Clipse, the Virginia Beach duo of brothers Gene “Malice” Thornton and Terrence “Pusha T” Thornton, have long been a cornerstone of Hip Hop, known for their razor-sharp lyricism and vivid storytelling. Formed in the early 1990s, they broke through with their 2002 debut Lord Willin’, a critical and commercial hit powered by The Neptunes’ futuristic beats and the single “Grindin’.” Their 2006 follow-up, Hell Hath No Fury, is often hailed as a masterpiece, its stark production and intricate drug-trade narratives cementing their cult status. After a hiatus marked by Malice’s turn to faith-based music and Pusha T’s solo success, Clipse reunite with Let God Sort Em Out, their first album in 16 years, released in July 2025 on Roc Nation.
The album opens with “The Birds Don’t Sing,” a gut-punch of grief. Over mournful piano chords and a swelling gospel choir, Pusha T and Malice process the near-simultaneous deaths of their parents. Pusha’s voice cracks with vulnerability: “Lost in emotion, Mama’s youngest/Trying to navigate life without my compass.” Malice’s verse is quieter, his words heavy with regret: “The way you missed Mama, I guess I should have known/Chivalry ain’t dead, you ain’t let her go alone.” Pharrell Williams’ production, paired with John Legend’s soulful chorus, lets the emotion breathe, though the track’s pop sheen feels slightly at odds with Clipse’s gritty core. It’s a daring start, showing a side of the duo that’s more exposed than ever before.
The mood shifts quickly to the Clipse fans know: cold, calculated, and lethal. “Chains & Whips” is a standout, its squeaky, off-kilter beat creating a tense backdrop for Kendrick Lamar’s fiery verse and the brothers’ surgical bars. Pusha delivers lines packed with layered references to wealth and power, while Malice’s measured flow adds a reflective edge. The track’s energy is electric, a nod to the duo’s ability to make complex wordplay sound like a casual flex. Pharrell’s production shines here, weaving disjointed synths and heavy bass into a sound that’s both chaotic and controlled.
Let God Sort Em Out balances this aggression with moments of introspection. On “P.O.V.,” Tyler, The Creator joins over a brooding beat laced with warped horns and deep bass. Pusha’s luxury-laced taunts—“The only Audi here is driven by my au pair”—cut deep, while Malice reflects on his spiritual journey, his voice calm but commanding. The interplay between their styles—Pusha’s relentless bite and Malice’s sage-like delivery—creates a dynamic that drives the album. It’s not just technical prowess; it’s the push-pull of two voices that know each other inside out.
Pharrell’s beats are a force throughout, unpredictable and bold. “E.B.I.T.D.A.” builds on a jittery drum loop that never resolves, pushing the track forward with restless momentum. The hook, centered on a business acronym, is quirky yet infectious, a testament to Pharrell’s ability to turn the ordinary into something gripping. “F.I.C.O.,” named after credit scores, is cinematic, with booming bass and a vibrato-heavy vocal sample. Stove God Cooks’ hook adds soulful grit, amplifying Pusha and Malice’s tales of high-stakes drug runs. “Inglorious Bastards” twists a horn riff into something jagged and atonal, perfectly matching the brothers’ sharp disses aimed at unnamed foes.
Not every moment hits the mark. “The Birds Don’t Sing” feels overly polished, its chorus leaning too far into mainstream territory for Clipse’s lean aesthetic. “So Be It” suffers from muddy mixing, with vocals and Indian vocal samples clashing awkwardly, though the track’s dragging rhythm still carries weight. But these are very minor missteps in a tightly constructed project. The album’s 13 tracks, clocking in at just over 40 minutes, move with purpose, balancing bangers like “Ace Trumpets” with slower cuts like “All Things Considered,” where Malice reflects on his past: “My homies that didn’t die was all in prison/Visits behind the glass, my mirror image.”
Lyrically, Clipse are untouchable. Their verses are dense, packed with drug-trade metaphors, boasts, and some sharp disses, but never feel repetitive. Pusha’s humor shines on “F.I.C.O.” with lines like “Yellow diamonds look like peepee,” a rare light moment in the album’s serious tone. Malice, meanwhile, brings depth, especially on “So Far Ahead,” where gospel samples collide with a buzzing synth, mirroring his struggle between faith and the streets. Guest features—Nas, Tyler, Kendrick, Stove God Cooks—add flavor without stealing the spotlight. Nas’ commanding verse on “Let God Sort Em Out/Chandeliers” glides over Pharrell’s shimmering production, while Tyler’s “P.O.V.” contribution feels personal, laced with nods to his own career.
The album’s context adds layers to its impact. Clipse’s exit from Universal over “Chains & Whips” shows their commitment to their vision, echoing their early battles with labels. The title, Let God Sort Em Out, reflects their ethos: let the music settle the score. This isn’t a nostalgia trip; it’s a project with urgency, shaped by loss, reinvention, and industry fights. Pharrell’s production, solely his after splitting with Neptunes partner Chad Hugo, feels like a return to his experimental roots, moving away from his recent polished work. Tracks like “M.T.B.T.T.F.,” with its a cappella verses and sparse beat, recall the raw energy of their We Got It 4 Cheap mixtapes.
Let God Sort Em Out is a triumph, blending Clipse’s classic coke-rap precision with newfound depth. It respects their legacy—Lord Willin’’s flashy bravado, Hell Hath No Fury’s stark menace—while pushing forward. The beats pulse with life, the bars cut with accuracy, and the mood lingers, from grief to defiance to celebration. For longtime fans, it’s a homecoming; for new listeners, it’s a lesson in what Hip Hop can achieve when craft reigns supreme. Pusha T and Malice prove they’re still at the top, delivering an album that’s as vital now as their early work was then.
9/10
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