Ranking Jay-Z's Albums From Worst To Best

"Every album's a color." Jay-Z famously compared his catalog to a Rubik's Cube, specifically in how trying to complete a new side inevitably "fucks up the other color." Since then, as his career morphed into distinct retirement and negated retirement phases, collaborative albums with everyone from Linkin Park to Kanye, concept albums and album sequels, that observation has only gotten more apt.

It applies just as much when trying to sort that sprawling discography. Even the obvious choices don't seem so easy when you really get down to it. Is Kingdom Come really dead last? Not if you're counting Unfinished Business. Even the top spot is so hotly debated that we had our own debate to try and settle it. No two people rank the Volumes the same; only a blessed few seem to recognize that Life and Times of S. Carter has aged to near perfection. 

Hova did the unexpected once again last year with 4:44, delivering an effort that not only stands as, arguably his best post-retirement project, but one that deserves special recognition for the way it mines a wealth of new depth despite being Jigga's thirteenth solo album. Time will tell how high it truly deserves to go but immediately, this startlingly intimate, technically dazzling project is just the latest in a storied solo career that has excellence in spades. That's to say nothing of the way he and his equally GOAT wife bodied beat the odds this year and delivered a compelling joint album that has more in common with Watch the Throne than it does "Hollywood."

Trying to do each great Jay-Z album justice is a high-wire act. Most, if not all of them, are classic in some way. And placing one great high just means moving another great down. We did our best not to fuck up the colors.

Label: Roc-A-Fella, Def Jam,Rockland, Jive

Producers: Alexander "Spanador" Mosley, Poke and Tone, R. Kelly,

Features: Foxy Brown, Twista, Slick Rick, Doug E. Fresh, Memphis Bleek

Oh what? You thought we forgot about this one? Hey, if Watch The Throne counts as part of Jay’s catalog, so does this. Seemingly more of a contractual obligation than an actual release, the sequel to Best of Both Worlds was the best of neither. The record was essentially b-sides from the first album, which means it was pure filler, repetitive concepts, and mailed-in verses from Jay. (No, literally, according to executive producer Tone of Trackmasters, the album was made without Jay or Kelly ever stepping into the studio together.) 

Ironically, by the time the album debuted No. 1 on the charts, the dynamic duo was no more. Kelly, reportedly acting erratically backstage at a joint performance at Madison Square was pepper sprayed by a member of Jay’s entourage, Tyran "Ty Ty" Smith. Which raises the question: Would you rather be pepper-sprayed or forced to listen to this album in its entirety? — Insanul Ahmed

Label: Roc-A-Fella/Def Jam

Producers: B-Money, Just Blaze, Dr. Dre, Mark Batson, Kanye West, DJ Khalil, The Neptunes, Syience, Ne-Yo, Swizz Beatz, Chris Martin, Quincy Jones

Features: Chrisette Michele, John Legend, Usher, Pharrell Williams, Beyoncé, Sterling Simms, Ne-Yo, Chris Martin

Whenever you find yourself in an argument about Jay-Z's greatness or why he's not that great, it’s only a matter of time until someone brings up Kingdom Come—the one unredeemable record in Jay’s catalog. Unfinished Business might be worse, but it was mostly ignored. Coming as it did after Jay's three-year "retirement," Kingdom Come was saddled with a load of “Jay-Z is back!” hype—lofty expectations that made its failure seem that much more spectacular.

For years, we could never understand why Jay would make such a bad album. It wasn’t until we sat down with Jay’s longtime engineer Young Guru did it all make sense. According to Guru, L.A. Reid gave Jay an impossible choice: Either rush out the album or the then-strapped-for-cash Def Jam would have to start laying people off. So Jay recorded the album in the midst of a world tour. He’d record right after performing, which might explain why his voice sounded so strained and his flow so tired. The songs are weak.

Nevertheless, the album did have a few highlights. It kicks off with a great one-two-three punch: “The Prelude,” “Oh My God,” and the title track. But starting with the lackluster “Show Me What You Got” (which Lil Wayne would soon jack, and better, making Jay look old and out-of-touch) the album becomes a mix of forgettable (“I Made It”), frustrating (“Dig A Hole”), and flaccid (“Anything”).

Yet here’s the irony: On the low, the album kinda worked. In the short term (and this might not be a hundred percent attributable to Jay) Jay's celebration of “grown man swag” had trendchasers thinking suits and ties were cool after all. Jay’s effort to get hip-hop to accept the fact of its aging has borne out. It might have been an awkward transition, but it was a transition nonetheless. 

If you look at rap now, some of it’s most exciting artists are all in their 30s. Not to say Jay paved the way for them exclusively (folks like Dr. Dre, Ghostface Killah, Scarface, and Bun B deserve some recognition in this regard.) But he did help us get our “old man in the club” jokes out of our system before memes existed. Is 30 the new 20? Maybe not really. But hip-hop is undoubtably more comfortable with it's age spots since Jay’s kingdom came crashing down. —Insanul Ahmed

Label: Roc-A-Fella/Def Jam

Producers: Kanye West, Just Blaze, Dr. Dre, Scott Storch, The Neptunes, Timbaland, No I.D., Jimmy Kendrix, Big Chuck, Ron Feemster, Heavy D, Charlemagne, Darrell "Digga" Branch

Features: Faith Evans, The Notorious B.I.G., Dr. Dre, Rakim, Truth Hurts, Beyoncé, Sean Paul, LaToiya Williams, Big Boi, Killer Mike, Twista, Kanye West, Lenny Kravitz, M.O.P., Beanie Sigel, Scarface, Young Chris, Memphis Bleek, Freeway, Young Gunz, Peedi Crakk, Spars & Rell

"I'm so far ahead of my time, I'm about to start another life/Look behind you, I'm about to pass you twice." Jay had established himself as the dominant rapper of his generation on The Blueprint. And for all its problems (most of them involving a surfeit of ambition, or Lenny Kravitz, or both), The Blueprint 2 successfully maintained the mythos-building of its prequel. The double-album is a feat basically required of a rapper at the upper tier, a moment of peak-era hubris that rarely (Biggie, Tupac) justifies itself. 

Blueprint 2 suffers badly for its long running time, and it hasn't aged nearly as well as many records from that era. But in its best moments, it speaks to why Jay enjoyed a rep, for as long as he did, as the best rapper alive. Listen to him reveling in technical audacity: flowing deftly over the tricky, 5-bar-loop in "Hovi Baby," spitting double-time next to Rakim on "The Watcher 2," spinning the finely detailed morality tale of "Meet the Parents." 

On the beats front, its hard to complain about guest production from Kanye West, Just Blaze, and Timbaland, then all in near-peak form. The album also supplied the rapper's biggest hit to that point, thanks in part to solidifying the royalty-pairing of Jay and Beyonce. "'03 Bonnie and Clyde" was the single that set him up for complete popular crossover, one which he would not surpass on the charts until the one-two punch of "Run This Town" and "Empire State of Mind" in 2009.

Still, bloated, over-indulgent and bogged down by some of the more mediocre material he's ever recorded, this is one of Jay's worst albums. (It didn't help that the single-disc version released later on left out some of the original's best tracks.) The biggest songs weren't its best, and the problems overshadowed the plusses. 

The title track is a good example: a diss song that continued Jay's famous battle with Nas. The rhymes are fine; strong, even. But the war had seemingly ended the year before (after Jay's mom herself had told him he'd taken it too far with the "condoms on the baby-seat" line in "Supa Ugly") and extending it put Jay in the unfamiliar position of sounding petty. With an ill-fitting, funny-style chorus (an Austin Powers imitation? Really?) it came off like sour grapes. The album left a bad taste in your mouth. In retrospect, its not surprising that 50 Cent would upend Jay's dominance the following year. —David Drake

Label: Roc Nation, Atlantic

Producers: Kanye West, No I.D, Al Shux, Janet Sewell-Ulepic, Angela Hunte, The Inkredibles, Swizz Beatz, Timbaland, Jerome Harmon, Kenoe, Jeff Bhasker, The Neptunes

Features: Luke Steele, Rihanna, Kanye West, Alicia Keys, Young Jeezy, Swuzz Beatz, Drake, J.Cole, Kid Cudi, Pharrell Williams, Mr Hudson

The fact that this album, which is far from a great album, but also far from a total disaster, ranks down here at number 12 says a lot about just how good Jay-Z is at making albums. Looking back, the Blueprint series stands as an argument against sequels. Why are nos. 2 and 3 called "The Blueprint?" There's no conceptual continuation evident, and really, neither comes anywhere near to living up to the name. That said, The Blueprint 3 does what it does quite well. For better or for worse (for better and for worse? a gift and a curse?!) 

Jay has mastered the art of making big, anthemic, pop songs to echo off the bleachers of the stadiums he plays. ("Bono pop," Complex's David Drake has dubbed it, accurately.) Songs for suburbanites worldwise—Parisian suburbanites, Milano suburbanites, Detroit! Dubai!—to wave their lighters to. Some of them feel stilted, too contrived. Jay gets his just deserts when Kanye's "beasting of the Reisling" verse bests his own rather lame one on "Run This Town," marking an important shift in their big-brother-lil-brother relationship. And "Young Forever" should have just been a Viagra commercial with Jay and Mr. Hudson sitting next to each other in bathtubs while the Alphaville original played. But some work great. I don't know you about you, but I love "Empire State of Mind." I sing it with my kid. — Dave Bry

Label: Roc-A-Fella, Def Jam, Jive

Producers: Megahertz, R.Kelly, Poke and Tone, Charlemagne

Features: Beanie Sigel, Lil' Kim, The Bee Gees, Devin The Dude

In 2002, R. Kelly had just released TP-2.com, one of his best albums, and Jay-Z was fresh off The Blueprint. R. Kelly was one of R&B's biggest stars, and with songs like "R&B Thug," had the swagger and style of a hip-hop star. Their joining forces made perfect sense. And it worked. "Fiesta (Remix)" proved the duo had a complimentary chemistry. But despite its initial commercial success (the album peaked at No. 2 on the Billboard 200), The Best of Both Worlds has been widely written out of history—particularly in terms of Jay's catalog. Between the Now That's What I Call Music!-style block letters album art, (unfairly) derided Trackmasters production, and the fallout of Kells' sex tape scandal, what could have been a major triumph ended up forgotten. Jay completely ducked the record; its songs are no longer heard in the club. Of course, who could have expected that R. Kelly would not only survive, but thrive in the wake of his substantial controversy?

Listening to the album today, with its pop-R&B guitars and post-Bad Boy shakers, feels like opening a time capsule. It's more of a snapshot of another era than a classic album. But it's not bad! R. Kelly produced far too few hip-hop hooks in his day. (The ones that he did release were often incredible). An entire album of them should be celebrated as often as Drake salutes Aaliyah. And Kells is in a deft zone throughout, nimbly singing in double-time on "Get This Money" and gracing songs like "Take You Home With Me" with catchy, insoucient, choruses. Perhaps the album's best song is the Bee Gees-sampling "Honey," which doesn't show up until the close, but finds the normally unruffled Jay-Z in a giddy, celebratory mode. (Is this rap's first mention Louboutins?) Too often forgotten, The Best of Both Worlds—thanks largely to R. Kelly's contributions—is something of a hidden gem. — David Drake

Label: Roc-A-Fella/Roc Nation/Universal

Producers: Boi-1da, Hit-Boy, Jerome "J-Roc" Harmon, Kyambo Joshua, Marz, Mike Dean, Mike Will Made It, No I.D., Pharrell Williams, Swizz Beatz, The-Dream, Timbaland, Travis Scott, Wondagurl, Vinylz

Features: Justin Timberlake, Rick Ross, Frank Ocean, Beyoncé

Jay-Z has sustained a hip-hop career to the age of 43. A remarkable achievement. And he is effectively as strong a rapper as he's always been. His skills haven't really faltered. And his storied business acumen has put him in a position of greater success than any of his contemporaries. He is a survivor of the hip-hop generation who not only endured but flourished. A few others have made it to his level—Dr. Dre, Puffy—but none have epitomized the possibilities of rapping, of maintaining one's place on the throne through pure verbal talent and star power, that Jay has. (With a possible exception made for Eminem).

Which isn't to say that Jay's most recent album is great, or even close to it. It is at times disconnected and joyless, and feels out of step with hip-hop today, and relies heavily on the trappings and signifiers of success to make up for what's missing. His dominance is like a feedback loop: he's winning, because he has the fruits of success; he has the fruits of success because he's winning. But though he goes through the motions, his music was never about human connection. Jay-Z does not relate to what you're going through. Rather, he allows you to, however briefly, feel what he's feeling. Or perhaps "feeling" is the wrong word for it. He allows the listener to share in his sense of control, his precision, his expertise, his focus, doing whatever it takes to achieve success. Jay-Z is cold. He revels in unapologetic mercilessness. He is an athlete with a single-minded purpose: victory at all costs. When it looks like he could appear weak, he calls up an investor. The record could flop, but he never will.

You only really believe a few things he says; he's continued to feed into his own mythos, a ruthless businessman who may or may not have just taken his sponsors for everything they're worth. He's as calculating a public figure as we've ever seen. This record only fails in that, compared to other albums, it lets the listener see, or hear, or feel the calculation. He used to openly brag about being a calloused capitalist. But as he moves from the streets to the boardrooms, everything gets a little more cloak-and-dagger. (No pun intended.) Of course, this only undercuts his music if you want to enjoy it for the music itself. If you're more interested in what Jay represents, Magna Carta Holy Grail still epitomizes Jay's persona. "Never Change" was on his Blueprint for a reason. — David Drake

There’s much to be said about Everything Is Love in relation to its function as a meeting of one of music’s biggest couples on and off wax. But it's just as compelling to examine within the context of JAY's contributions alone. Expectations for a full-length collaboration between him and Beyoncé were always high, and always fraught with anxiety. For every “Drunk in Love” or “Part II,” they have betrayed their better instincts in service of pop schmaltz (see: “Hollywood” or Bey filling in on “Young Forever” so often that you’d be forgiven for forgetting Mr. Hudson is the actual featured artist). Regardless of their batting average, there’s one disparity that’s pure fact: Beyoncé is in the midst of her creative peak, her imperial phase. Jigga himself would readily admit he’s far past his.

It’s stunning, then, to watch him catch a second (or, to be honest, third) wind that carries him close to his peak while offering a new take on the same ol’ Shawn. Everything Is Love finds JAY-Z staring down the barrel of 50 yet still continuing to move the goalposts on the genre’s age limits as he reconfigures our expectations of our veterans. Somehow, he’s rapping better on here than he was in his early 40s.

Even on an album where he’s mostly playing First Gentleman to Beyoncé Giselle Knowles, our true president, he’s activated and engaged. Most notably, he’s experimental. It’s not recency bias to say that the technical skills JAY deploys here are arguably more impressive than those he displayed on 4:44. That album found him rapping better than he had in years, albeit in sonic territory that he'd helped popularize and already conquered. No I.D.’s beats were timeless gems, but JAY’s proficiency was familiar. Here, he’s tackling Boi-1da, Vinylz, and Nav(!) production. The last time he borrowed a super-contemporary flow (Future’s “Karate Chop” on MCHG’s “La Familia,” R.I.P. JAY Z), he lost control of the power steering. Here, he peels off with the patented Migos style and does 100 mph on Mulholland with it. Love isn’t just devoid of missteps, but blemishes altogether—there isn’t one bar, verse, or line where Jigga stumbles.

Taken together, 4:44 and EIL represent a mastery and focus on content and execution that, bewilderingly, suggest a JAY-Z who is still charged up versus winding down. First he wrestled with emotional maturity; now he’s finally, firmly conquered contemporary soundscapes and flows. With a little help from his wife, the GOAT is rejuvenated and ready to go apeshit. —Frazier Tharpe

Label: Roc-A-Fella/Def Jam

Producers: Chris Flame, Idris Elba, Diddy, Sean C & LV, Bigg D, The Neptunes, Just Blaze, DJ Toomp, No I.D., Jermaine Dupri

Features: Lil Wayne, Pharrell Williams, Beanie Sigel, Nas, Bilal

It's hard to know where to rank American Gangster. On the one hand, in a certain respect, it's flawless. (Some of us—well, at least one of us—wanted to put it at least three spots higher on this list.) There's not a bad song on it. It's smooth, skillful, subtle grown-folks rap. That subtlety is the problem, though. The cool, mellow confidence it exudes is, in another sense, less exciting, less explosive than what we've come to expect from Jay-Z's best work. 

Listening to American Gangster, you're not liable to be thrown into spasms of fist-pumping ecstacy. You're not liable to grab your head and say "Oh my god!" and demand that your friend rewind that last part. There's no towering-achievement smash hit here, either. Nothing that you find yourself humming on the subway after not hearing it for a few months. But, man, for "study music," or just, like, making dinner, or, as Puffy told Jay he liked to do to the raw instrumental tracks, walking around your apartment in your socks, rap doesn't get much better. — Dave Bry

Label: Roc-A-Fella/Def Jam

Producers: Just Blaze, Rick Rock, The Neptunes, Kanye West, Bink!, Rockwilder, Memphis Bleek, B-High, T.T.

Features: Beanie Sigel, Memphis Bleek, Pharrell Williams, Scarface, Snoop Dogg, Amil, R. Kelly, Freeway

Usually, the "crew album" is a telltale sign that a rapper is feeling himself a little too much. You know, trading on his own success to pawn off his less-talented protégés on his devoted fans. So it was for Jay-Z and The Dynasty: Roc La Familia, released at a time when his claim to rap’s throne was undisputed.

But (*Funkmaster Flex voice*) be clear: This is still very much a Jay-Z album, and a better-than-average one at that. Jay appears on 14 of the 16 tracks, mostly sharing the mic with an especially inspired Memphis Bleek and an awesome, hungry-sounding Beanie Sigel. (And, uhh, Amil.) Because this was Jay in his “I will not lose” prime, the album has way more fire than filler. In fact, from the scathing “Intro” to the relentless “You, Me, Him and Her” to the underrated “Squeeze 1st,” you could argue that The Dynasty is one of only a few Jay-Z albums without an out-and-out clunker. Even Bleek’s solo effort, “Holla,” bangs!

In the end, the album’s grandiose title is more befitting the men behind the boards than those on the mic. The Dynasty set the blueprint for The Blueprint, as Jay started to dabble in a more cohesive, soulful sound with the three producers that would famously steer his next album: Just Blaze (“Intro,” “Streets Is Talking,” “Stick 2 The Script,” “The R.O.C.,” “Soon You’ll Understand”), Bink! (“You, Me, Him And Her,” “1-900 Hustler”) and some kid called Kanye West (“This Can’t Be Life”). And it pretty much rocketed the Neptunes into the next stratosphere too, with the stone-cold classic, "I Just Wanna Love U." — Donnie Kwak

Label: Roc-A-Fella/Roc Nation

Producers: No I.D.

Features: Gloria Carter, Frank Ocean, Damian Marley

4:44 is the sound of Jay-Z putting his house in order. That he needed to take such drastic, self-lacerating measures to do so, revealing through his lyrics his failures as a husband and father, is a testament to the severe disarray he had wrought.

Age and experience enable the humbling. It’s impossible to imagine thirtysomething Jay—Dynasty Jay—regretfully rapping about stabbing Lance "Un" Rivera. Less than three years from 50, Jay is wise enough to know that his most valid criticism will be of himself (even though he makes time for gentle scolding of the youth), and that what comes next is the persnickety paperwork of legacy building. To have a tidy house is to set an example for others to follow and, at 47, Jay is a graying leader who can still command attention, sounding like water rapping, “My therapist said I relapsed/I said, "Prehaps I Freudian slipped in European whips." He’s smooth describing the accumulated clutter of a life lived fantastically. And the album by which he achieves this is just as collected: one rapper, one producer, 10 songs, 36 minutes. Guided by the careful hand of Chicago legend No I.D., Jay puts everything in its right place—even when he's taking his time to arrive on a particular phrase or word, as he does with some of the more spacious verses.

“At a certain point, if you still have your marbles and are not faced with serious financial challenges, you have a chance to put your house in order,” Leonard Cohen told the New Yorker’s David Remnick last year, shortly before his death at the age of 82. “It’s a cliché, but it’s underestimated as an analgesic on all levels. Putting your house in order, if you can do it, is one of the most comforting activities, and the benefits of it are incalculable.”

The cad husband taking his wonderful life for granted, only to be brought to his knees by the truth of the hurt he’s caused, that’s a cliché too. But coming from perhaps the greatest rapper to ever live it should not be underestimated as a potent shock to the system. “I’ll fuck up a good thing if you let me” is the type of line you feel in your chest. That this honesty unspools in such a tight musical framework makes the pain flash all the brighter. It’s clarifying, packaged as it is with pro-black business and life advice—some of it impractical, some of it accompanied by goofy jokes—like you're talking to Dad. As the final song, “Legacy,” makes clear, hurt can be inherited, just like money, if it’s not dealt with. “You see my father, son of a preacher man/Whose daughter couldn't escape the reach of the preacher's hand/That charge of energy set all the Carters back/It took all these years to get to zero, in fact.” Jay wants his legacy to be one of black excellence and success, beginning first with his family—especially his three children.

Blue asks her father “What’s a will?” and then No I.D. juliennes Donny Hathaway’s fine-grained voice into smaller portions. So soft and slow, Jay’s voice sounds like counsel given in confidence late at night. (A will is necessary because death is certain.) Kitchen table talk, when everyone else in the house is asleep and the elder person needs you to hear what they’re saying, so before they speak they lay a hand across yours where it rests there on the wood. There’s nothing to compare this to in Jay’s catalog, among the many classic albums on the mantel of his discography. 4:44 is an album only a parent could write after contemplating the loss of it all—not just love or marriage, but a lifetime of work that should be inherited, an endowment, a gift. —Ross Scarano

Label: Roc-A-Fella, Roc Nation, Def Jam

Producers: 88-Keys, Kanye West, Mike Dean, Jeff Bhasker, Q-Tip, Don Jazzy, Hit-Boy, Anthony Killhoffer, The Neptunes, RZA, Ken Lewis, Swizz Beatz, Shama "Sak Pase" Joseph, S1 Mason

Features: Frank Ocean, Beyoncé, Otis Redding, Mr Hudson

Hip-hop loves a good argument. (In case you hadn't noticed.) In recent years, as Kanye West’s catalog has filled out to become one of the best runs rap has ever seen, there's been a good new one boiling: Jay-Z vs. Kanye. Friends, colleagues, "brothers," as Kanye put it on record. Could Kanye actually usurp Jay's status as Greatest In the World? Has he already? The barbershops buzzed. 

So when they joined forces for the Watch the Throne album in 2011, the debate was thrown into delicious relief: Who would own the record? Nothing like a side-by-side comparison to make a qualitative distinction.

Make no mistake, on an artistic level, Watch The Throne is a Kanye album: From the obnoxious Riccardo Tisci-designed gold-plated cover, right down to the auto-tuning of Nina Simone’s vocals on “New Day,” it’s all obviously guided by the hand of Yeezus. That’s because Kanye is a better all-around artist than Jay. (Let's face it, he's a better all-around artist than pretty much anyone.) But as far the debate goes: Who's watching who's throne, the hip-hop throne, Jay holds the trump card because he’s a better all around rapper than Kanye. (Let's face it, he's a better all-around rapper than nearly anyone.) This is why WTThas such a delicate balance: It’s the house that Kanye built, but it’s Jay who actually lives in it.

If you think that’s up for debate, simply count out the number of verses Jay and Kanye each have. Kanye barely even spits 12 bars on “Who Gone Stop Me” before Jay blacks out for nearly 30. While Jay is bodying tracks like “Welcome To The Jungle” and “Love You So” (two of Jay’s best line-for-line outings this decade) Kanye is regulated to the sidelines, contributing only quick ad-libs in support.

That’s not to say Kanye doesn’t hold his own. He’s as memorably entertaining as ever—whether rapping to the son he's never had (he's got a new daughter now, of course, North) or popping an Advil after staying up all night. Those rhymes are so Kanye, but they don’t actually get at the central idea that holds the album together: The struggles of being black, rich and famous in a country where the first part of that equation means you’re a suspect, forever, in the eyes of many. In other words, the album is about, as Jay put it, "Black excellence, opulence, decadence," as a political statement. It's about carving out a place for themselves in America's plutocracy, on their own terms. 

This is a complicated idea that Jay is simply better able to articulate, it's an idea he’s been exploring since he successfully convinced us that we should see his success as a moral victory for the culture as a whole. Kanye’s verse on “N-ggas In Paris” may be hilariously quotable. (We'll never order fish fillete the same way again.) But it’s Jay’s verse that carries more meaning, “Ball so hard, I’m shocked too/I’m supposed to be locked up too/You escaped what I’ve escaped, you’d be in Paris getting fucked up too.”

Beyond the competition with Kanye, consider how remarkable this achievement really in the larger context of rap. Plenty of rappers have found ways to put on the convincing image of a thug to make their music visceral, but this late in his career, Jay found a way to talk about the black experience in a way no rapper had ever done before—and made it catchy and compelling and fun. Some of this had to with Kanye keeping him on his heels, that’s why his raps are as razor sharp here as they have been on any record in the last 10 years. But for the most part it’s just Jay making sure you never have a reason to throw rocks at the throne. — Insanul Ahmed

Label: Roc-A-Fella/ Def Jam

Producers: DJ Premier, Teddy Riley, Chad Hugo, Sean "Puffy" Combs, Ron "Amen-Ra" Lawrence, Daven "Prestige" Vanderprool, Ski, Steven "Stevie J" Jordan, Buckwild, Poke and Tone, Anthony Dent, Big Jaz, Deric "D-Dot" Angelettie, Nashiem Myrick

Features: Blackstreet, Lil' Kim, Diddy, Foxy Brown, Babyface, Sauce Money, Too $hort, Kelly Price

On March 8, 1997, Havelock Nelson from Billboard reported that Jay-Z was planning to release an EP, as part of Roc-A-Fella’s new distribution deal with Def Jam. Artists typically waited a few years between albums back then, so a quick EP probably seemed like a smart way to build on the critical respect and modest commercial attention received by his debut Reasonable Doubt. On March 9, the Notorious B.I.G. died and Jay-Z’s EP was never mentioned again. Filling big shoes would require a big album.

“Can you really match a triple platinum artist buck by buck by only a single going gold?” Jay confronts the awkward question within the first minute of his sophomore album In My Lifetime, Vol. 1., released in the fall of 1997. Bragging about record sales had become de rigueur in the upper echelon of mid-’90s hip-hop, and the man who would later coin the phrase “numbers don’t lie” could hardly fudge the fact that his plaques did not match his Rolexes. Despite selling 500,000 copies of the “Ain’t No N*gga” single, his debut album had not even gone gold. Now that he had left his indie label behind and linked up with Def Jam, there were no more excuses for not living up to the platinum expectations Jay-Z had set for himself.

Naturally, Jay looked to Bad Boy’s in-house production crew The Hitmen, along with Teddy Riley and The Trackmasters, to help him craft some serious hits. The less pop-savvy producers who had made Jay’s debut so memorable—Ski, DJ Premier, Jaz-O—were pushed to the margins on Vol. 1, contributing to only five of the album’s 14 songs. The first single “(Always Be My) Sunshine” seemed like a safe bet: its beat was taken from an old school rap hit (just like Puff Daddy’s “Can’t Nobody Hold Me Down,” the biggest crossover smash of the year), and its flashy Hype Williams video, in which Jay-Z wore a bright green suit, made him look animated like, say, Busta Rhymes. The song flopped, never even cracking the top 40. The second single, “City Is Mine,” didn’t fare much better. The album was critically panned and sold a disappointing 138,000 copies in its first week.

Despite his best efforts at copying the Bad boy model, Jay had not figured out how to make a hit. But that doesn’t mean In My Lifetime, Vol. 1 was as bad as the critics made it out to be. “I think eighty-five percent of it is solid,” Jay said while reflecting on the album in a 1998 VIBE profile by dream hampton. “And that 85% was better than everybody else’s album at the time.” Indeed, if you skip past the two singles, along with the unforgivable Puff Daddy collaboration “I Know What Girls Like,” Vol. 1 begins to sound like one of Jay-Z’s best albums.

His cocky, conversational flow was still unmatched. “Look, if I shoot you, I’m brainless/But if you shoot me, then you’re famous/What’s a nigga to do?” he asked on the Ski-produced highlight “Streets Is Watching.” No one other than Biggie, and perhaps Scarface, was capable of crafting such engaging, realistic crime tales—see the DJ Premier-produced stickup story “Friend or Foe ’98” and the stirring family drama “You Must Love Me.” Every overlooked album cut, like “Rap Game/Crack Game” and the Too $hort duet “Real Niggaz,” sounds brilliant in retrospect. Even the Hitmen came through on “Where I’m From,” a rugged, bustling ode to Brooklyn that remains one of Jay’s most affecting songs. He shrewdly used the opportunity to frame the conversation about his place in hip-hop: “I’m from where niggas pull your card/And argue all day about who’s the best MC, Biggie, Jay-Z, or Nas?”

Jay spent 1998 doing damage control for his so-called sophomore slump. And while it’s true that Vol. 1 failed to achieve what seemed like Jay’s biggest goal at the time—going platinum—the album’s bad reputation is unwarranted. Still, it’s hard not to wonder how things would have been different if Jay hadn’t decided to rush out an album after the death of Biggie. That EP probably would have been fire. — Brendan Frederick

Label: Roc-A-Fella/Def Jam

Producers: Just Blaze, The Buchanans, Kanye West, The Neptunes, Timbaland, 9th Wonder, Eminem, Luis Resto, Rick Rubin, DJ Quik, Aqua, Joe "3H" Weinberger

Features: Pharrell Williams

First of all let's take this album to task like we're supposed to: The Black Album was a grade A troll, thematically unified by Jay's "retirement" which turned out to be more like a sabbatical. Typical Jay, so obsessed with controlling his own narrative he took a page out of Too $hort's book just to give his album a hook. Jay (hopefully) will never have an album with the context quite like The Notorious B.I.G.’s Life After Death or 2Pac's The Don Killuminati: The 7 Day Theory ("Nobody gone Wesley Snipe me," he says, on “Change Clothes”) even though he obviously wanted to be mentioned in the same breath as them (going so far as to release a double disk just because well, What Would Biggie Do?). He seemed to think that without actually becoming a ghost, he would never be appreciated properly. So, he got his flowers while he could still smell them and a chance to bask in appreciation of fans by faking a retirement. In the end, it was a miscalculation: It turned out putting out some of your best material that late in your career did more to secure his place in rap’s pantheon than sitting on a beach chair somewhere.

The retirement hook gave him certain creative license as well. On the production side, the album is as scattershot as Jay's previous effort, The Blueprint 2. Afterall, it was originally meant to be 12 songs by 12 producers. Like Watch The Throne, it gets away without having a sonic center because the theme of Jay's retirement carries it, even if songs like "Public Service Announcement" or "99 Problems" would play the same on any Jay album.

The difference between this album and Jay’s later efforts is that his articulation was still so exceptional that even casual rhymes went a long way. Even as he he claimed to be running out of ideas on “What More Can I Say?” he still found time to offer a defense for the Biggie rhymes he’s quoted over the years, “I'm not a biter, I'm a writer, for myself and others/I say a B.I.G. verse I'm only bigging up my brother/Bigging up my borough, I'm big enough to do it, I'm that thorough.” Meanwhile, fellow Brooklyn MC Talib Kweli surely appreciate the shoutout he got on “Moment of Clarity,” “If skills sold, truth be told/I'd probably be, lyrically, Talib Kweli/Truthfully I wanna rhyme like Common Sense (But I did five mil)/I ain't been rhyming like Common since.” An oft quoted line—Kweli’s biography ought to be titled If Skills Sold—it’s unfortunate Jay had to shit on his late ‘90s catalog by saying he “dumbed it down.” Yet the fact that so many people bought into narrative this line offers goes to show the intelligence that Jay-Z has.

Meanwhile, songs like "December 4th," which could have easily become totally self indulgent and campy, offered couplets like, "The drought can define a man when the well dries up/You learn the worth of water without work, you thirst til you die, yup!" And the often criticized "Justify My Thug” (if only Madonna would have came through like she was supposed to!) still had lines like, "Before you knock the boy, try and put your dogs in his 10 and a halfs, for a minute and a half/Bet that stops all the grinning and the laughs, when you play the game of life and the win ain't in the bag."

All that goes without even talking about the inevitable heartbreak of “Allure,” the callback to Jay's double-time flow on "My First Song," to the Obama approved bounce of "Dirt Off Your Shoulder." Still, there’s one of the best rock rap songs ever, “99 Problems,” the wails of Max Romeo’s "Chase the Devil" on “Lucifer,” and the endlessly quotable “Public Service Announcement.” Jay might have taken it from Marcy to Madison Square, but this album was Jay’s Game 6 (and yes, Kingdom Come was MJ’s stretch with the Wizards). Jay stole the the ball, pushed Byron Russell out of the way, and hit the game winner. Are you not entertained? — Insanul Ahmed

Label: Roc-A-Fella/Def Jam

Producers: DJ Premier, The 45 King, Swizz Beatz, Steven "Stevie J" Jordan, Timbaland, Irv Gotti, Lil Rob, Erick Sermon, Darold Trotter, Rockwilder, Kid Capri, Damon Dash, Mahogany Music, Jermaine Dupri

Features: Memphis Bleek, Da Ranjahz, Amil, Big Jaz, DMX, Too $hort, Ja Rule, Foxy Brown, The LOX, Beanie Sigel, Sauce Money, Kid Capri, Jermaine Dupri

Jay-Z's Vol. 2...Hard Knock Life is the epitome of a Jay-Z album. He might have released one or two that we say are better, but no other work has captured so precisely what it is that makes up Jay-Z's appeal. Its release was the first major event of Jay's career. Reasonable Doubt, at this point, was a hidden gem in mid-'90s rap history, full of subtle wordplay and marked by the consistency of sound and style that characterized the era, but dwarfed by the major records of that time. Vol. 1 was a reach for crossover popularity that couldn't quite make it. Then came Vol. 2.

The massive success of the album (five million records sold!) is definitely the result of a talented artist honing in on his strengths, but there were several other stars aligning. 1998 was a radical new era in hip-hop, and Vol. 2 hit the scene just as a new generation was transforming the genre's sound. New York was still the center, but Biggie's cosmopolitan ear on Life After Death had proved prophetic. Irv Gotti—on his way to becoming one of the architects of one the most succesful crossover bids hip-hop would ever see—created immediate pop-rap gold that didn't sacrifice its street edge with the southern bounce-influenced "Can I Get A..." while Jay helped launch Jermaine Dupri as a southern solo artist on "Money Ain't a Thang." Swizz Beats pulled New York into the post-sampling era with the shuddering, apocalyptic keyboards of "Money Cash Hoes." Meanwhile, Jay connected with a young Virginian beatmaker named Timothy Mosley, a.k.a. Timbaland, whose stuttering beats suggested producers had finally caught up to the rapper's nimble delivery.

Jay himself has rarely been this compelling. While he would later claim he'd "dumbed down" to double his dollars, there was nothing stupid about the way he rapped on Vol. 2. If anything, this was the rapper at his most honest—a snapshot of ruthlessness ("A Week Ago") that perfectly matched his unshakeable rap style. He was bulletproof, and Vol. 2 found Jay playing to that personality by perfectly balancing pop instincts with street aesthetics. Then, of course, there was the title track. It was the meteor that first made Jay-Z a true commercial force, propelling the rapper to the upper echelon of star power and beginning his trajectory towards the New York throne he'd long sought. —David Drake

Label: Roc-A-Fella/Def Jam

Producers: K-Rob, DJ Premier, Rockwilder, DJ Clue, Darrell Branch, Ken Ifill, Lance Rivera, Swizz Beatz, Timbaland, Russell Howard, Sean Francis, Chauncey Mahan, Irv Gotti, Lil Rob

Features: Beanie Sigel, Amil, Mariah Carey, Juvenile, Memphis Bleek, Dr. Dre, UGK

Each of the three albums that followed Jay-Z’s debut signaled an important career milestone. Vol. 1 saw Jay emerging from under The Notorious B.I.G.’s shadow to assume his still-warm seat as the king of Brooklyn. (“The City Is Mine”? Too soon?) Vol. 2—specifically, the song “Hard Knock Life”—stamped Hov’s credentials as a legitimate Billboard force, vaulting him ahead of NYC contenders like Nas and Mobb Deep. (More on them later.)

Then, in 1999, Vol. 3 crowned Jay-Z as the Best Rapper Alive.

It isn’t, of course, Jay-Z’s best work. Like a lot of shiny-suit-era albums, Vol. 3 clumsily attempts to pull every demographic, leading to a mixed bag of beats and hooks. But the connective thread is that Jay-Z rapped every single bar like he had something to prove, switching up flows to appease New Yorkers (“So Ghetto,” his final Primo collab), Dirty Southerners (“Snoopy Track,” “Big Pimpin’”), L.A. bangers (“Watch Me”)—shit, he even out-Ja-Ruled Ja Rule (“Things That U Do”). There may be questionable beats on Vol. 3, but there are no throwaway rhymes—in fact, the club-pandering first single, “Do It Again,” features one of Jay-Z’s coldest verses ever ("The game is mine, I'll never foul out"). 

Jay-Z turned 30 the month that Vol. 3 dropped, and his priorities soon shifted to pop stardom and business, and eventually marriage and family. Inevitably, his worldview opened up beyond the confines of the rap game. So remember Vol. 3 for Jay-Z at his no-fucks-given, ruthlessly competitive peak (Exhibit A: “What the fuck is 50 Cent?”; Exhibit B: “Come And Get Me”). Back then, Jay could talk about toting guns to the Grammys and you—or white America, anyway—might believe it. Actually, it was also when he might in-fact have rolled up on you in a club and shanked you.

Speaking of that disturbing incident, imagine if Lance “Un” Rivera had not (allegedly) bootlegged the album, the undeniable classic “Is That Yo B’tch” (plus the “Hard Knock Life”—inspired “Anything”) would’ve remained on Vol. 3. — Donnie Kwak

Label: Roc-A-Fella, Priority

Producers: Knobody, The Hitmen, Ski, Clark Kent, DJ Premier, Irv Gotti, Big Jaz, Peter Panic

Features: Mary J. Blige, Mecca, Foxy Brown, Big Jaz, Memphis Bleek, Sauce Money, Notorious B.I.G.

“I gave you prophecy on my first joint,” said Jay-Z, on “Hard Knock Life.” “And you all lamed out.” It’s true, we did. Critically acclaimed upon its release, Reasonable Doubt didn’t initially sell very well at all. There are reasons for this. It boasted no smash pop single, it piggybacked on popular themes and styles of the time ("mafioso rap"), and its tight focus and quiet skill didn’t do much to establish Jay as any kind of "heir to throne"—the album’s original title. But hind-sight is 20/20 as they say, and Jay's debut has aged like fine wine.

For a guy who spent his entire album trying to convince you he was just a crack dealer who just happened to be good at rapping, his rhymes were uniquely professional. Reasonable Doubt is often praised for its intricate lyricism. Rightfully so, any album that has lines like, "I tell you half a story/The rest you fill it in/Long as the villain win,” and defiant comebacks like, “Forgetting all I ever knew, convenient amnesia/I suggest you call my lawyer/I know the procedure,” deserve all the praise in the world.

Yet it’s the production on the album that never gets enough props. In contrast to the the grimness of the Queensbridge sound, or the lo-fi weirdness of A Tribe Called Quest or Wu-Tang Clan, the jazzy, elegant aesthetic created by Ski Beatz, DJ Clark Kent, and DJ Premier sounded tight and crisp and finely-polished. He might have claimed there was “Too much West Coast dick licking” on “22 Twos,” but he was clearly taking notes on the way Dr. Dre’s beats were mixed and mastered like pop records. Time has treated them well.

Aside from the beats and rhymes, Jay’s persona carries much of the weight on the album. Since it was his debut, Jay had the blank canvas of anonymity. As noted, mafioso rap was popular the the time, and Jay was simply more convincing as a Don Dada than most of his peers. In an era when violence seemed to give every rapper either a hard-on or a stomachache, Jay never seemed particularly enthused about the the rougher side of street life—but he was not above it. He offered first hand accounts of shoving a gun in someone’s face and describes using a former friend's baby mama in a plot to exact revenge, later, he expresses regrets. He dreams of meditating like a Buddhist, then he acknowledges his greed and his taste for material pleasures.

Maybe that’s why he somehow sounds richer on here sipping margaritas and popping Cristal than he does copping Basquiats and popping D'ussé today. (Even if his net worth has multiplied by at least a hundred since '96.) Maybe Versace suits and platinum Rolexes just fit him better than Maison Martin Margiela tees and Hublot watches. And maybe that’s why true Jay heads prefer the refined luxury of his debut. —Insanul Ahmed

Label: Roc-A-Fella/Def Jam

Producers: Bink, Kanye West, Just Blaze, Trackmasters, Timbaland, Eminem

Features: Eminem

It’s been said that Superman is a particularly hard comic book to write. It makes sense, if you think about it. The protagonist is invincible. How much drama can you weave into a story about a man who fundamentally cannot be beaten; who does not lose? Yet, his tale has been rendered to extremely moving and thoughtful ends by the most sophisticated authors in the genre (see: Alan Moore's Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow?, among others.) The trick is in exploring the relationship between the conflicts on both sides of our hero's impenetrable skin.

Rap’s best analogy for Superman, Jay-Z was faced with a similar narrative dilemma in 2001, and responded in kind on his sixth album, The Blueprint. The drug dealer-turned rap phenom-turned reluctant pop star was enjoying unprecedented success in the spring of ’01. Five successful albums (some more critically so, others more commercially) in five years. No one had done it before. His unstoppable force had obliterated every obstacle in its way, leaving a string of former problems and a pile of rap history in its wake. And he’d done it with cold-blooded nonchalance and emotional efficiency, sharing a very limited amount of himself along the way.

He knew, as well as anybody, that this album would be a tipping point.

But success is a breeding ground for many things, happiness not always among them. Instead, difficulties: change, scrutiny, and, unfortunately and inevitably, envy. Jay-Z was quietly beset by all of the above. His life was indeed changing—in a couple years he’d gone from 560 State Street to a condo (presumably, now, with more than just condoms in it) in New Jersey; A hundred-and-nine-thousand in dirty cash to taxable millions. He was experiencing a new level of accountability, too. His actions—be it his alleged gun-toting, his admitted stabbing of Lance “Un” Rivera, or his rumored romances with women like Blu Cantrell—became the subject of gossip and repercussion. Most troubling, his wins had begun to sour not only his competitors—Prodigy and Nas, principally—but also the fickle fans who had once celebrated his ascension. The weight of his own growth, of his own grandeur, threatened to collapse on itself.

With all of this on his mind, that spring, Jay-Z absconded from New York to a recording studio in Miami to meditate on what he believed had to be his magnum opus. He knew, as well as anybody, that this album would be a tipping point. Jay could be the King of The Post-Biggie “Jiggy” Era, or simply, the King. Jay-Z had to make The Great American Rap Album.

In retrospect, bread crumbs to The Blueprint’s topical and musical themes can be found first on Vol. 3 where he lashed out at oncomers—daring them, inviting violence, reminding listeners of his proximity to the street. And then, more acutely, on The Dynasty, his crew album from the year before, where he ventured into more personal exposition and more soulful, sample-based production. But these crude forays only hinted at what was to come.

Said to have been written in two days and recorded in a fortnight, The Blueprint was just what it claimed to be. From its pointed choice of roots-hip-hop soul samples (courtesy of KanyeWest, Bink, and Just Blaze), to its chest-beating self-congratulation, to its candid autobiography, all the way to its spartan, linear sequencing, the album is everything a great rap album should be, and, perhaps as importantly, nothing that it should not be.

In the very first song, “The Ruler’s Back,” Jay draws connection between himself and the greats by invoking the language of Slick Rick and Notorious B.I.G. to address, in short order, each and every one of his woes. And then it’s on to his foes. The greatest diss record of all time, “The Takeover” absolutely dismantles the competitive peers who made attempts to capitalize on Jay’s waning affection from the public. Unlike most battle rap, it skirts the jokes and jabs and simply called attention to his rivals’ career missteps. Nothing but cold facts. Even the biggest Nas and Prodigy fans were hard pressed to disagree with his assessment.

Having addressed the tabloid issues at the outset, it’s in the album’s middle portion, on tracks like “Izzo (H.O.V.A.)” and “U Don’t Know,” where Jay-Z lays out the heart of his argument. It’s here that he first constructs the narrative mythology of “Jay-Z,” the same one that he exalts in his work to this day: “I do this for my culture/To let ‘em know what a nigga look like when a nigga in a roaster/Show ’em how to move in a room full of vultures/Industry shady, it need to be taken over/Label owners hate me, I’m raisin’ the status quo up/I’m over-charging niggas for what they did to the Cold Crush...” Jay-Z’s success is all of our success. And his cut-throat greed? In the service of a debt owed to all, recouped by him on our behalf. Thank him later. Root for him now.

At that point, with listeners tightly in pocket, seeing the world as he does, Jay opens himself up for the rest of the album in a way that he never had before. “Heart Of the City” revisits the same slings-and-arrows addressed on “Takeover,” but this time from beneath Superman’s bulletproof exterior. Though far from compromised, and still brimming with bravado, Jay uses Kanye’s incredible manipulation of Bobby Blue Bland’s “Ain’t No Love In The Heart Of The City” to allow listeners a glimpse of his disappointment and estrangement. Similarly, on “Never Change” he deals with his rapidly changed professional circumstances—from crack to compact discs—but with sentimentality and celebration where Vol. 3 got stuck in bitterness. And on “Song Cry,” the requisite love song, Jay shows even more rare in rap than vulnerability: a three dimensional female character.

However, sequenced to perfection, the album comes to its dramatic and emotional zenith in its final two tracks, “Renegade” and “The Blueprint (My Momma Loves Me).” On the former, an incredible duet with Eminem (originally intended for Royce Da 5’9”), Jay takes listeners to task—those who wrote him off for hyperbolic materialism thanks to song titles like “Money, Cash, Hoes”—aggressively explaining the desperate circumstances which inspire his musicianship, the subtext of his catalog, and the layered meaning of his success. Paired with exquisitely articulate verses from Eminem, a master of Me-Watching-You-Watching-Me raps, it’s an instant classic: The duo’s contribution to modern art is left beyond reasonable doubt.

And the album’s closer? It may be the single best song of Jay-Z’s entire career. Warm organ swells from Al Green’s “Free At Last” are met by muted kicks and open snares, creating a spacious, ambient bounce perfectly suited to Jay-Z staccato cadance. And for the first time—after five well-observed but markedly reserved, almost cagey albums—we really see what motivates our protagonist. “Momma loved me, pop left me/Mickey fed me, and he dressed me/Eric fought me, made me tougher/Love you for that my nigga, no matter what, brah/Marcy raised me; and whether right or wrong/Streets gave me all I write in the song.” By the end of this truly sublime recording, having been introduced to all the familial players in Jay’s childhood, adolescence, and young professional life, a listener cannot help but feel, for the first time, like they have a real understanding of who Superman is, and how he came to be that way. The blueprint. —Noah Callahan-Bever