On 'Max B', he turns a neck-snapping homage to the incarcerated Wavie One into a commentary on remorseless cops and the prison-industrial complex with newfound lyrical command: 'Passed away from a stray from some fake-tough guy/ Now this the kinda story that should make doves cry.'ДЄ.L.L.AвЂ™s recent singles are among its least interesting moments. On 'Pharsyde', over a screwed-up take on Danger MouseвЂ™s loping Spaghetti Westernisms, Rocky punctuates a sideways glance at his rapidly gentrifying Uptown kingdom with a loadedВ 'Harlem Shake' reference, the kind of nuanced writing absent from much of his older work. ItвЂ™s clear heвЂ™s been sharpening his rap skills on a technical level, too.

Album intro 'Holy Ghost' serves as an indictment of the Christian clergy, a grasp towards his own jaded conception of a personal Jesus, and a plea to save his admittedly corrupted soul all the same. Turns out, Pretty FlackoвЂ™s got real shit to say-though not without the buffer of some par-for-the-course bits of pretty-sounding fluff-and he wastes little time getting to it. 'Ok, letвЂ™s get past all this swag, trapping, and fashion talking,' he exhales on back-to-basics Kanye collab 'Jukebox Joints'. At long last, a real sense of identity has begun to coalesce in RockyвЂ™s work.

But it seems more likely a result of growing up, gaining steadier footing in the industry his squad gate-crashed, and coming to terms with himself as more than just a sum of his inspirations and logos. To an extent, this may reflect his recent antipathy towards the much-hyped labels with which he once associated. Rocky remained understandably private in the aftermath of YamsвЂ™ passing, but on A.L.L.A., he seems more open than ever: to the healing properties of hallucinogens, to be sure, but also to revealing parts of his personality that go beyond surface-level. With A.L.L.A.-executive produced by Yams, along with art-rap auteur Danger Mouse-he presents to the world one last relic of he and his best friendвЂ™s collaborative vision, and though the album was reportedly completed before YamsвЂ™ death, it still feels like an elegy to the closest thing the millennial generation had to its own Diddy or Dame Dash.

YamsвЂ™ presence was mostly behind-the-scenes (though heвЂ™d often appear in the videos, in all his jiggy splendor), but he was the heart and soul of the A$AP Mob, and RockyвЂ™s success is no short of unfathomable without his guidance. But the most glaring change between then and now is the absence of Yams, or Steven Rodriguez, who died this January at 26 of a drug overdose. ThereвЂ™s been a two-plus year gap between RockyвЂ™s sophomore studio album, At., and his chart-topping major label debut, during which he dabbled in fashion design, modeled for Ferragamo, and made his acting debut in Sundance darling Dope. In between the conceptual Instagram stunts and Harry Potter-themed sartorial wisdom, itвЂ™s hard not to wonder about the Rakim Mayers beneath the swaggy labels, and if weвЂ™d ever get a lasting impression of his point of view beyond the infinite affirmations that it is, indeed, lit. That triumph of personal taste has been one of the reasons RockyвЂ™s resonated most with this generation of rap fans and beyond, but itвЂ™s also led to his most persistent critique: all vibe, no substance. As he should: his own success can be directly traced to early promo on his mentor and A$AP Worldwide co-owner A$AP YamsвЂ™ highly influential RealNiggaTumblr, one of the savviest indie-to-major reconnaissance missions this century. A$AP Rocky, the baby-faced fashion killa and primary figurehead of zeitgeist-wheelie-poppinвЂ™ Harlem goon squad A$AP Mob, has always understood this better than anyone else in the rap game. As itвЂ™s grown easier to translate our identities through these careful assemblages of stuff we fuck with, good taste has taken on a new leveraging power. We are in the age of the curator, from meticulously-arranged, aspirational Tumblrs to DrakeвЂ™s recent stint at SothebyвЂ™s.

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