»This is culturally inappropriate.« The voice tag returns repeatedly throughout Clipse’s comeback, as if the rap world still needed a reminder—23 years after Lord Willin’—what Malice and Pusha T are all about. »Strippers shakin’ ass and watchin’ the dough blow / Ace trumpets and Rose Mo’s«, murmur the coke-rap kings into their champagne flutes on lead single »Ace Trumpets«. Status, asserted.
Sixteen years since their last joint release, Push and Malice are still stirring the Pyrex with that signature Pennywise grin, stacking double entendres like Pablo stacks bricks, and turning their millionaire noses up at the mediocrity of the world. »Drugs killed my teen spirit, welcome to Nirvana / You was Fu-Gee-La-La, I was Alibaba«: Clipse remain both archivists and custodians of exquisitely maintained shit talk. Sneak disses aimed at Ye, Drake or whoever, and sideways swipes at podcast culture on »P.O.V.« even inspire one of Tyler, The Creator’s strongest guest spots to date.
What’s new is the vulnerability: the loss of both parents (»The Birds Don’t Sing«) or a miscarriage (»All Things Considered«). Life stories come with fractures. And those who feared that Pharrell—now Louis Vuitton’s creative director—might care more about branding than beats are reassured: the album was recorded in LV’s Paris HQ, yet the sparse one-chord progression of »M.T.B.T.T.F.« lands perfectly. Let God Sort Em Out is Neptunes minimalism for 2025—negative space in funk breaks, off-kilter pianos, gospel flourishes. Glorious. The hooks show some wear and tear, but the sharp rollout and compact 40-minute runtime prove the point: cool is a choice, not a matter of age. So be it.
