the minutiae of his life — like growing out his hair and taking up yoga — as he is at processing horrors like the killings of some of the people closest to him. Yet the album radiates optimism and personality, a bright mosaic of the both artists’ layered lives. —M.C. 

Getting back in touch with her hip-hop roots has inspired Lizzo and her collaborators to dig in deeper and craft a mixtape that allows her more space to play. The raunchy, high-energy My Face Hurts From Smiling starts off with a bang — as Lizzo big-ups her ability to go “through the bullshit, turn it to a boppin’.” That idea, where the only way out of a rough patch is through music, persists throughout the tape, with Lizzo sending fire in the direction of her naysayers and reveling in how unstoppable the idea of complete creative freedom makes her feel. —Maura Johnston

Each new Alchemist LP is greeted by a small but persistent audience clamoring for the legendary beatsmith to evolve from his palette of sleepy soft jazz and moody noir soundscapes. Others, correctly, never grow tired of filet mignon. This second link-up with Freddie Gibbs is predictably sumptuous, which is not a bad thing to be when Gibbs is still rapping with the intensity of someone with a gun to his head and the cool of someone who doesn’t care. Gibbs’ bitter edge cuts the smoky haze of Al’s beats like a sip of cognac in a dimly lit back room. —Clayton Purdom

Houston rapper Monaleo’s Who Did the Body feels like a meetup with cousins to celebrate life. “Open the Gates” is pure ancestral veneration in verse, calling out the names of her deceased friends, and the theme of transformation and death is paired with vivid storytelling on “Dignified.” Monaleo embodies an ethic rooted in her community and commitment to Blackness as a way of life and art, a testament to the idea that the right way may be fulfilled when we learn to blend our Black livelihoods, combining the unorthodox and traditional. —Meagan Jordan

J.I.D’s fourth studio album, God Does Like Ugly, doubles down on the southern hip‑hop and trap sounds that define his earlier work, all while taking adventurous and unexpected turns. “Sk8,” with Ciara and EarthGang, taps into Atlanta’s rollerskating culture, and “Glory” brings listeners into the Black church, using a Memphis choir to weave a narrative about faith and family. “No Boo” finds him rapping in Spanish alongside Jessie Reyez. In each creative pocket J.I.D explores, he maintains his elastic flow and vivid sense of storytelling. Backed by an all‑star cast of producers like Lex Luger, Boi‑1da, and Thundercat, along with guest verses from Westside Gunn, Clipse, and Vince Staples, God Does Like Ugly is a well-crafted project that celebrates Atlanta’s past while expanding its future. —R.S.

On Dead Channel Sky, clipping. move away from their horrorcore past and venture into a cyberpunk landscape that feels like the glitching sounds of the 56K modem whines that open the record on “Dominator.” That track barrels forward with Daveed Diggs’ spellbinding flow, critiquing techno capitalism and the increasingly eerie surveillance of social media. Producers William Hutson and Jonathan Snipes lace each track with shape-shifting electro-funk, pushing and pulling techno textures to create a warp-speed momentum. Guitar legend Nels Cline and indie-rap luminaries like Aesop Rock offer guest verses, yet Diggs’ agile rapping remains the centerpiece, blazing through the album’s metallic soundscape, and making for one of the year’s most adventurous hip-hop releases. —R.S.

When Chance the Rapper announced his first album in six years, one couldn’t help but wonder if the 32-year-old Chicago rapper had anything interesting left to offer. He hasn’t lost his innate optimism, and it’s that quality that ultimately makes Star Line a worthy and even remarkable return to form. The album bursts with themes — Chance’s affinity for Black people and his ’Raq hometown, the loneliness of being a bachelor, his love for his two daughters, and much else. Even when the big-tent vision falters, Chance sews the album’s 17 tracks into a cohesive, memorable statement. —Mosi Reeves

Tyler, the Creator’s Don’t Tap the Glass folds his love of glossy soul, synth-funk, and vintage rap cadences into something that feels both meticulous and chaotic. Tyler famously treats production like cinema, and on this record, he’s building a technicolor universe, drawing elaborate scenes in blossoming detail. Don’t Tap the Glass arrives after years of Tyler challenging the borders of rap stardom, and lyrically he volleys between not-so-humble bragging about flying on private jets with Maverick Carter and Lebron James to more vulnerable raps about fame and a seemingly impossible romantic life. Rather than burden the tracks with any heaviness, Tyler’s more melodic moments arrive with a kind of levity that refuses to settle into melancholy. Tyler is energized and also restless, using the album as a kind of terrarium where his thoughts and ideas grow into full-fledged sonic ecosystems. —J.I.

Che’s Rest in Bass, released in July, is a rage-rap treatise that pushes the 19-year-old Atlanta rapper’s vocals to extremes and fuses Southern hip‑hop with the distorted industrial synths of the new generation. The album hits like getting flattened by an avalanche made of tangled audio cables. Blown-out bass hits and serrated synths crash against each other in tightly wound bursts, while Che’s half-shouted vocals melt into the production like someone trying to punch their way through the speakers. The album moves with an energy more rooted in momentum and texture than clean structure, though there are flickers of melody that peek through the distortion. Featuring guest verses from underground staples OsamaSon, Xaviersobased, and Chuckyy, the album, with its chaotic layering of red‑lined bass and frenetic melodies, offers a case study of rage rap done properly. —J.I.

British rapper Little Simz’s sixth album, and first after a public split with longtime producer Inflo, feels more like living in her skin than any project she’s done before. All of the album’s instrumentals are crisp, careful, and raw, whether they’re the rugged rock of “Thief” and “Flood,” the jazzy R&B of “Lonely” and “Free,” the softly orchestral lament of “Hallow,” or the vintage Afrobeat of “Lion,” and her hard-earned sense of self-worth courses through every song. In the aftermath of an imploded childhood friendship, Lotus is a rigorous ode to the trauma and wisdom of truly growing up. —M.C.

Dave’s third studio album, The Boy Who Played the Harp, released in October, presents an introspective sound that blends gospel‑inflected U.K. rap with elements of afrobeats and R&B. Mostly self‑produced under his Santan alias, the 10‑track record leans on sparse piano lines, fluid chords, and subtle percussion to build a contemplative, almost devotional atmosphere. Throughout the album, Dave explores themes of faith, destiny and identity, framing himself as a modern David, drawing on biblical references as well as a slick and earnest style of personal reflection that by now has become the rapper’s trademark. 2025 was a marquee year for U.K. rap with breakout acts like Jim Legxacy (who appears on Dave’s album) as well as proven crossovers like Central Cee. With The Boy Who Played the Harp, Dave delivers yet another reason to pay close attention to the rap scene across the Atlantic. —J.I.

Mike’s Showbiz! is a stellar glimpse into the human experience — 24 songs that offer a wide-ranging glimpse of the Brooklyn-based rhymer’s personal excavation over a variety of beats. On “Watered down,” he admits, “I get hotheaded and mean sometimes, my fault, forgive me,” over a chipper, high-pitches sample. “man in the mirror” shows him rhyming over an upbeat dance track, while “When it Rains” has a groove that harkens to his excellent Pinball series with producer Tony Seltzer. There aren’t many artists as vulnerable as Mike, and even fewer craft their reflections with his technical precision. —A.G.

Billy Woods rose out of the Brooklyn rap underground as a virtuoso poet, one of hip-hop’s most independent and brilliant minds over the past two decades. On Golliwog, he goes for an album full of horror stories. It’s a densely poetic, totally masterful tour de force where Woods lets his expansive imagination run loose in a dystopia where the real-life monsters are scarier than anything he could invent. Golliwog is a horror show that demands — and replays — close attention. But it’s an album that offers no comfort — for Woods, the monsters are everywhere, and survival means keeping on your toes. —R.S.

As a writer, the U.K.-based musician Jim Legxacy’s talents lie in his nimble sense of songcraft. Take the cheekily titled “i just banged a snus in canada water,” from his mixtape Black British Music. He’s effectively pumping himself up in the mirror, growling the hook “I can’t let them do me like they did me as a kid,” which itself manages to carry within it a world of meaning. Black British Music succeeds in expressing something deeply personal. The sound of hospital vital monitors on album closer “brief,” like the flurry of samples throughout the record, strikes a singular emotional frequency. Like Nas’ Illmatic, Black British Music paints a portrait of a young artist as informed by their heart as their surroundings. While Legxacy feels like “there’s always gonna be mud,” as he says on “context,” his latest mixtape is remarkably hopeful. —J.I.

Earl Sweatshirt has become known for rhyming in hushed tones over melancholy production, a sound that’s birthed an entire wing of like-minded indie rappers. But that’s just one part of his artistic arsenal. On his latest album, Sweatshirt proposes that sometimes rap superiority can just be about a strong pen and the power of language, breakthroughs, and life lessons can be as resonant as anthemic hooks and slogans, and it can all happen over tailor-made beats that are indifferent to mass appeal. Live Laugh Love is the kind of rap mastery that shuns maximalism for pristine, unadorned poetics. —A.G.

Playboi Carti’s 2020 album, Whole Lotta Red, is a foundational text for dozens if not hundreds of extremely online acts. With Music, Carti seems decidedly aware of his potential as a generational talent. There are a handful of moments where synthesized washes burble and soar, the net effect of arena lights splashing onto a crowd of thousands. As Carti stands on the mountaintop, he finds himself looking back at his journey as well as admiring the view and puzzling over his inevitable descent. Even when he slips into an uninspired chant or exhausts with his monomaniacal focus on drugs, women, cars, and taunting opps, he still magnetizes as a unique pop star. —M.R

In the first decade of the 2000s, there were few hip-hop acts with standards as exacting as the Clipse. Their first album since 2009 shows that Pusha T and Malice are still the ice-cold lyrical kingpins you remember. “P.O.V.” is a showcase for their finest luxury-car wordplay (“The only Audi here is driven by my au pair”); “EBITDA” makes a memorable hook out of the biz-school term for “earnings before interest, taxes, depreciation, and amortization”; “F.I.C.O.,” as in credit scores, recounts high-stakes turnpike trips vividly enough to send a chill up your spine. The songs that aren’t named after acronyms are just as excellent. —S.V.L.