Top 10 Best Hip-Hop Albums of the 2000s

Of all the lists we’ve created here at melophobe, this one was the toughest. As Ian Doreian observed during our discussions, many of these albums are like “personal friends.” However, after hours of debate, thousands of words sent over email and several deadlines missed, we reached an end. The result: melophobe’s shot at naming the best hip-hop of the decade.

So often when promising hip-hop artists are given a shot at the big time via a major label contract, the results are anticlimactic. How refreshing it was, then, when Gift of Gab and Chief Xcel entered the studio on MCA’s dime, that they came out with a highly ambitious, fully realized product. Musically, Blazing Arrow is leaps and bounds ahead of it’s predecessor, the excellent Nia. Xcel’s (and friends’) productions are deeper, the hooks tighter. Most importantly, each track seems like a natural canvas on which Gift of Gab flips his tongue-twisting rhymes. Early Blackalicious tracks like “Rhymes for the Deaf, Dumb and Blind” and “Cheezit Terrorist” illustrated Gift’s incredible rhyming ability, and, too, breath control issues. While Nia proved a step forward in his abilities, Blazing Arrow has Gift of Gab at the peak of his talent, truly living up to his name. Regardless of the complexity of rhyme, each is delivered with effortless confidence. The results are astounding. - Joshua Bean

If you watch enough MTV you’d be forgiven for thinking that every hip-hop artist is a Cristal-swilling, yacht-riding, platinum rim millionaire. Ignoring the fact that most of that booty is rented for the video anyway, even the ones claiming to be living hard times, maybe slinging it on the streets, make it sound a whole lot more Tony Montana than Willy Loman. My guess though is that there are many more Aesop Rocks in the game, holding down their 9-5s and saving up to get into the studio to do what they love. And that’s really what makes Labor Days, Aesop’s paean to the working class, so unique and compelling. There are countless records about trying to get by in a cruel and unequal world (and Labor addresses those issues thoroughly), and many with exceptional production (in this case courtesy of Aesop, Blockhead and Omega One), but Aesop sets himself apart with a kind of determined resignation concerning the realities of working life and a vigorous defense of finding your passion in spite of the struggle. “Sure, a lot of life sucks, but that’s not going to change,” he seems to say. The day-to-day only makes finding what you love that much more imperative.

It all might sound like a recipe for an exceptionally preachy disaster, but Labor Days effectively steers clear of the pulpit by describing more than telling, and inhabiting a space of solidarity rather than judgment. A weighty topic like “work,” does not a party record make, and it probably won’t help Aesop trade up for that Bentley, but if working for the man motivates him to elevate his form to the levels reached on Labor Days, lets hope those Def Jux contracts aren’t too lucrative. - Justin Lacasse

If there were a Venn diagram with one side representing concept albums and the other representing albums that are repeatedly enjoyable to listen to, that common ground in the center would be pretty damn slim. And The Streets’ A Grand Don’t Come For Free would sit solidly in the middle of it. It’s a cheeky little conceptual album – an elaborate story of love, heartbreak, and redemption told through the minutiae of everyday life. In other hands, the banal subject matter could be deadly – it’s hard to craft complex and lasting songs about returning DVDs, broken TVs, and bad cell phone reception (fucking phones!). Under Mike Skinner’s guidance, though, it becomes a magnifying glass, boiling down the trials and tribulations of everyday life to the events that make up our lives. A Grand Don’t Come For Free is the rare concept album that manages to transcend the concept upon which it is built. Yes, it is a continuous story, yes, it is rapped and sung in a Mockney accent, yes, it builds you up for a big reveal. But underneath all of that (or perhaps on top of?) lies a fantastic hip hop record, an album full of tight rhymes, slick syncopations, and bright beats. I routinely give this album to friends on the condition that they promise to listen to it twice, concentrating, from start to finish. If you haven’t, I suggest you do the same. - Chris Barth

Jay-Z has always been drawn to the idea of one man on top of many and The Blueprint was his case for the crown. Here, his rhymes had a laser-like focus, whether they were meditating on old love (“Song Cry”) or participating in the attempted slaughter of his opponents (“The Takeover”). They were meant to be talked about, quoted and pondered and that’s why you’ll hear underground fans pushing just as hard for this album as the kid that came in through the singles. And like other great records it isn’t just one thing. It fires on all cylinders: from the buttery soul samples (courtesy of Kanye West and Just Blaze) to the religion-baiting guest spot from Slim Shady. The pieces stand tall and when placed together you get a record that lives up to its boast as a template for success. And although Jay said he was going for “King of New York,” it was plain to see that by the end of The Blueprint, he had extended his kingdom much farther than that. - Colin McLaughlin

With 10 years passing since its debut, Stankonia is the album that ushered hip-hop into a new decade. It served as an eraser, blurring the regional boundaries that defined the previous generation of rap. Stankonia boasts funk-layered bars, kick drum hit on the first beat, and falsetto mischief that OutKast used to push past ATLiens and into national exposure. The cover art announces as much, with shirtless André 3000 and slouching Big Boi poised before an American flag. Their Jekyll and Hyde flow combo shine in the infectious honesty of “Ms. Jackson,” 808 punch on “Gangsta Shit,” and lunacy of “Humble Mumble.” Still, these highlights pale when compared with the twisting imagery and revival choir of “BOB.” Before grandmothers were dancing to “Hey Ya” at weddings, this was the song that broke ground for a millennium where Jay-Z chums with Coldplay and Lil Wayne has a guitar Rebirth. And what a stanky ride it’s been. - Ian Doreian

A funny thing happened to me a couple of years ago. I listened to Eminem’s The Marshall Mathers LP. Not that I hadn’t listened to the album before; I bought a copy when it first came out, watched as MTV played the hell out of the singles, read with amusement the variety of legal and tabloid dramas unfolding around Eminem, and played the record dozens of times since. And I enjoyed it each time. Years removed from the media hype surrounding its initial run, I turned to the album once more and this time really listened to it. The masterpiece of the album emerged. Eminem’s razor sharp lyrics cut deep, even on his throwaway lines. With The Marshall Mathers LP, Eminem scaled to new heights, far above nearly every other MC on the planet. Although the record packs a decent punch with guest spots, no other artist on the disc holds a candle to Eminem. And while he undoubtedly flexed talent on Infinite and The Slim Shady LP, not until The Marshall Mathers LP did Eminem appear to take himself seriously as an artist. Admittedly, it took me some time to appreciate it. - Joshua Bean

I listen to hip hop for a lot of different reasons – sometimes it’s for the flows, sometimes it’s for the beats, sometimes it’s for the lyrics. Other times, though, I listen to hip hop so I can turn up the volume in my car, drive with one hand on the wheel, and feel like a complete baller. Hell Hath No Fury is one of those albums – a record that makes the suburbs melt away, transporting you to a corner or stash house somewhere in Virginia Beach. It’s a banger, for sure. But it’s also a technician’s album, an exquisitely produced record that pings back and forth between biting verses from Pusha T and Malice. The big picture is a pretty one – Hell Hath No Fury is one of the few much-delayed albums that didn’t disappoint when it finally dropped. Under close inspection, though, the details still hold up nicely. It’s full of well placed pops - the pocketful of stinkies intro to “Dirty Money,” the opening salvo of “Ride Around Shining”, the coke sniff snare on “Trill”. This album has it all - flows, beats, lyrics – without blemishes. It expanded and redefined the coke rap genre. And most importantly, it makes me feel like a baller. - Chris Barth

A coming out party for the heart of rap’s new blood, Late Registration was a shining example of how the map gets redrawn. New tools, new textures, and new takes on the traditional beat structure not only enlivened the discussion, it moved the whole thing forward. And like all visionaries, Kanye’s triumph can be attributed to his ability to ask why not? As in, why not get Jon Brion to breathe wizard’s breath into my beats? Why not rep my mama? Why not show that rappers can write hooks too? That is how an artist of value works: look at the boundaries, ignore the boundaries, plant a new flag when you decide to stop. Late Registration is his best flag and after this album, he was no longer Jay-Z’s beat maker, he was a star on his own terms, and by his own hand. - Colin McLaughlin

When picking albums to toss in your backpack, Madvillainy should make top pick. Straight out of the underground, Madlib and MF DOOM won deserved recognition for this 2004 masterpiece. The hip-hop duets of DOOM and Lib (Danger Doom, Jaylib) reached a thunderous apex with Madvillainy and its 22 curt cuts. Notwithstanding later claims of lip-syncing, the album showcases the masked villain as he rides Quasimoto’s beats with brooding precision. Comic book capers and tributes to Sun-Ra simmer throughout, building perhaps the only hip-hop project with more mythology than a Wu Tang reunion. Dig the deep allusions, the obscure sampling, or just walk down a darkened street with hoodie pulled up. - Ian Doreian

It seems right that our number one pick of the decade was released just 25 days into 2000, setting the bar for the next ten years. And looking back at ’99 and the couple years preceding it, at least from a Wu perspective, it was a bar that had clearly slipped a few rungs.  RZA’s five-year plan had devolved into a second wave of disappointing, if adequate solo efforts, and the relevance of the Clan was approaching diminishing returns. So who better to revive the legacy than Ironman himself, who comes at the task with a characteristically unmatched sense of frantic, scattered urgency. Bolstered by a healthy dose of obscure soul samples, some of the best production in years courtesy of RZA and protégés, and solid guest spots throughout, Ghost’s raw, emotional, and eccentrically meticulous storytelling remains gripping to the end, definitively justifying his ubiquitous, supremely confident boasting. It’s often a compliment to describe an album as rewarding repeated listens, evidence of its many layers and potential for lasting gratification. In that light, it’s probably fair to say that many of us have spent the better part of the decade futilely attempting to decipher Ghost’s exceedingly convoluted turns of phrase. Call them what you will; willfully obscure, mad genius, perhaps even nonsense, but something tells me many of us will happily spend at least another decade trying to decide that for ourselves. - Justin Lacasse

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