Before he ever made it to the table, Freddie Gibbs’s story had more ups and downs than a game of craps. By the time he got his first major label deal from Interscope in the middle of the 00s, he’d already survived the streets of Gary, left his football scholarship at Ball State, and endured a mandated military boot camp. Then the industry that scooped him up dropped him as soon as his brand of lyrically-driven gangster rap failed to adapt to the changing pop-rap landscape – or proved to not fit within it.
Betting on himself, Gibbs rolled the dice on a string of self-released mixtapes. A crowd began to form. The cheers grew louder as it all kept hitting. From Krayzie Bone to Bun B to Daz Dillinger and Spice-1, Gibbs’s idols bestowed him with cameos and support. Jeezy popped up from under the table, yelled, “Yeaaaaaah!” and almost burned all Gibbs’ chips with his bad energy. Momentum picked up again until the deafening silence following his arrest in France, his extradition to Austria, his show trial abroad, and his uncertain verdict in the court of public opinion back home. He crapped out. But he never stopped betting on himself. Now he’s raking in results no one could have predicted when his run began nearly two decades ago: undeniable, charisma-driven superstardom, a Grammy nomination, a feature film acting debut at Cannes, and renewed respect from a populace – which, if the ruling in Austria wasn’t a resounding, unanimous innocent verdict – would have left him with nothing.
The hype-fueled buildup to the casino-themed Soul Sold Separately, Freddie’s first release since 2021’s Alfredo, and his return to a partnership with a major label after a decade-plus of independence, is positioning Gibbs to hit his first legitimate jackpot. Like every work in his extensive discography, Soul Sold Separately is another demonstration of Gibbs’ pure rap ability. Consistency has long been his greatest attribute. He can rap his damn ass off and we know that by now. The technical precision has never faltered. What has changed are the superfluous elements surrounding his writing and delivery, like song construction and melodic experimentation.
This newest album is bigger, flashier, and more ambitious than anything in the catalog that precedes it, but it also adheres to a tested and proven template. A feature list featuring a mix of contemporary stars (Moneybagg Yo), unexpectedly sensical producers (James Blake), and under-appreciated legends (DJ Paul). And a packed roster beyond those few mentioned names, bolstered by a Warner Records budget. “Pain and Strife” is the obligatory Bone Thugs/Do or Die speed-rap track with a harmonized chorus. “Grandma’s Stove” is the introspective storytelling cut like Piñata’s “Knicks,” with deeper self-analysis but the same sequencing toward the end of the tracklist. “Space Rabbit” also dips into self-contextualization of the rapper’s past, with Gibbs admitting he once wanted to sound like G-Unit. That honest assessment of his early style is a throwaway line, but highlights his tonal evolution. What does Freddie Gibbs sound like now? Has he once again found a new way to sound like himself?
Soul Sold Separately shows how Freddie’s moved beyond the media comparisons or chameleon-like attempts to mesh with modern sounds that have held him back, in one way or another, over the years. After he first blew up, around 2009’s Miseducation of Freddie Gibbs and Midwestboxframecadillacmuzik, some incorrect skeptics designated Gibbs as a throwback gangster rapper living and recording in the wrong era. Always in the wrong era, it was the current era that caught up to Gibbs. Now, he’s the same artist he’s always been. A little older, a little better. On another upswing. At least now the masses around the table recognize the blend of natural talent and unnatural hardworking resilience in his persistent dice tosses: the work of an identifiable voice who, through forays into production others won’t touch, and by being his charming self, has formed a wholly unique sound.
More than 15 projects into his career, Gibbs has a body of work that could go up against anybody. In this article, Gibbs is going up against himself. There are omissions. Namely, a few EPs with music that resurfaced later, like the Madlib collabs, and fukkin’ With Fred, the 2011 DJ Roc mixtape I never listened to. Str8 Slammin’ editions 1-3 are also excluded but you might as well consider them last. Don’t ask why. The order might not be right but it is definitive. Please keep arguments in the comment section uncivil.
“Why is this list so trash?!”
“Okay, thaaaaats why this list is so trash”
