Clipse Are Still Rap’s Sharpest Duo After All These Years

It’s good to have these guys back. In the first decade of the 2000s, there were few hip-hop acts with standards as exacting as the Clipse’s. While others originated the idea of making music about moving weight, Gene and Terrence Thornton, a.k.a. Malice and Pusha T, elevated it to a high artform — every bar stylized to the max, sleek and imposing at every turn, smacking down every MPC-mashing sound sculpture their friends the Neptunes hurled their way. Their music-industry troubles were as legendary as their verbal gifts; while they were always warmly embraced by their fans, from the cross-country hustlers who nodded along to “Grindin’” in 2002 to the blog-era rap fiends who downloaded every installment of the We Got It 4 Cheap mixtape series a few years later, the major-label system consistently struggled to make the most of their talents. Now, a decade and a half after their last album together, the brothers from Virginia have reunited. What does a new Clipse album sound like in a world where they’re rightfully acknowledged as two of the greatest ever to pick up a mic?

The first thing you’ll notice after hitting play on Let God Sort Em Out is how much they’ve both grown. If the Clipse’s 2006 masterpiece, Hell Hath No Fury, led with a winking apology to their mother for a sinful lifestyle (track two, “Momma I’m So Sorry”), this one begins by honoring her memory and her impact on their lives in genuine, vulnerable terms. “Lost in emotion, Mama’s youngest/Trying to navigate life without my compass,” Pusha confesses over the contemplative piano keys of “The Birds Don’t Sing.” “Some experience death and feel numbness/But not me, I felt it all and couldn’t function.” It’s a strong contribution to the canon of great rap songs about moms — and then Malice comes in with an even more moving verse about losing their father a few months later: “The way you missed Mama, I guess I should have known/Chivalry ain’t dead, you ain’t let her go alone.” Two of the game’s most brilliant villains have matured into eloquent eulogists.

Thankfully, the rest of the album shows they’re still the ice-cold lyrical kingpins you remember. “Chains & Whips” boasts a squeaky, freaky beat from their old buddy Pharrell (who produced this album solo, after his split from Neptunes wingman Chad Hugo) and a scene-stealing verse from Kendrick Lamar. (“I don’t fuck with the kumbaya shit,” Kendrick notes, just in case you slept through the last 15 months.) “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. 

When they open up emotionally, it’s always fascinating to hear, as on “All Things Considered,” which features unguarded verses from both brothers. “My homies that didn’t die was all in prison/Visits behind the glass, my mirror image,” Malice says, referencing the events that led to the Clipse’s first parting of ways 15 years ago. On the gospel-tinged “So Far Ahead,” he explains once again why he walked away from the group to make faith-based music, yielding the instant-classic hip-hop quotable “I’ve been both Mason Bethas.” 

Pusha’s solo career, which he began reluctantly after his brother’s change of heart, has succeeded spectacularly well. He’s recorded some of the most impressive rap albums of the past decade on his own, carving out a new lane of high-budget, lyrically formidable grown-man music. There are times when Let God Sort Em Out feels more like a continuation of that path — a top-notch Pusha solo album with more Malice verses — than it does like a sequel to Lord Willin’ or Hell Hath. Then again, how many artists in any genre who debuted 23 years ago still sound the same as they did back then? Time passes and people change, but the important truths remain. This is an album that underscores several of them: Whatever the year, Pusha and Malice are richer than you, smarter than you, and much better at making rap music than you’ll ever be. Amen.