Falcon rating: 3/5

Future, colloquially known as the “Codeine King,” “Future Hendrix,” and, most recently, “The WIZRD,” is an artist defined by one thing, and one thing only: hits. Future has undoubtedly shaped the soundscape of the 2010s with his warbly and mumbled delivery, his dark and distorted melodies, and his love of the purple drink. And despite his many shortcomings as an artist, Future has always found a way to unite the common rap fans with his simple approach and ability to craft endearing and clever hit songs. With this in mind, I embarked on The Wizrd with hopes of hearing some well-crafted hooks, efficient melodies, and well-produced, trap-induced songs.

I was left thoroughly disappointed.

The opening track “Never Stop” is a relatively mundane track of reflection, in which Future discusses a past relationship and the extent of his drug-dealing acumen. It’s a long-winded intro that generally fails to advance the album, as it lacks any semblance of structure and is essentially a prolonged four minute and fifty-one second verse. This trend of poor songwriting would extend to songs such as “Stick to Models,” “Krazy but True,” “Servin Killa Kam,” “Baptize,” and “Goin Dummi,” which suffer from a lengthy hook and a lack of variation. There were countless times in which I glanced at the tracklist in order to confirm a change in song, as they were all strikingly similar.

There are, however, some shining moments that occur on the album. Singles such as “Crushed Up” and “Jumping on a Jet” are peak Future, with well-written hooks, concise verses, and atmospheric production. “F&N” is also an aggressive and jumbled banger that somehow retains its effectiveness. Even on songs such as “Call the Coroner,” in which Future displays an uninspired performance, the production is sufficient and oftentimes carries him.

This album’s greatest issue is its length. Future is an artist best digested in small quantities. He certainly is not a rapper with the cross-genre appeal that can keep the average listener invested for such a duration. A 20 song album simply makes his monotony and repetition even more apparent.

For those that disagree with my assertions, I would implore them to listen to each song on the album for about ten seconds each in random order. After doing this, the redundancy becomes even more apparent and ultimately makes me question the extent of Future’s talents as a rapper/crooner.

Future was once a wizard, an innovator, and hit maker, but has become an artist unwilling to evolve, experiment, and grow; a man stuck on his laurels, a man ironically stuck in the past.

This piece also appears in our February 2019 print edition.