Tag: Let God Sort Em Out

In the vast landscape of hip-hop think pieces, a crucial perspective has been missing: the voice of Black women engaging with Clipse’s latest masterpiece, ‘Let God Sort Em Out.’ As an essayist and architect of hip-hop culture, I felt compelled to delve deeper than a fleeting hot take, especially after sitting with this complex, profound body of work. This album, 15 years in the making, isn’t just a reunion; it’s a testament to artists living their lives and then sharing their wisdom when they have something truly substantial to say.

A Masterclass in Lyrical Prowess and Emotional Depth

Released 14 years after D’Angelo’s ‘Black Messiah,’ Clipse’s ‘Let God Sort Em Out’ shares a similar dark, smooth, and layered quality that makes it absolutely worth the wait. Pusha T and No Malice (formerly Malice) remain undisputed masters of sharp, clean lyricism. Lines like Pusha’s “I will close your heaven for the hell of it” on “Chains & Whips” invite endless interpretations – is it literal violence, or public humiliation? The maturity evident in his delivery, a restraint born of experience over bloodlust, is palpable.

Malice’s verse on “Ace Trumpets” is a performance in itself, a treasure trove of references from Gandhi and the Bible to Lady Gaga and the film ‘House of Gucci.’ His ability to weave complex allusions, like equating Lady Gaga with cocaine (‘white girl’) and hinting at her dope status, is simply masterful. This album captivates us with its clarity, intelligence, and, most importantly, its profound emotional intelligence.

Spinning Pain into Gold: Vulnerability in Hip Hop

The track “The Birds Don’t Sing” is a prime example of turning pain into art. Here, the brothers recount intimate last moments with their parents, sharing a vulnerability rarely heard in hip-hop. Pusha T laments his misplaced focus on social media and rapping over his mother’s wisdom, confessing, “when she was gone, he felt it all and couldn’t function” unlike others who “experience death and feel numbness.” Malice shares his regret over betraying his father’s trust by engaging in illicit activities, noting his father’s hardworking nature and the pain of finding out he was involved in the drug trade.

This raw honesty is precisely the kind of emotional depth many women seek from men, and its expression in contemporary hip-hop is refreshingly rare. May this song inspire other artists to embrace vulnerability and encourage listeners to unpack their own shortcomings, fostering a practice of emotional openness. Clipse has never sounded more grounded or balanced.

Navigating Difficult Language and Themes

I understand that hearing women referred to with derogatory terms and listening to lyrics about drug dealing, violence, and death can be difficult, even for long-time hip-hop fans. It’s hard for me too, despite years working around foul-mouthed artists. However, it’s crucial to remember hip-hop’s origins: channeling physical violence into artistic expression. ‘Let God Sort Em Out’ is a memoir – confronting, uncomfortable, and loud.

While I don’t seek ‘love raps’ from these artists, I recognize their underlying respect for women as human beings. Pusha T’s verse on “All Things Considered,” detailing the heartbreak of his wife’s miscarriage and his son’s desire for a sibling, is a powerful testament to this. He shares his therapist’s question: “How I’m doin’? All things considered/let’s be specific/my momma cheek, I miss it/I wanna kiss it/Nige [Nigel] asking for siblings/I know he meant it/V miscarried/we hid it/I’m glad he missed it.”

My son also wanted a sibling, and when I miscarried, he never found out. I was unable to talk about it without crying for years afterward. Never before have I felt so seen by an ex drug dealer with a microphone. — Thembisa S. Mshaka

The National Library of Medicine estimates that 750,000 to one million American women experience miscarriage annually. Despite its commonality, pregnancy loss is often met with silence. For an artist like Pusha T to rap about his experience as an expectant father living through it is groundbreaking. It’s a moment of profound connection for those who have shared similar silent grief.

Critique and Appreciation

Am I giving Clipse a pass for language I wouldn’t use? It’s not mine or ours to give. Their art isn’t for me to police, but I can critique it. I long for a time when less profane terms for women were the norm. Yet, as Pusha T and No Malice powerfully convey, their name-calling, violent drug talk, and disregard for external opinions are culturally ingrained, much like our own tendency to immediately dance to “Back That Azz Up.” This album is a bold, masterfully produced, and destined-to-be-classic memoir.