The 50 Best Rapper Mixtapes

Love him or hate him, this record had impact. Bang may have started it all, and Finally Rich primed a potential crossover, but the spark—from the Kanye remix to his Interscope deal—came to life on Back From the Dead.

Sure, "I Don't Like" was the tape's obvious standout, and Keef's delivery had yet to develop the casual confidence exhibited on his Interscope album, but there is something completely one-of-a-kind about the distinctive sound he and producer Young Chop established throughout the entire project. If you asked a kid from Chicago last summer about his favorite Keef song, he might have six or seven answers—all of them found on this tape.

Although the duo's music had been characterized by certain media outlets as a one-note performance preaching nihilism and death, Back from the Dead reflects a more diverse vision than Keef's usually given credit for. Yes, simplicity was the order of the day-"I Don't Like" was about what Keef didn't like; "Designer" was about his favorite brands; "Everyday" was a concept song about what he did every day as a south side teenager raised on Soulja Boy and Brick Squad.

Two teenagers put this record together by themselves and released it with no label and zero promotional budget. Since that time, it has clocked more than 460,000 downloads on DatPiff alone, its tracks have been remixed by Rick Ross and Kanye, and it has catapulted Keef to a $6 million label deal. Any questions? —David Drake

RELATED: Chief Keef's 25 Favorite Songs

RELATED: 20 Hilarious Chief Keef GIFs

Back before Saigon truly understood the intricacies of industry rule #4080, he tore through the New York mixtape circuit during the mid-Aughts and in doing so quickly became a celebrated voice of the streets. Warning Shots was the highlight of his early run, combining aggressive content ("N.Y. Streetz," "Let a Nigga Know") with social commentary that gave his listeners enough perspective to make sense of the mayhem. He even dropped an ode to his mother.

Like 2Pac and 50 Cent before him, Saigon's thuggish past didn't make him ashamed of his humble upbringing or squash his sincerity. He rarely dipped outside of his Brooklyn state of mind, with tracks like "Drama Hour Freestyle" ("I put Lil Wayne and Lil Zane in a lil' pain/Call Lil' Kim to give me a lil' brain") and "Stocking Cap" providing a signature bark that is evident to this day. —Edwin Ortiz

For many listeners nationally, the hyphy movement was a momentary flash in an ongoing regional trend chase by a headline hungry media class. It had a manic production style, an Ecstasy obsession, and something about kids being reckless with automobiles. But the Bay's musical renaissance went a lot deeper—and was more gangster.

The Jacka was one of the key members of the Mob Figaz, a crew that originated in Pittsburg, California, and was affiliated with Mac Dre and Cali gangster rap vet C-Bo. The Jacka's slick, laid-back delivery and slow-burner lyricism built a strong local buzz that reached an apex in the late '00s.

The Street Album was the highest-profile mixtape in the build-up to Jacka's ambitious Tear Gas LP. It nearly equals that album's diverse ambition, although it does so with a less polished, more hood-oriented sound. The Jacka's lyrical style is subtle, communicating its ideas through artful implication and cool reserve, rather than expressiveness or energy.

Opener "A Real Feeling" best expresses Jack's rugged mantra: "Niggas respect me, feel what's under my shirt/Hit a bank bare-faced, slid a note to the clerk." He also weighs in on his region's sound: "With the hyphy movement but I don't listen to clowns/If you ain't hyphy with a pistol you ain't hyphy for real."

The production, meanwhile, spans worlds: there's Jeffro's lush, chilling synthesizer peaks of "Aspen," the throwback theremins of "For the Mob," Young L's bittersweet opiate-drop "Addiction," and "Crown Me"'s complete reinvention of Sizzla's "Solid as a Rock." But underneath the record's street bluster and violent imagery is a record that retains a righteous heart, even at its most nihilistic. —David Drake

Future's January 2011 mixtape Dirty Sprite might've boasted some of the rapper's budding repertoire of hits, including YC's "Racks," but it was True Story that found the Atlanta rapper scaling out to be a national name. This is largely due to hits like "Tony Montana" and "Magic."

Both tracks ran up on different levels of success. "Magic" gained momentum regionally in Atlanta, and ended up becoming the first track T.I. jumped on when he was released from jail; it also was the first of Future's singles to enter the Hot 100. "Tony Montana" landed him a guest verse from Drake on the track's remix.

Future got that work before, sure, but it was True Story that fired off the after-burner of momentum to put him where he is now: on top of the rap game, with hit single after single. —Lauren Nostro

From the title of Big Sean's mixtape to the accompanying intro that recounts the first time he met his mentor, Kanye West, it's clear the then-teenage Detroit MC would accept nothing less than being recognized as a rap star. A boastful claim, yes, but it's one that came to fruition, with Finally Famous: The Mixtape setting the table.

An early member of the G.O.O.D. Music set, Sean rhymed with a magnetic tone that was as enthusiastic as it was composed. His penchant for cash flow ("Get'cha Some," "Money Being Made") and women ("Good Sh...," "All Night") were evident. Shades of his colorful, almost cartoonish cadence popped up from time to time, something he's improved upon in recent years.

Although still rough around the edges, Big Sean had a plan and stuck to it on Finally Famous without compromising his stance. Looking at his current stature, it's safe to say it worked in his favor. "I guess this life was made to be/I wasn't made for this world; it was made for me," he raps on the upbeat cut "People Mover." A little confidence can take you a long way. —Edwin Ortiz

"It popped off for me right at a point when I was finna quit," B.O.B said to Fader in 2007, speaking about the song "Cloud 9." "I was about to get a job at the mall, man." Thankfully he didn't, and he hit the scene as a fresh face in an era when it seemed like every 20-something had a dollar, a dream, and a microphone.

What was so impressive about Bobby Ray back then was his mic skills more so than his singing or crossover appeal. He was a straight up spitter who supplied a distinct flavor of Southern consciousness, obviously influenced by ATLiens like Outkast. Years later, and two crossover albums after the fact, it's important to remember the natural talent that Bobby Ray had before the Billboard hits. —Insanul Ahmed

Royce Da 5'9" was always a good rapper, but somewhere along the way he must have started taking Rap HGH because he morphed into an incredible rapper. After spending the middle part of his career engulfed in beef, legal issues, and alcoholism, Nickle Nine rallied back by hitting the mixtape circuit with a refined sense of humor and ambition on his Bar Exam series.

Like his Slaughterhouse cohort Joe Budden, Royce was able to take the dark days of his career into his own hands and become an Internet favorite. Ultimately, Royce proved he was his own movement which eventually led to the creation of Slaughterhouse and the reunion of his side project with Eminem, Bad Meets Evil. —Insanul Ahmed

Before Blue Chips, Bronsolino was just that oversized white rapper from Queens who sounded like Ghostface. It was only after Blue Chips, when everyone realized that this guy had more than a voice that sounded like Ghostface. He had impeccable taste: For food (which many of his raps are about). For women (and the many, fairly devious sexual acts he'd perform on/with and/or receive from them). For clothes, cars, and especially weed. But most importantly, for beats, as evidenced by the classics provided via Party Supplies, plenty of which have a weirdly sentimental sheen to them, a slightly Tarantino-esque cinematic feel both in style and the style of tribute, a throwback to a Dolemite-era fantasy that never existed for Albanians from Queens until now.

Throw in some memorable ad-libs and great captured moments that remained on the record (like Bronson's flubbed lines on "9-24-11"), and you have a brilliant entrance for a man whose greatest challenge was emerging from the shadow of the Staten native he resembles in sound. Or as Bronsolino put it on Blue Chips track "Ron Simmons": "While you can catch me out in Spain on the coast, dick/Don't ever say my fucking music sound like Ghost shit." You can still say it about his voice, sure. But you'd be wrong about his music. —Foster Kamer

After his major label debut album, I'm Serious, failed to set the charts on fire, despite production from The Neptunes, T.I. took matters into his own hands. He formed the Grand Hustle label and released a series of tapes with the sole purpose of rebuilding his career. Repackaging slept-on tracks from his debut along with some new joints, Tip regained his footing.

Standout single "Dope Boyz" returned, joined by bounce record "404" and 8Ball-sampling "Willie B. Mackin," one of several tracks that introduced his P$C crew. Perhaps most impressive was "Jackin Fo Beats 2001," which found T.I. spitting high-density raps in his distinctive rounded-vowel flow over a series of recent hits, Ice Cube-style.

The buzz behind this, its sequel, In Da Streets Pt. 2, and a scene-stealing guest performance on Bonecrusher's "Never Scared" led to a new record deal, this time with Atlantic. From that point on—give or take the occasional bout of legal trouble—T.I.'s career was back on track. But In Da Streets is where it all began. —David Drake

Gucci would go on to greater heights, and at the time, Chicken Talk was an underground regional hit at best. But the double-disc tape, hosted by DJ Burn One, was, in conjunction with Gucci's debut LP Trap House, the real blueprint for the rapper's career. While he would develop a more musical approach as time went on, adopt a more improvisational technique, and push in a more effortlessly lyrical direction, Chicken Talk was the first domino in the wake of the attempt on his life that set the next five years into action, driving Gucci to the top of Atlanta's hip-hop food chain in the late '00s.

Each track to drop after Chicken Talk seemed to have some precedent on that tape: "Stupid" was the origin point of one of his most distinctive flows; "Street Nigga" was a statement of purpose that put him in the N.W.A. lineage. "My Chain" was the original track to focus with single-minded fascination on his jewelry. "Work Ya Wrist" was the beginning of a series of creatively fruitful collaborations with Yo Gotti. "745" was a scathing diss track, addressing Young Jeezy and firing opening shots at Jay-Z.

Meanwhile, "Swing My Door" was, perhaps, the hardest drug rap since Master P's "Ghetto D," a gut-wrenching track eerily lacking in artifice, its kick drums distorting as if heard from a rumbling car trunk. Like most of the tracks on Chicken Talk, the germ of an idea that he would blow up later existed here as well, foreshadowing one of his biggest songs ("Lemonade"): "Yellow 'vette nicknamed Chiquita." —David Drake

Image is a powerful commodity that can breed success in the music industry. Enter Michael Wayne Atha, a lanky, tatted-up white boy from Alabama who looked more like the lead singer of a punk band than your neighborhood street poet. After quietly bubbling for a few years in the South (and appearing on TV in The Road to Stardom With Missy Elliott), Yelawolf spent a week recording a mixtape that revealed he was an individual with a gritty story to tell.

Wolf covered a spectrum of topics, with ruthless etiquette ("Pop the Trunk"), drug exploitation ("Mixin' Up the Medicine (Remix)") and broken relationships ("Love Is Not Enough") being his forte. In each instance, Catfish Billy encompassed an intensity and authenticity that couldn't be denied.

While pairings with Bun B and Juelz Santana augmented Yelawolf's profile, it was his unexpected collaboration with Raekwon that really won over the East Coast holdouts. This was all tied together by producer WillPower, who still remains a driving force in the Alabama MC's career.

Yela's since released a handful of projects that have succeeded to various degrees, but Trunk Muzik remains the must-listen for anyone looking to dive into his catalog. —Edwin Ortiz

Juicy J willed himself into a successful new career arc—one as a solo artist—with the second installment of his Rubba Band Business series. Boasting a hefty 25 tracks and backed almost exclusively by Lex Luger production, the mixtape sits at the forefront of a sound (partially inspired by the bombast of Juicy's earlier Three 6 Mafia recordings) that would later result in massive hits like his own "Bandz A Make Her Dance." But before any of that happened, it was on this project that Juicy began carefully cultivating that style.

Much of Juicy J's subject matter from the first Rubba Band Business—drugs, sex, money—remains intact on its sequel, but more so than on the previous iteration, it's here that he organizes those ideas into commodifiable song structure. "My mansion sitting on 40 acres, who da neighbors/Kobe Bryant from the Lakers, now that's paper" grows from an amusing quip on the Wiz Khalifa-assisted "Erryday" to its own full-blown, club-rattling chorus on "Who Da Neighbors." Records like "A Zip and a Double Cup" and "So Damn Fucked Up" take Juicy's "trippy" mantra from catchphrase to musical force. He hasn't looked back since. —Ernest Baker

RELATED: Juicy J Breaks Down His 25 Most Essential Songs

The longer it ages, the more Odd Future de facto leader Tyler The Creator's Bastard becomes more indicative of hip-hop's cultural malaise, to a point where it almost hurts to listen to it. Almost. The lyrics (in all their vulgar glory), the no-fucks-given attitude, the crunchy homemade beats; it's the sound of frustration, of innovation.

At the time of Bastard's release, it felt like the big rap stars had grown fat and complacent, making the mainstream increasingly thin, leaving little to no room for new pioneers. The kids that make up the collective that is Odd Future were born out of these rigid parameters, and emerged screaming, kicking, and wanting to light everything on fire after carving upside-down crosses into it.

Almost anthropomorphically, Tyler growls and moans about his derelict dad, and his disgust with rap blogs. Four years later, Odd Future have an army of youngsters who might not be upheaving the throne, but still continue to put a little sweat on the brows of those who still aren't sure what to make of them. —Alysa Lechner

A multitude of artists have worn the hat of rapper/producer, but rarely does that multitasking methodology guarantee outstanding results. An exception to the rule is Big K.R.I.T.'s path, who after years of lingering in Mississippi's underground scene broke through on the self-produced mixtape K.R.I.T. Wuz Here.

Featuring country-fried soundscapes and a bombastic lyrical approach reminiscent of the late Pimp C, K.R.I.T.'s mixtape stood head and shoulders above his earlier work. From the inspirational musings of "Hometown" to the funkdafied boom found on "Just Touched Down," the songs were imbued with an irresistible soulfulness. The guests—Big Sant, Curren$y, Devin the Dude, Smoke DZA, Wiz Khalifa—were tastefully chosen, but Krizzle easily held his own throughout the project, displaying a lyrical dexterity that far outweighed many of his Southern peers.

Big K.R.I.T. has built up his resume since K.R.I.T. Wuz Here, but this will forever loom large as a career-defining project. —Edwin Ortiz

Two years after Chamillionaire and Paul Wall released the punchline-heavy comedy rap classic Get Ya Mind Correct, the national spotlight had shifted to Houston as a new generation of Texas rappers had begun a slow rise to national stardom.

"Ridin,'" the rapper's biggest hit, was still two years away; Cham watched as his former affiliates Swishahouse garnered national attention, largely off the back of "Still Tippin," a hit that had initially included Cham himself. There was the beef between Paul Wall and Cham's brother, Rasaq; then there was the generally disrespectful attitude Mike Jones seemed to be cultivating towards other rappers in Houston.

By 2004, bad blood was in the water. Chamillionaire's landmark three-disc 2004 mixtape, King Koopa, was an argument that Houston could stand with the rest of the country on a lyrical level. It was disc one, that got the most attention; after Cham's falling out with Swishahouse, the entire first disc of his tape was extended shots at Mike "Dyke" Jones, each track a pointed attack on the rapper over a different industry beat, from "You Got Wrecked"'s "Bow Down" remake to "Body Rock"'s reinvention of "Lean Back." Most inventive was "Roll Call," a track that had Cham rapping in the voices of everyone from Slim Thug to Big Moe to Z-Ro.

Disc two was a screwed and chopped version of disc one, while disc three featured Cham's crew, the Color Changing Click. Everyone in Houston made a lot of noise in the mid-2000s, and when the dust settled, it was Cham's ambitious three-disc opus that remained not just a Houston mixtape classic but one that impacted nationally. (He and Mike Jones have since settled their differences.) —David Drake

In a wave of young bombastic, staccato rappers, Joey Bada$$ emerged with an entirely different game plan. Seemingly incubated with the music of A Tribe Called Quest, the Pharcyde, and Souls of Mischief swirling around him in the womb, Bada$$ in turn gave birth to a solo debut that flawlessly preserved the dizzy, lackadaisical sounds of '90s hip-hop.

Despite the fact that this sonic era preceded his very existence, Bada$$ paid it homage with a meandering fluid flow, and jazzy, hard snare-driven beats over bass lines as smooth as molasses.

Having cut his teeth on prior mixtapes with his Pro Era crew (The Secc$ Tape, and the late Capital STEEZ's AmeriKKKan Korruption), Bada$$ sounded practiced, cohesive, and slathered in a patina of the glimmering "Golden Era" '90s hip hop. 1999 doesn't just present itself as a one-off throwback, it promises to become the catalyst of a new movement, brimful of possibilities. —Alysa Lechner

Even acts like Gucci Mane and Lil Boosie, whose catalogs are dominated by mixtape releases, had more success releasing official albums than Max B, who was sentenced to a 75-year prison bid in 2009. That was only a few years after he first emerged, as a scene-stealing hookman for Cam'ron's Jay-Z diss "You Got to Love It," after an eight-year armed robbery bid.

But he made those few years count, ghostwriting for Jim Jones (including, allegedly, smash hit "We Fly High (Ballin')") and playing a key role in Jones' Byrd Gang supergroup. And of course, there was The Wave: a series of incredible mixtapes that propelled him to (near) stardom. With the slurred, sing-song style and slick, casual delivery of a drunken street poet, Max's distinctive persona obscured his significant songwriting gifts. Alongside producer Dame Grease, he established a grungy melodic sound that was at once firmly underground yet resolutely pop.

Although many of his tapes, from Quarantine to Public Domain 6, are arguably good enough to qualify for this list, Coke Wave was perhaps the definitive record of Max's brief, meteoric impact on the rap game. It touched every base of what made Max's tapes great: there was the anthemic opener "Stake Sause" and the dynamic melancholia of "It Gotta Be." Like a reggae artist, the history of pop music was putty that he re-purposed and completely reinvented. There was his transformation of a signature Marvin Gaye track into the untouchable nonchalance of "I Warnd You," and his complete reinvention of West Coast rap classic "Can't C Me." And of course, the ballsiest choice, "NY": Dame Grease's reinvention of Sting's "Englishman in New York," where Branford Marsalis' smooth saxophone somehow becomes the soundtrack to one of the grittiest, catchiest New York street anthems in recent memory.

Max's wave broke against his prison bid, but the remaining ripples were strong enough to even propel sidekick French Montana to the next level. —David Drake

Popular contention would have you believe the sequel to this tape was the best of the series. While the second TINC was great and certainly the more popular one, the original is one of the most slept-on releases on this list. It wasn't a crucial moment for Fabolous (though he delivered the punchline goodness he's known for), but the lack of reception was a turning point for DJ Drama after the feds raided him.

Last year, Drama told us, "I remember there was a period where they felt as though the [Gangsta Grillz] brand wasn't as strong. When I did Fab's first tape VIBE put it in 20 Questions; 'The fact that Fab's underrated Gangsta Grillz is so underrated, does this mean that the brand is not as potent as it was?'" It wasn't, but that only inspired Drama to go harder and regain his throne. —Insanul Ahmed

Meek Mill has released nine solo mixtapes and two as a member of Philly supergroup The Bloodhoundz. Some releases were pivotal at different moments in his career; the Flamerz tapes led to an affiliation with Grand Hustle; Mr. Philadelphia attracted the attention of Rick Ross. But it was his debut tape for MMG that successfully transitioned Meek Mill from one of his city's most ferocious street rappers into a national star.

Unlike its sequel, it was a true midpoint between his Philly origins (Bloodhoundz member Mel Love makes several appearances) and his national aspirations (Rick Ross and Yo Gotti guest as well). It featured some of his best songs with producer and fellow resident of the City of Brotherly Love, Jahlil Beats, including the charting single "I'ma Boss," and the disorienting anxiety of "House Party."

In essence, though, what sets Dreamchasers apart in Meek's catalog was that this was the first time he had released a set of songs that transcended the street corner double-time alarm klaxon raps that had defined his earlier tapes. The visceral urgency remained, but rather than feeling like pure lyrical exercises, the songs began to develop in nuance and diversity, from the gripping storytelling of "Tony Story" to the heartfelt reminiscence of "Middle of the Summer." Meek Mill had evolved into a fully-fledged artist. —David Drake

After creating an Internet buzz with the incredible song, "Eternal Sunshine," this mixtape started appearing on blogs. All of Electronica's wizardry was on full display here on what remains one of his few released projects. If it lacks anything, it's thematic unity. At times, Electronica rocks over movie scores like on the aforementioned "Eternal Sunshine," other times he does a modern update to Illmatic by rocking over Nas' "The World Is Yours," then he flips original J Dilla production in uncanny ways. But it was Jay Elec's intricate lyricism and all powerful voice that held it all together.

Although the tape didn't take the world by storm, it did help establish the New Orleans rapper who eventually turned the rap world on its head with "Exhibit C." —Insanul Ahmed

Like many artists on this list, Lil Boosie's official, label-sanctioned releases only give a very limited picture of his overall creative direction. Paired with Thug Passion, which droppd within weeks of this release, Superbad: The Return of Mr. Wipe Me Down was one of his best.

Released shortly before he became ensnared in a bevy of legal problems—including a murder charge—the tape was so loaded that it felt like a full LP. The opening string of tracks hit with devastating power: "Long Journey" was an introspective tour-de-force, "Got Them Hos" was a strangely wistful song about his female fans' devotion. "Fuck the Police" reinvented a timeless gangster rap theme with particularly personal viciousness, while "Sunshine" was an unusually optimistic slow summer jam for the self-described savage.

As for the opener "Take You Down," buying a T-Pain hook near the height of that artist's commercial peak and then tossing it away on a free mixtape may have been foolish. Or it may have just been that Boosie had taken stunting to an entirely new level. —David Drake

Curren$y has always presented himself as an entertaining contradiction: the clever stoner. His flow is lazy, almost Ma$e-like, but the lyrics and punchlines are always on point. This Ain't No Mixtape illustrates that juxtaposition to a T. On a track like "Get It Ya Self," you might find yourself drowsily head nodding, caught up in a sonic hotbox hypnosis. But then Spitta pulls out a line like, "Get it in like clowns in the Volkswagen," and you're immediately shocked back to life.

His fans might be dying for Spitta's breakout moment, but after stints with No Limit and Young Money, he's content being an underground king. But if that's what it takes to keep Curren$y producing material like this, then so be it. —Alysa Lechner

RELATED: Curren$y's 25 Favorite Albums

Ah, the siren song of 2 Chainz: His name. Before this tape came along, the world didn't know we needed 2 Chainz, but T.R.U. REALigion presented a compelling case that we did, one that was simply impossible to ignore after a certain point. That exact point was somewhere during the first listen, right around the ninth time he'd said his new name. That name, so much better than his former moniker, Tity Boi, was perfect for screaming at the top of one's lungs. And who better to showcase his new name than an all-star roster of producers (Mike WILL Made It, Dumma Boy, Lex Luger) and some of rap's most reliable rhymers (Jadakiss, Raekwon, and, uh, Kreayshawn)?

Of course, none of them were quite like 2 Chainz, whose grimy brand of fun worked because it was both serious about being weird and weird about being serious. This tape would be essential if all it did was give the world "Riot," a song most memorable not for its chorus, or piano-driven MPC knockout beat, but the way it so perfectly epitomizes the 2 Chainz way of boiling things down to their ineffable essence (in this case, the gun goes: "click clack and pow pow"). True. —Foster Kamer

RELATED: 2 Chainz's 25 Favorite Albums

Much like Tyler, the Creator's Bastard, Earl was released at a time in hip-hop culture when there was such an appetite for innovation that fans had turned to fiends, scraping the undersides of their fingernails for whatever slivers of sonic creativity they could find. Earl gave them a fat sack of what they craved, and then some.

As one of the youngest—Earl was 16 at the time of recording—and most intriguing members of Odd Future, Earl's prodigious lyrics were spellbinding to the point where you might feel like he was personally cursing you. Features from the remaining members of OF brought Earl into full bloom, leaving listeners in a state of paralysis induced by horror and enchantment alike. —Alysa Lechner

Jadakiss is a great rapper who has never had a classic album. But he does have a classic mixtape, The Champ Is Here. Released as a promo for Kiss of Death, the gritty street tape surpassed Jada's album because it was hardcore throughout and didn't feature the lackluster crossover attempts that Jada never delivered on (save for "Why").

Songs like "40 Bars of Terror" had punchlines like, "And I'm in the hood like Chinese wings," while tracks like "Carry Your Casket" were as rugged and grim as anything Jada's ever released: "Niggas that you running around getting ass with/Ain't gone help you do nothing but carry your casket."

What makes Kiss of Death so frustrating is that at the time, Jada was actually wearing the title belt: His flow had been emulated all throughout rap. He just had to deliver the knockout blow on his album. He didn't, but at least The Champ Is Here serves as an awesome montage sequence akin to Rocky running up the stairs. —Insanul Ahmed

In the wake of Drake's So Far Gone, there was a renewed interest in the mixtape scene for rappers who could mix wit, introspection, and candor. Enter: J. Cole. His second mixtape not only helped establish the young spitter, but the mixtape's track "Lights Please" famously impressed Jay-Z so much he signed Cole to Roc Nation (the song would later appear on Cole's debut album, Cole World: The Sideline Story).

The mixtape helped Cole grow a buzz as he rapped over a series of classic beats like "Dead Presidents II" and "Last Call" and managed to do them justice. Yet it was on songs like "Grown Simba" and "Dollar and a Dream II" where Cole was able to establish his persona, setting him up as a relatable rapper with grand ambitions. —Insanul Ahmed

RELATED: The Making of J. Cole's Cole World: The Sideline Story

Lupe Fiasco, who grew up on Chicago's rough west side, came out the gate performing Fabolous-style street rap (over Chicago house samples, no less!) but it wasn't until the series of Fahrenheit 1/15 mixtapes dropped that the rapper seemed to find himself, bringing Kanye's conflicted neuroses and wedding them to a dexterous technical skill.

The best of these tapes was Part II, subtitled Revenge of the Nerds, from the meta-rap verse of "Mean & Vicious" ("Truthfully, I have trouble with second verses/'cause the first one be so intimidating, it be bullying, instigating/pointing out all the second one's limitations") to "Switch (The Science Project)," arguably the most incredible moment of his technical prowess.

For those unconvinced of Lupe's abilities, "Switch" found the rapper rotating through a series of flows in a deft double-time over the "Still Tippin'" instrumental, an electrifying exemplar of devotion to craft. He remained rooted in Chicago past—witness the effortless double-time that closes his Crucial Conflict reinvention "Don't Get It Twisted"—while thinking of the future, introducing the artist who was to be his protege, the underrated Gemini.

But the strongest sign of the rapper's emerging personality came near the end of the tape, when Lupe took to Kanye's "Diamonds" instrumental, spreading awareness about the history and origins of hip-hop's "bling, the crystal-encrusted princess-flooded canary studded blue colored and blood-stained." —David Drake

From the onset of his career, it was apparent that Juelz Santana had the potential to be more than a member of Dipset, and more than just one of Cam'ron's pals. The first installment of Back Like Cooked Crack saw that potential fulfilled. The beat selection, the cornerstone of any mixtape's success, is strong, and a bit left-field. Contemporary instrumentals like Jay-Z's "What More Can I Say" are rhymed over, but Juelz also takes to rapping over hits of his adolescence (Kriss Kross' "Jump"), and records completely out of his wheelhouse (The Rolling Stones' "Can't You Hear Me Knockin'").

All of the approaches to production work for one notable reason: Juelz Santana is rapping his ass off the entire time. One of the finest examples of that comes on one of the three tracks on the mixtape simply titled "Freestyle." He raps, in a multi-syllabic rhyme scheme: "We gorillas, you can't fight that with a mice trap/Chump, you can't bite back with a light stack/This is war, this ain't an ice pack for a light scratch/But when the Mac tackle your block/All you hear is 'snap, crackle, and pop,' your back axle'll drop." From the free association metaphors to the colorful boasts, the raps are like this from beginning to end, and make the entire project a particularly entertaining listen.

Juelz Santana's career is somewhat stalled at the moment, but Back Like Cooked Crack is a reminder that, at one point, he was the most promising young spitter in the game. He had it all: impeccable style, an ear for beats, and brash lyrics that somehow felt unconventional and completely familiar at the same time. You can never take that moment away from him. —Ernest Baker

Over the years, we've seen Wale take on plenty of different styles and make the transition from local hero to a member of one of the most powerful teams in hip-hop. He's tasted major label success and landed a few big singles, but he's never been more in-the-zone for an entire project than he was on 2008's The Mixtape About Nothing.

Inspired by Seinfeld, Wale highlighted situations that everyone could relate to, and he did it with an energy all his own. Bringing that D.C. flavor with Best Kept Secret handling a large chunk of the production, the tape was heavy on go-go influence and had a live feel that few hip-hop acts can pull off.

Lyrically, The Mixtape About Nothing was thoughtful without tempting anyone to stick it with the dreaded "conscious rap" label. Wale went in with intelligent commentary on culture, current events, and personal stories that added weight that few mixtapes can match.

Many rappers treat hip-hop like a competition to see who can brag about the most extravagant lifestyle, and while this can be highly entertaining, it's not relatable to most listeners. What made Mixtape About Nothing special was that it clicked with fans looking for something real, and it did it with style. —Jacob Moore

RELATED: Wale's 25 Favorite Albums

The phrase "Beam me up, Scotty" has a few meanings: It relates to drugs, it's been famously misquoted from Star Trek (The closest quote is "Scotty, beam me up"), and it's the title of the mixtape that landed Nicki Minaj atop the rap game. Nearly two years after her feature on "Can't Stop Won't Stop" off Wayne's Da Drought 3, Nicki killed practically every verse on all 23 tracks—even the "Intro" that gives a most proper introduction to Ms. Minaj.

When "I Get Crazy" hit the radio, it reached No. 20 on the Hot Rap Songs chart, but beyond its commercial success, this mixtape defined the sound, the arrogance, and the wildly entertaining multifaceted talent and multiple personalities that Nicki brought to hip-hop—solidifying her position as the first lady of Young Money and the hottest female MC in the game. With Beam Me Up Scotty, Minaj showed she was here to stay. —Lauren Nostro

We remember it so clearly: The first time we heard A$AP Rocky's "Purple Swag" and later  "Pe$o," we knew he had something going for him. Many rappers search for years trying to find their voice and their sound, but what those songs suggested was that the Harlem rookie already had a fully defined aesthetic that was undeniably trill. When his mixtape finally dropped, our greatest hopes came true.

Rocky draws inspiration from Houston and borrow flows from Bone Thugs and UGK, but that doesn't make him any less of his own artist. Despite his laid-back persona, he came off as electric and precise on the microphone. The beats on the mixtape, mostly courtesy of Clams Casino and A$AP Ty Beats, bang so hard they bring Houston to Harlem. As Rocky says on "Purple Swag," "I'm Texas trill, Texas trill, but in NY we spit it slow." — Insanul Ahmed

No artist has been so defined by his mixtapes as Gucci Mane. Carrying the torch from Lil Wayne, Gucci adapted his flood-the-market approach to a more competitive mixtape era. With a deluge of free music online, the need for nonstop material put a strain on lesser artists; to meet the quantity requirements, quality would suffer. Gucci found a workaround.

Gucci's shrewd calculation was to adopt his own rap style to the needs of his growing fanbase's unquenchable thirst for new material. Thus, the rough-hewn rock of personality hammered out on the Trap House LP and Chicken Talk mixtape was chiseled for a new era on No Pad No Pencil. Like the title says, he threw out the notepad, creating a set template, then experimenting with a multitude of imaginative variations.

The Movie was the creative apex of this effort, the moment when his style seemed to compact so many contradictory tensions and energies inside one release that each track crackled with electricity. There was the Reservoir Dogs-worthy introduction. There was the club jam for the mobile camera era, "Photo Shoot." There was the cocky licentiousness of "Bachelor Pad," the intoxicated black-out circuit overload of "I'm a Star," and the breezy beach vibes of "You Know What It Is."

Gucci was never quite able to follow through on the crossover potential, thanks in large part to legal dilemmas that sidetracked his career. But the creative energy contained within The Movie mixtape was a uniquely exuberant expression of possibility. —David Drake

RELATED: The 50 Best Gucci Mane Songs

In the hands of Jay-Z, Rick Rubin's bouncy, crunchy beat on "99 Problems" was a springboard for art in 2003, three concept stories set to some thunderous sonics. In the hands of T.I. a year later, the same beat was the foundation of one of the greatest and most thorough etherings in rap history, a devastating lyrical beatdown that launched one career and effectively ended another.

Looking back, it doesn't even seem like a fair fight. T.I., one of the biggest rappers of the 21st Century, versus Lil Flip, a dude who once dressed up like a leprechaun on an album cover. But at one point in 2004, Flip was the bigger name. He'd released two platinum albums to T.I.'s one, and Tip was plagued by legal woes that landed him in jail that spring, preventing him from properly promoting Trap Muzik.

While in jail, T.I. heard rumors (apparently unfounded, it turns out) that Flip had been dissing him around Atlanta, calling himself "King of the South," a title that neither youngster had any business claiming with Scarface still on the scene. Tip responded, first at a concert for ATL radio station 107.9 (a bill he shared with Flip), and later in Houston, confronting his rival on Flip's home turf. But it was Down With the King, one of the early entries in DJ Drama's Gangsta Grillz series, that Tip would obliterate Flip's career.

Actually, "obliterate" is an understatement; the vocabulary of particle physics doesn't encompass the damage T.I. does in the first awesome, sadly homophobic bars of infomercial raps for bros running garage sales. —Jack Erwin

RELATED: When New York Showed Southern Rap Love

Kid Cudi's first mixtape, A Kid Named Cudi was the perfect entrance into the hip-hop game. It was a strong enough compilation of tracks to gain the attention of Kanye West, land Cudi a spot on 808s and Heartbreaks, and get him signed to Universal.

The prevailing mood is melancholy, self-deprecating, emotional, and paranoid. On "Man on The Moon," which made it to Cudi's debut album, he introduces himself as someone who never gave a fuck about what anyone thought of him or his music—indeed, he still doesn't.

A potent blend of haunting lyrics, powerful beats, and rock-star lifestyle was woven throughout every track, every hook, every note. The samples were incredibly diverse—from Band of Horses' "The Funeral" to Paul Simon's "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover." "Day N Nite" became a commercial success, peaking at No. 3 on the Billboard Hot 100, and Cudi's career was off to races from there. Still, he never let his fame get in the way of his creativity, or let himself forget that Cleveland is the reason. —Lauren Nostro

You can't be blamed if your first impression of Danny Brown was either (A) This sounds like a jungle cat being thrown into a dryer, (B) This person—or at least their hair—looks like a jungle cat emerging from said dryer, or (C) Oh, god: What the hell are hipster rap fans trying to make catch now?

The answer turned out to be a Detroit rapper concerned with such typical rap themes as...blowing Adderall and stealing copper wire. And who's going to rap about Adderall and stealing copper if not Danny? Not you. Not Big Sean. Not even, these days, Eminem.

Nobody had represented for the weirdest, most ratchet side of rap—or Detroit, or people without great dental benefits—in far too long, until 30-year-old Danny Brown dropped XXX and lit a firecracker under the ideas of other rappers who thought they were putting forward something unique.

Pitchfork approval aside, XXX achieved that undeniable element of shot-out-a-cannon success crucial to a memorable mixtape. Good thing G-Unit wasn't down with those skinny jeans: As we all know by now, 50 was about to sign Danny if it weren't for the look. Instead, Danny doubled down on his style, both sartorially and musically. The result? As Mr. Brown would have it: CHECK. —Foster Kamer

Wiz Khalifa's official albums have been commercially successful, but this 2010 mixtape stands as the truest expression of his red-eyed artistic vision. From "Waken Baken" on down, Wiz sticks to the script with laser-like focus. As the artist explained to Complex scribe Insanul Ahmed, "That mixtape is raw, I did what I wanted to do. You can't do that on an album because other people gotta eat off that album."

Nevertheless, Khalifa's fans were not mad at the raw uncut, making #kushandorangejuice a trending topic on the day of the tape's release. On a flute-loop-driven cut called "The Statement," Wiz rhymes "Know we belong on the top, but we ain't trippin'/'Cause we'll get there in a minute." But who knows? Maybe he was already there. —Rob Kenner

RELATED: Wiz Khalifa's 25 Favorite Albums

Joe Budden rose to prominence on the mixtape circuit thanks to a close relationship with DJ Clue and scored a deal with Def Jam in the post–50 Cent era—back when hot mixtapes were seen as a golden ticket to success. After dropping a Top 40 hit with his lead single "Pump It Up," his self-titled debut album didn't sell as well as expected. But there was a heartfelt sincerity to his music that few rappers had. While that didn't equate to huge sales, it did lead to a die hard fan base that grew discouraged when Def Jam shelved Budden's sophomore album, The Growth.

Angry at the world and abandoned by his label, Budden hit the booth to vent his frustrations and ended up making the best project of his career, one so acclaimed it even got a writeup in the New York Times. The original Mood Muzik was a best of compilation, but the sequel was essentially an all-new album that featured almost entirely original production.

The mixtape has diverse styles, too. Sure, there were plenty of all-out lyrical blasts like "Dumb Out" and "Get It Poppin," but there was also personal introspection on songs like "Are You In That Mood Yet" and "If I Die Tomorrow." It turned out that deep in the dungeons of rap—where his addictions, ambitions, and failures were laid bare—Budden's potential could be fully realized. He might have felt cast aside and relegated to the underground, but maybe he was better off there in a time when major labels didn't have the time/budget/inclination to develop his talent.

This mixtape changed the trajectory of Budden's career. Who knows? Without it he might have been a forgotten artist, just one of rap's many one-hit wonders. Instead, Mood Muzik 2 fueled his career: He released several more volumes in the series, became an underground favorite, and eventually hooked up with Slaughterhouse and landed a No. 1 album last year. Are you in that mood yet? —Insanul Ahmed

If you hung out in the outer boroughs of NYC during the late summer of 2002, the beat was inescapable: a deranged jangle that sounded like an ice cream truck running on a dying battery. You didn't even need to know about the buzz around 50 Cent at the time. It was simple street science: any song that reaches that sort of saturation point is going to be huge.

When the video for "Wanksta" dropped that fall, No Mercy, No Fear became one of the most important mixtapes of all time. Most important doesn't mean the best; it wasn't even the G-Unit's best offering that summer. But it was also more than just "Wanksta" ("Banks Victory" rates as a classic in itself), and as a "moment in time" event, it ranks with the greatest of the genre. —Jack Erwin

Dedication 2 is the moment that Lil Wayne stepped into the light and became the Best Rapper Alive. It's a collective representation of that time when hip-hop fans were in awe of Weezy.

Granted, Wayne had firmly established himself as a fully formed talent with the release of Tha Carter II and the original Dedication, but Dedication 2 offered so much more. For one, Weezy's personality began to shine through; his love of SportsCenter was now more apparent than ever.

His lyrics became a mix of abrupt violence ("Kidnap a nigga make him feel like a kid again"), pure wit ("I've been ready since '81 and I was born in '82"), and pop culture references ("She said it's not Dominos, it's DiGiornos"). Most importantly, his flow became unmatched as he experimented with a variety of styles, most notably paying homage to Juvenile's "Bounce for the Juvenile" on "Walk It Off."—Insanul Ahmed

Only Kanye West would be bombastic enough to make the introduction to a mixtape both the THX sound and then, a clip from 106 & Park wishing him to get well soon after the car accident that inspired "Through the Wire." But that's Kanye West, even in 2003, when Get Well Soon came out. The tape was a showcase for 'Ye as a producer, sure—giving many people who didn't know better before the revelation that all those amazing beats are this guy—but moreover, a preview of what was to come on College Dropout, and generally from Kanye as a rapper.

By Kanye standards, it's modest (and again, Modest Kanye Standards are rhyming over Queen's "We Are the Champions," and dropping the live track of him announcing himself as the newest member of the Roc). But given the way most people remember where they where when they first heard it, anyone who listened to Get Well Soon before College Dropout dropped knows this as more than a warning shot, or the 'Ye tape with all the better versions of what would become Kanye staples (see the John Legend-infused "Home" and "Through the Wire," first released here in all of its mumbly, wired-jaw glory). It's a definitive announcement: 'Ye isn't coming, 'Ye's here, and he's here to stay for a while. —Foster Kamer

After dropping a well-received debut album, the Clipse's career stalled when they became ensnared in label drama and their sophomore album, Hell Hath No Fury, was endlessly delayed. They picked up the slack by teaming up with Ab-Liva and Sandman, forming The Re-Up Gang, and releasing We Got It 4 Cheap. The first tape was pretty good, but the second was extraordinary.

Before having original production on your mixtapes became popular, We Got It 4 Cheap Vol. 2 featured the Thornton brothers going ham over the absolute best beats of the day, including "Mic Check," "Hate It or Love It," and "The Corner," as well as classics like "Daytona 500" and "Drugs." You can hear many of the same thoughts and ideas in their lyrics that ended up on Clipse's eventual classic, Hell Hath No Fury.

The only reason this tape isn't higher on this list is because of the middling presence of Ab-Liva and Sandman. It's not that they were wack per se, they just never brought much excitement to the songs; their input was essentially filler before Pusha or Malice came on.

Clipse seemed acutely aware of this: Throughout the run of the series, Pusha and Malice never had back-to-back verses. Their 16s were always preceded and/or followed up by either Ab or Sandman. Sure, it inflated the songs but it was still a cheap price to pay. —Insanul Ahmed

This collection captures Young Hov at the tipping point between MC and mogul, back when the release of a signature Reebok shoe was still cause for excitement.

At the top of the "Flava in Ya Ear Freestyle," he speaks of going half on a boat with Puff. 10 years later, picture Shawn Carter going half on anything—except maybe another baby with Beyoncé (whose refreshingly ratchet interlude here is a definite highlight). On the "Blunts and Armadale" freestyle, Jigga muses about a future project called The Black Album, which he describes as "the bookends to the whole career."

Nothing can touch the lyrical onslaught of the "Pump It Up Freestyle" on which Jay asks, "Who's the nicest, life or lifeless/On these mic devices, and I don't write this/I just mic this; I will it to happen." Nowadays there seems nothing Jay-Z cannot will to happen, and it's a wonder to behold. Still it's nice to revisit the time when rapping was enough. —Rob Kenner

Rick Ross understands that beat selection is not something to be trivialized in rap. His gargantuan persona is directly paralleled by the beats he chooses, and this deadly combination reached its apex on Rich Forever, the Titantic of mixtapes.

Overflowing with excess, Rich Forever instills the most hedonistic of values in listeners as they play along with the Teflon Don in his fantasy world of lofty thread counts and two-seater coupes. Features by Drake, 2 Chainz, Diddy, Meek Mill, and Birdman add to the voluminosity—not that Ross needs help.

Consider Rich Forever the mixtape equivalent of a Michael Bay film: If you're going to blow something up, make sure it looks pretty and everyone gets to see it. —Alysa Lechner

People tend to forget: Drake was two mixtapes in at the beginning of 2009. Two mixtapes that had promise, sure: You could see Drake's ideas, where they were going, maybe even glimmers of potential. But it wasn't until So Far Gone that Drake's career kicked into hyperdrive.

Plenty of rappers brag about being something people have never seen before, but do they want it? So Far Gone was a resounding answer: Yes. It had everything. This was a mixtape that featured Lil Wayne and Bun B right next to of-the-moment indie acts Peter, Bjorn & John, Santigold, and Lykke Li. It trafficked in chopped-and-screwed Houston rap ("November 18th"), perfectly flossy Young Money rap ("Ignorant Shit"), and an unstoppable song-of-the-summer breakout hit ("Best I Ever Had").

Most amazing of all, it had the obligatory R&B tracks with the rapper guest spots, with Drake playing both parts ("Houstalantavegas," "Sooner Than Later"). And of course it had plenty of what's unfairly referred to as "emo rap." But now we know it was just the beginning, our first look at the introspective side of an artist who was willing to break new ground in rap mixtapes by creating tracks that were so wildly revealing about the innermost details of his being ("Say What's Real," "The Calm") that it seemed everyone on the planet, at least for a moment, could relate, too.

So Far Gone didn't just have hits, or great rapping, or great melodies, or deep cuts or stellar guest spots. It had coherence, narrative, and resonance that stands up even now. Let the debate over whether or not Drake has matched its greatness since carry on. —Foster Kamer

These days he's an executive at Altantic Records, but back when Jeezy released his second DJ Drama mixtape, he had a different occupation—and it wasn't rapping. The Snowman spends most of this 26-track opus underscoring that point, nowhere more indelibly than on "Miss Me With That Rap Shit."

Trap or Die was more than just a declaration that Jeezy was about that life; it was the start of a whole new movement in Southern hip-hop. Sure, T.I. had dropped Trap Muzik two years earlier, but ATL rap changed forever when Jeezy started groaning those "Yeeeeah" ad-libs. Everything about this release is historic, from the Shawty-Redd-produced title track to "So Icy," the song that helped spark a long-running rift with Gucci Mane.

This mixtape didn't just certify Jay Jenkins as a street legend, it also established DJ Drama's Gangsta Grillz as the definitive Dirty South mixtape series. —Rob Kenner

50 Cent and Lil Wayne receive, and deserve, a lot of credit for their prolific mixtape output and how it changed hip-hop promotion, but quiet as kept, Dipset is the true pioneer of that strategy. The Diplomats, Vol. 1 is the project that started it all.

The mixtape served multiple agendas simultaneously: promote Cam'ron's single "Oh Boy," get radio play, and move physical units. Over the course of 15 songs, the crew attacked the instrumentals of popular mainstream tracks like Carlos Santana's "Maria, Maria" and Eminem's "Stan," but also found room for their own original music. It proved to be a brilliant decision that gave listeners all the Dipset they needed, but with diverse enough backdrops to hold anyone's attention. Thus, the modern mixtape formula was born.

Many of the records on Vol. 1 made it to Cam'ron's Roc-a-fella debut, and characters like Juelz Santana and Jim Jones, who were introduced to most on this mixtape, went on to become big stars in their own right. It was truly the beginning of a movement. —Ernest Baker

Da Drought 3 recalls a time when calling Lil Wayne the "Best Rapper Alive" was perfectly justifiable. The mixtape is a one-of-a-kind behemoth with Wayne demolishing the most popular instrumentals of the time beyond recognition. Seriously. No one remembers "King Kong" by Jibbs or "Mr. Jones" by Mike Jones, but their beats have been immortalized by Wayne's otherworldly flows, non sequiturs, and braggadocio.

Wayne even marks his territory on instrumentals whose original versions matter in the context outside of Da Drought 3. "Upgrade" disregards all the pop sheen on Beyoncé and Jay-Z's hit in favor of over four minutes of spastic delivery from Lil Wayne, where everything from Apollo Creed to the Toronto Maple Leafs get their due shine in one of the track's many punchlines. DJ Khaled posse cut "We Takin' Over" gets re-appropriated for a solo remix in which Wayne asserts, "Damn right, I kiss my daddy," in response to the leaked photo of him kissing Birdman, effectively ending much of the discussion surrounding the image, in the slickest way possible.

Six years later, Da Drought 3 stands as a project that blessed and haunted Lil Wayne's career with equal weight. It's so prolific a mixtape that it confirmed all of the hyperbolic claims being tossed around by the press, and the rapper himself, but it also set the bar so unbelievably high for his subsequent efforts. Never again will we get to hear someone rap, "It's going down like there's a whale in the boat," and actually make it work. For better or for worse. —Ernest Baker

RELATED: 40 Things You Didn't Know About Lil Wayne

RELATED: The 100 Best Lil Wayne Songs

Long before the quarters dropped, and Curtis "50 Cent" Jackson became the filthy rich megastar he is today, 50 Cent Is The Future was the body of work that solidified himself as rap's next big thing.

After being shot nine times, and getting dropped from his label, Fif (literally) spit out the leftover shells and got to work putting together a masterpiece that displayed his knack for marrying a gritty style of New York rapping and Southern twang. Jacking beats from artists ranging from Jay-Z to Tweet (yes, Tweet), 50 put his own spin on of-the-moment records and made them his own. He wasn't the first to use the formula, but certainly the most influent. The mixtape hit street corners on June 1, and it became the official soundtrack of summer 2002.

Back then, 50 was actually the underdog everyone was rooting for. He was angry, driven and seeking redemption—yet he obviously didn't give a fuck about either the industry or the people who put money on his head. The cover art alone, a stoic, chipped-up Fif with his arms folded across his chest, surrounded by G-Unit cohorts Lloyd Banks and Tony Yayo holding guns against a white background, sent a clear message: "We're here now, and you're going to have to deal with us."

This was the tape that everyone wanted to put everyone else up on, and people took pride in co-signing 50 first. On "Bad News" Fif raps, "I'm just a new kid, I can't help that I'm hot/What a little nigga say to 50 Cent don't matter/I'll fire shots at the shepherd and watch the sheep scatter."

When all is said and done, there will be a lot of talk about 50's constant beefs, his extraordinary entrepreneurial spirit, and his much-debated body of work in the latter years. Something that's not debatable? The impact 50 Cent Is The Future had on the mixtape game, and on hip-hop as a whole. —Joe La Puma

RELATED: 50 Things You Didn't Know About 50 Cent

RELATED: The 25 Best 50 Cent Rants