It’s 2018, and the economy (for now) is booming. We live in an age in which we consume more pop culture and feel worse about it than ever before. We are more aware of the taboos and criminal acts that percolate beyond the stage lights, if not beyond the withering gaze of social media. We look for heroes, and everyone seems to be found wanting--too flawed, too corrupt.When you survive a chaotic, contentious year like this one--most fans will agree it wasn’t great, but will debate just how bad it was--you narrow your gaze from the forest and turn towards the trees. There is Pusha T’s Daytona, a marvel of economy and caustic wit. There were innovations that worked, such as Tierra Whack’s medley of minute-long pop R&B and rap suites, Whack World. There were innovations that didn’t work, like G.O.O.D. Music’s summer series of EP-length albums, all produced by Kanye West, which after a strong opening with Daytona went rapidly downhill from there. There was the surprisingly poignant return of Lil Wayne, the one-time child star who has grown into an elder statesman after a series of tragic, near-fatal setbacks. There was a boomlet of fast-talking, sexually-forthright women who dazzled rap aficionados, even as a true commercial breakthrough for them (save for City Girls’ appearance on Drake’s “In My Feelings”) remained just out of reach.Rap has atomized so much that it’s possible to ignore the headline-grabbing noise and simply find something you like. Fans of idiosyncratic street-rap flows glorified 03 Greedo, Key!, and Maxo Kream. Meat-and-potatoes backpackers contented themselves with PRhyme and Roc Marciano. Followers of the Chicago school of poetic, jazzy lyricism flocked to Noname and Saba’s new work. In the Bay Area, there was SOB x RBE, Mozzy and Nef the Pharaoh. In Los Angeles, there was Nipsey Hussle and Jay Rock. In New York, there was Sheck Wes and Flatbush Zombies.However, hip-hop culture remains a consensus culture. We exult in its nooks and crannies, its regional curiosities and local flavors, but we turn to the mainstream to make sense of it all. Cardi B, a woman whose big, boisterous personality and social media prowess outpaced her musical talent, proved an unusual choice for Most Valuable Player. Drake is Drake, and with nearly a decade of sad-boy vocals and tough-titty bars in his catalog, he seemingly has few surprises left to offer. Travis Scott is a blockbusting Michael Bay of rap, all maximalist noise that signifies nothing. The less said about Post Malone, the better. Future, J Cole, A$AP Rocky, YG, Nicki Minaj...they seemed to falter in 2018 with work that paled in comparison to past glories.In 2002, another semi-lousy year for hip-hop concluded with the promise of 50 Cent’s “Wanksta,” and the following twelve months brought Jay-Z’s triumphant “retirement,” OutKast’s Speakerboxxx/The Love Below, T.I.’s Trap Muzik and the commercialization of crunk. Today, hope continues to animate a culture that’s poised to celebrate the fortieth anniversary of Sugarhill Gang’s “Rapper’s Delight” next year. Who will rehabilitate this aging genre and prevent its deterioration into bland rap singing and Spotifycore? Who’s going to take the weight?

Released on September 24, 1996, Illadelph Halflife marked a turning point in the Roots’ career from free-spirited jazz-hop players to soothsayers of doom. Much of rap music was obsessed with the Y2K apocalypse, the New World Order, and the presumptive demise of hip-hop – see De La Soul’s pivotal single “Stakes is High” – and the Philly ensemble was no exception. More than just Black Thought and Malik B launching cipher battles on “Uni-Verse at War,” and waging jeremiads against rapper “Clones,” the album sounds cloudy and introverted. The beats seem to mostly consist of organic bass, keyboards and drums, resulting in blue beats as sparse as a Wes Montgomery jam session, and moodily ominous vibes similar to contemporaneous works like A Tribe Called Quest’s Beats, Rhymes & Life, the Pharcyde’s Labcabincalifornia, and Slum Village’s Fan-Tas-Tic. When neo-soul and jazz guests like Raphael Saadiq (on “What They Do”), D’Angelo (on “The Hypnotic”), and Cassandra Wilson (on “One Shine”) appeared, they contributed pained vocals that contributed to the overall sense of melancholy.As a clear product of 1996’s pre-millennium tensions, Illadelph Halflife may have not aged as well as the band’s next album, the more successful Things Fall Apart. Its deeply rooted entropy is more suited for late-night listening, or perhaps the kind of contemplative smoke-out sessions the Black Thought, Malik and Bahamadia rhyme about on “Push Up Ya Lighter.” However, it established a theme. Led by drummer and group mastermind Ahmir “Questlove” Thompson, the Roots have continued to assess cultural and political trends with skepticism and occasional hope ever since.

On Vic Mensa’s debut album, The Autobiography, the young Chicago rapper’s personal travails come sharply into view. He raps about his very public struggles with addiction, occasional troubles with the law, a complicated relationship with his hometown’s hip-hop scene, and stray thoughts about ending his life. Yet somehow, his musical identity lies just out of reach.That’s not surprising for a teenage prodigy whose first group, Kids These Days, was profiled in the New York Times when he was just finishing high school. The hip-hop/emo-pop band yielded many of the players who have driven the Windy City’s current renaissance, including trumpeter Nico Segal (a.k.a. Donnie Trumpet of The Social Experiment). Their rise preceded that of Chance the Rapper, who guested on the band’s EPs—and co-founded the SaveMoney crew with Mensa—before embarking on his own stellar career. But while Chance is now widely known as a good kid who connects a secular post-millennial generation with its spiritual potential, Vic has experimented as a solo artist, sometimes fitfully. His best single so far is arguably “Down on My Luck,” a terrific hip-house number from 2014. Like so many next-gen rappers, his work with electronic producers like Flume and Kaytranada is second nature, not a cross-genre gimmick. Yet he’s also tried to translate his industry buzz into songs with Kanye West (2015’s “U Mad”) and Gucci Mane (“What It Takes”), with little crossover success.Much of The Autobiography opts for an airy emo-rap sound typical of recent big-budget hip-hop like Logic’s Everybody and G-Eazy’s When It’s Dark Out. But Vic’s too sharp of a stylist to drown in the indistinct mainstream beats that mar some of his debut. He works real magic with Pharrell Williams and Saul Williams on “Wings,” and his collaboration with controversial South Side iconoclast Chief Keef on “Down 4 Some Ignorance (Ghetto Lullaby)” is long overdue. Then there are those diary-like lyrics, which range from comic tales like the Weezer-assisted “Homewrecker” to anguished meditations on blackness like “We Could Be Free.” Throughout, he remains an engaging performer, even if we’re not always sure where he’s leading us.