REVIEW: Clipse - Let God Sort Em Out

Grown-up street rap, where the hand that holds the gun also makes the sign of the cross

40:47 // July 11th, 2025 // Self-released

A lot has happened in the 16 years since Clipse released their last album, Til The Casket Drops. In that time I’ve learned to drive, got married, bought a house and obliterated my credit rating. It would seem like I’m also due for a comeback any day now…

With Pusha T dropping banger albums in the interval like I drop expletives and Malice (formerly No Malice (formerly Malice)) making his spiritual hiatus more famous than his rap output, seeing the two of them reunite after so long really is a pleasure - and it appears they haven’t missed a beat. Let God Sort Em Out sees the pair reigniting the fire of their earlier releases, but tempering the heat with a more reflective, even religious overtone, adding an emotional depth to their lyrical aggression and elevating the street rap tropes into something more nuanced. Far from just revisiting their old toolbox, the duo has apparently spent those dormant years sharpening and polishing every implement, pumicing edges and fortifying every crack. This is far more than a simple reunion; it’s a reckoning. The album feels very much like they’ve picked up where they left off, only smarter, older, battle-scarred, and still hungry enough to tear the game a new one.

The production is one of the album’s most visceral hooks to the jaw, with Pharrell’s masterful layering and inventive arrangements making for some irresistibly memorable earworms. Recorded at Louis Vuitton’s Paris HQ (where Pharrell is currently creative director of menswear), there’s an incredibly robust yet dirty quality to the beats, full of infectious hooks and neat idiosyncrasies that demand attention, yet never steal the spotlight from the two in the foreground. ‘POV’, F.I.C.O’ and ‘All Things Considered’ are among the iciest cuts on the album, all muddy bass and head-bobbing percussion, with Pharrell’s minimal yet detailed approach reminiscent of a more refined iteration of Hell Hath No Fury. The latter track in particular is memorable for its thumping beat, voice sample loop and groovy texture, perhaps feeling like the most ‘Pusha’ cut on the project. ‘So Far Ahead’ also deserves a special mention, opening with a deceptively soft chorus refrain that cues up expectations of a slower song, before subverting them and slapping listeners with a pounding beat and warped synths. It’s a microcosm of the album’s ongoing tension between melody and rawness, mirroring the contrast between the thematic preoccupations of hustle/ redemption, and - despite its somewhat abrupt tonal shift - it works fantastically. It all feels quintessentially modern but still traditional in its channeling of forceful beats, coalescing neatly with the thematic subtlety and menacing street-hardened authority.

Lyrically, Pusha T remains a most venomous rhyme technician, immortalising drug trade belles lettres while taking surgical potshots at Drake, Travis Scott and others. Impressively, he balances such venom with themes of grief, loss and regret, with allusions to the death of his parents (‘The Birds Don’t Sing’) grounding these reflections as more than just lyrical flourishes; they are emotional conduits.

In confronting the uglier themes, however, what makes Let God Sort Em Out interesting is Malice’s anchoring of the record with spiritual gravitas and lyrical discipline, merging the gangsta tirades with pertinent notions of redemption and accountability. Bars like,

Never leavin’ home without my piece like I’m Mahatma,

From the tribe of Judah, I’m Mufasa,

Never turn the other cheek, you’ll die at the Oscars,

Persona non grata, mi casa su casa,

Drugs killed my teen spirit, welcome to Nirvana

• Malice, ‘Ace Trumpets’

exemplify the album’s core contrast in this regard. Malice may occasionally feel like he’s rapping in Pusha’s shadow in terms of ability, but he brings more than enough heat/ introspection to hold his own. Conversely, Pusha’s bars on ‘All Things Considered’, where he lambasts,

Turn niggas statistics,

I’m so sadistic,

So religious,

That’s so malicious

showcase both his technical control and spiritual forethought, the teetering between street ambition and theological inclination appropriately conflicted for his persona. While there are occasional instances where the flows feel somewhat derivative and a stronger alignment with the album’s dynamic, adventurous production could enhance cohesion, the immersive dual-tone of the atmosphere — part gospel, part graveyard — renders these issues almost negligible.

Clipse being back like they never left makes this album worth your time. Thoughtful bars and the expansion of their typical thematic palette deepen the appeal. Superb features from the likes of John Legend, Kendrick, Tyler and Nas add even more weight, and then there’s the creative production. Bumping, twisting beats that shimmer like coke on a mirror; pure enough to shine, but dirty enough to make your heart race. The culmination of all these elements not only equates to a hip hop tour de force that can go toe-to-toe with Lord Willin’ and Hell Hath No Fury, but frequently threatens to outdo them. It’s rough and unflinching but now spiked with a deeper humility, an extra gear Clipse seem to have found for their sound, one capable of propelling them further up the hip hop pantheon.

A tremulous expression of modern heat with a decidedly traditional heart, the rappers here fan some of their brightest colours yet, their chemistry glowing white-hot throughout and tying everything together with a glittering, blood-red bow. Where the unblinkingly serious energy may feel slightly less pervasive than on their previous LPs, the record’s vibes and slick production are always there to gather up the slack, offering a creativity that raises sly smiles and elicits enthusiastic head nods.

8.5/10

Further Listening

Benny The Butcher - Everybody Can’t Go

Freddie Gibbs - Alfredo

Ka - The Thief Next To Jesus

Nas - King’s Disease II

Boldy James - Permanent Ink

ScHoolBoy Q - Blank Face LP