Review

In the oft-fabled realm of hip-hop duos, few names command the same reverence as Clipse. With their long-standing association with The Neptunes, a distinct flair for coke-rap minimalism, and a lyrical precision that borders on the surgical, Pusha T and Malice (or No Malice, depending on where we catch him) have always cut a different silhouette in the genre’s skyline. Let God Sort Em Out, their long-awaited reunion record, doesn’t just reassert their legacy—it dares to redraw the map. The title itself is a provocation, a stark invocation that suggests both divine reckoning and street-level fatalism. It’s that duality—spiritual weight clashing with earthly sin—that fuels much of the album’s narrative tension. From the opening track, there's a cold clarity. The production, handled by a small cadre including Pharrell, The Alchemist and Madlib, is skeletal but charged. There are moments of soulful reprieve, yes, but they often feel like faded wallpaper in a room lined with bricks of product and moral ambiguity. Lyrically, Clipse remain as razor-edged as ever. Pusha T, now a solo icon in his own right, spits with his usual hauteur—each bar dripping with disdain for the inauthentic and the compromised. His voice is colder now, aged not with fatigue but with a kind of ruthless efficiency. Malice, in contrast, is the record’s moral spine. Having long stepped away from the game for spiritual reasons, his return is marked by gravitas. He’s not merely rapping; he’s testifying. His verses land like parables, full of regret, reflection and residual menace. Together, they form a perfect dialectic—judgement and justification, blood and balm. Highlights abound. Pyrex Psalms is a masterclass in minimal menace, with a haunting piano loop and a pair of verses that manage to both glorify and mourn the street hustle. *Sermon on the Mount*, featuring Killer Mike, is positively apocalyptic in tone, with each MC taking turns to unpick the hypocrisies of both the pulpit and the pavement. Then there’s Re-Up Resurrection, a reunion of the Re-Up Gang that doesn’t so much pander to nostalgia as weaponise it. What makes Let God Sort Em Out so compelling is that it doesn’t attempt to recapture the past—it interrogates it. There’s no misty-eyed longing for 2002, no blunted retro stylings. This is forward-facing, grey-scaled and brutal. It's not a comeback album; it's a reckoning. In a genre increasingly dominated by mood and melody, Clipse still believe in the weight of words. And here, those words are heavy. Not just with meaning, but with consequence. Let God Sort Em Out isn’t an easy listen—but then again, it was never meant to be.

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