ALBUM REVIEWS
In the past, it was sometimes hard to work out who Sabrina Carpenter was. Her early albums, like 2015’s ‘Eyes Wide Open’ and its 2016 follow-up ‘Evolution’, presented a young pop star trying to find her groove but instead getting lost in the trends of the time. It wasn’t until 2022’s ‘Emails I Can’t Send’ – Carpenter’s fifth album, but also the first where she had full creative control – that her pop personality started to crystallise, evident in the coy cheek of ‘Nonsense’ and the addictive strut of ‘Feather’.
In the two years since that record was released, Carpenter has finally become a bona fide pop icon in the making. Her explicit, viral ‘Nonsense’ outros, tailored to the city she was performing in, endeared her to hordes of new fans. ‘Espresso’, the quip-heavy first single from her latest record ‘Short n’ Sweet’, was inescapable this summer. A supporting run on Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour, a solid Coachella appearance and a headline-grabbing relationship have all boosted her profile even more.
As ‘Short n’ Sweet’ arrives, then, it feels like the 25-year-old singer is at something of a turning point. Keep Carpenter’s musical calling cards, justify the hype, and she’ll soon be levelling up to major festival headliner – and this record largely gets the job done.
Sassy, flirty lines and lyrics that put Carpenter’s romantic partners in their place are the order of the day here. “I know you’re not the sharpest tool in the shed,” she sings gently on ‘Sharpest Tool’. “We had sex, I met your best friends / And then a bird flies by and you forget.” Moments later, on the twanging ‘Coincidence’, she rolls her eyes at a lover failing to hide that he’s crawling back to his ex: “What a surprise, your phone just died / Your car drove itself from LA to her thighs.”
On the sparse acoustic strum of ‘Dumb And Poetic’, she eviscerates someone who tries “to come off like you’re soft and well-spoken / Jack off to lyrics by Leonard Cohen”. Sometimes, the star switches things up and puts herself in the self-deprecating crosshairs, as on the countrified ‘Slim Pickins’. “This boy doesn’t even know the difference between there, their and they are / Yet he’s naked in my room,” she sighs.
Musically, Carpenter mostly finds that niche she’s been searching for, getting comfortable in a country-pop groove on the likes of ‘Coincidence’ and ‘Please Please Please’, or nailing frothy pop bops like ‘Taste’ and ‘Juno’. Her individuality occasionally feels a little diluted, the likes of ‘Good Graces’ and ‘Bed Chem’ moulded in Ariana Grande’s image. For the most part, though, who Sabrina Carpenter is has never been clearer – and her long-awaited, hard-earned climb to pop’s summit should continue with ease.
During a 2008 interview, Prodigy of Mobb Deep was asked if he ever feared death. Mortality followed him in every lyric he delivered, and few artists could capture that deep chill you feel when survival becomes part of your everyday life. His response carried the same tough energy that defined him, shaped by the reality of Queensbridge: “Every day I wake up like, ‘This might be my last day, and I’m not scared of it.’ I’m never scared to bite my tongue about something, or to come out and speak about something. Like, I ain’t scared of death. What you gonna do to me?”
Nine years later, at only 42, he passed away in a way that felt both tragic and strangely ordinary. While on tour with Havoc in Las Vegas, he was hospitalized for complications tied to his lifelong struggle with sickle cell anemia. There, he accidentally choked while eating alone and died. (His family would later file a wrongful death lawsuit against the hospital.)
Havoc spent years mourning his brother and bandmate, unsure how to properly honor him through music. “You wanna do something to send your comrade off with a 21-gun salute…because he deserves that,” he said recently on the Bootleg Kev podcast. With help from longtime collaborator the Alchemist, Havoc pieced together Infinite, Mobb Deep’s ninth album and part of Mass Appeal’s Legend Has It series. It marks the first posthumous release in the collection, which always comes with its own challenges. Yet Infinite flows as smoothly as any project of its kind. For better and worse, it feels like an album the duo could’ve released after 2014’s somewhat forgettable The Infamous Mobb Deep, an update to their signature gritty sound with a few hints of modern polish.
On paper, it feels like everything has been rewound. Aside from a brief COVID reference and one cringey Havoc line about getting canceled for a joke about chromosomes, most of the lyrics are either locked in time (“Taj Mahal” references the old Trump casino) or so universal they could live anywhere. Instead of calling on a team of producers like they did for Infamous, Havoc handles 11 of the 15 tracks himself, with Alchemist revisiting the dirty, menacing textures he perfected on Murda Muzik and Infamy for the remaining four.
The strongest Havoc beats from Mobb Deep’s golden era twisted familiar sounds into something dangerous. That edge is still there on songs like “The M. The O. The B. The B.” and “Mr. Magik,” where the tension mixes with the quieter, stripped-down percussion style he used on Kanye’s The Life of Pablo. It gives the low-end even more power. Meanwhile, Alchemist falls back into the rugged rhythms that made his name — dusty drums and echoing samples. The shimmering haze of “Taj Mahal” feels like something from an old Street Sweepers mixtape, while “Score Points” and “My Era” would fit perfectly on one of his earlier collaborations with Prodigy.
Prodigy is present on every track, never halfway in. He raps at least one verse on each song and even takes on some of the hooks. His voice is as cold and sharp as ever (“RIP, you can’t son me/My pop’s dead,” he spits on “My Era”), even when his writing circles back to familiar themes. There are still small gaps here and there, but Havoc and Alchemist treat his vocals with care. What matters most is that the bond between Havoc and Prodigy still feels unbroken. They were never flashy lyricists or complex writers — their power came from directness, from how rooted they stayed in LeFrak City no matter how far their fame reached. “Mr. Magik” gets closest to that old-school Mobb Deep feel, especially when they pass the mic back and forth, going at rivals, dodging CIA agents, and spending nights with mistresses. The same goes for “Easy Bruh,” a song driven by drums, faint piano keys, sirens, and some of Prodigy’s sharpest lines on the album (“Niggas mad? Put a cape on ’em/Now they super mad” actually made me laugh out loud). At its best, Infinite feels effortless, Mobb Deep comfortable in their seasoned, world-weary selves.
Things drift off when the production stretches too far or leans toward trends. Some guest spots make perfect sense, like Big Noyd showing up on “The M. The O. The B. The B.” with his trademark nasal intensity, or Ghostface and Raekwon bringing color and life to “Clear Black Nights.” But the Clipse feature on “Look at Me” feels more trendy than meaningful, and Nas, another close ally, drops in with one of those standard Mass Appeal-style verses that sound recycled from his recent albums. “Down For You,” which flips Samuel Barber’s “Adagio for Strings” into a hard-hitting love track, is a welcome addition to Mobb Deep’s catalog of street romance. Still, it loses impact when it reappears later on, this time swapping Jorja Smith’s hook for one by H.E.R. I can understand the decision, the beat goes hard — but it’s hard to take Nas seriously when he’s rapping about keeping a side chick like Tony Soprano. It’s one of the few moments that feels forced, and because there are so few, they stand out more.
Posthumous rap albums in the last decade have often been tangled in questions of control and exploitation. Thankfully, Infinite avoids those traps. It doesn’t carry the awkward tension that surrounded Gang Starr’s One of The Best Yet, nor does it feel stitched together the way DMX’s Exodus did. It never feels like Havoc or anyone else is cashing in on Prodigy’s legacy. In fact, it’s moving to hear them side by side again, even when Prodigy’s words hit too close, meditating on death while “staring up at the cosmos” on “Pour The Henny,” or dodging enemies both real and imagined as he gambles in Atlantic City. Still, much of the album feels like a return to familiar ground, reworking echoes of their strongest years. There are no moments that reach the levels of The Infamous or Hell on Earth, but Infinite does succeed in giving one of hip-hop’s greatest duos one final, heartfelt ride.
