Part of Gibbs’ allure stems from his unflinching honesty, turning $oul $old $eparately into a mediation on how his life has morphed with stardom. It’s a double-edged sword: It gets him into a laundry list of beefs outside of his raps that get old rather quickly, while also making it possible for him to address the reputation he’s earned in his songs. Much like how his music interacts with his controversy, you have to make an effort to sort through the nonsense in the vignettes, like when the polarizing Joe Rogan appears in a voicemail at the end of “Rabbit Vision.” But when he homes in on his own words and self-critiques, he’s razor sharp. He combines the groovy rhythms of the Madlib production with his conspiratorial ramblings as a cover on “CIA,” hiding the album’s thesis in the final track. “I did this album off pages ripped out my diary/Confessions and hard lessons, killers confide in me,” he spits, considering how he’s matured and grown over the years. “Rabbit Vision” is a personal sermon, with the J.U.S.T.I.C.E. League’s rousing piano production granting Gibbs the space to reflect on his life journey. He deals in the concrete, refusing to sensationalize his drug-slinging escapades and numerous bouts with public figures.
The album’s sound meanders through regional influences, taking on the form of whoever guest stars on the track with ranging success. Moneybagg Yo’s visit on “Too Much” feels generic and stale, with the pounding bass and braggadocios bars destined to become club background noise. “Lobster Omelette” could have been a standout on God Forgives, I Don’t, as he and Rick Ross’ delivery drips with luxurious energy, deserving to be listened to from a giant pink hotel on Miami Beach. The ascending harp scales of “Gold Rings” provide a beautiful foil for Gibbs and Pusha T’s abrasive verbosity, ensuring that the duo’s shooting percentage remains pristine. Even the other legends that appear are equally as motivated as Gibbs: DJ Paul, Raekwon, and Scarface all maintain their established, elevated quality. Through it all, Gibbs displays an unwavering comfort among legends—the balance between technical agility and hard-nosed intensity ensures that each beat he floats over, whether it be DJ Paul’s horrorcore stylings or DJ Dahi’s whirring electronic beeps, feels familiar, never foreign.
For the past six years, Gibbs’ consistency has manifested in cohesive projects that often blended easy-listening production with in-your-face raps into an intoxicating combination. By electing to embark on a variety of sonic directions, he’s challenging the listener to remember the days of Shadow of a Doubt and ESGN, allowing for his raps to take precedence by deviating from production expectations. At its core, $oul $old $eparately is a full-circle exhibition that allows Gibbs a minute to rest on his laurels: His comfort zone is whatever studio he finds himself in.
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