Album Review: Cabin in the Sky by De La Soul
De La Soul returns with their first new LP in nine years. After the weight of Trugoy’s absence, the album is a tribute to a brother and a continuation of a group that refuses to be frozen by grief.
The new record exists because the group’s history is now available again. When Reservoir acquired Tommy Boy’s catalog, it cleared long‑standing sample issues and finally put
’s classic first six albums on streaming. The casual fans of today who had only heard about 3 Feet High and Rising in blog posts or on old CDs were suddenly able to discover a discography that had shaped alternative hip‑hop. That rediscovery happened under a tragic shadow—Trugoy died on February 12, 2023. Posdnuos and Maseo responded by performing the early records live and issuing physical reissues, but Cabin in the Sky marks the first time they had to make a full De La record without him. Pos has acknowledged this tension. The album “lives in that space between loss and light,” an attempt at therapy and celebration. Maseo shared that the music as “adult hip‑hop,” not old but seasoned, addressing where they are now while still connecting with younger fans.The opener, “Cabin Talk,” sets the record as a gathering, sort of like a roll call. Giancarlo Esposito (aka Gus Fring) runs down a guest list loaded with names—Black Thought, Common, Yukimi Nagano, Killer Mike, Q‑Tip, Nas, Slick Rick, producers like DJ Premier and Nottz, a “Host Operating Program Entity” named Hope—and then asks, “Is there a Dave here?” The call hangs unanswered. That question never leaves. Pos and Maseo are making a De La Soul album with one-third of the group gone. Throughout the album, they refuse to reduce Trugoy to an elegy. He’s a presence: his verse on “Good Health” is the first time we hear him rapping, and it’s not in the past tense. He still brags about being the reason “the love of the game gave birth every nine moons to a new nigga,” working out “in the gym,” and “feedin’ ‘em nothing but that good health.” He’s still a mentor when he tells the hook to “break bread” and share “food for thought.” Trugoy appears again on the vintage Pete Rock-produced “The Package,” bantering with Pos about their craft (“Recognize the savior/The kinks in the string, the wack accelerators/The difference between doing the job and just your nature/Understand birthright over labor”), and he anchors the closing “Don’t Push Me” by quoting Grandmaster Flash’s famous refrain “So don’t push me, ‘cause I’m close to the edge.” De La treats him not as a static memorial but as a partner whose lines help shape the narrative.
Posdnous reacts directly to the loss on the title track. He opens with the image of a “cabin in the sky” that exists in dreams, then confesses that he’s “still in disbelief, lost my brother Dave.” The grief is raw, as he wonders how his family will cope when it’s his turn to ascend and whether he’ll “get a cabin in the sky.” Yet he refuses despair. He insists that true connections “can never be severed.” There’s faith and even humor as he jokes that gentrification is banned in heaven. That combination (mourning and mischief) is how De La keeps Dave present without turning the album into a tombstone. “Good Health” flips that optimism into swagger. Trugoy’s verse is a triumphant reintroduction by positioning himself as the reason hip‑hop keeps evolving and sneers at “goons in my era” who can’t keep up. He talks about defying space and starting the streets, and he devises self‑care as part of artistic duty. Pos’s verse extends the health metaphor into a commentary on rap competitiveness, boasting that he can feed listeners and stay “outside the box.” The central idea that longevity requires discipline is delivered with humor. It’s a strong argument that the group’s maturity doesn’t mean diminished energy. We’ll dive more into that as we go along, so stay tuned.
“YUHDONTSTOP” sets the tone. Over a simple loop produced by Dave, Pos complains about being called an “OG” and placed on “top five underrated” lists, yet he refuses to coast. He hears a voice telling him to keep moving; Dave’s sister tells him that if Pos and Maseo stop, Dave stops too. The hook chants “and it don’t stop,” linking the song to the group’s 1991 “A Rollerskating Jam Named ‘Saturdays’” and emphasizing continuity rather than nostalgia. Pos acknowledges younger critics who think his skills are outdated and responds by describing his longevity: “We on the chessboard playin’, inner appetite always weighs in.” The track ends with a skit reminding them that the group’s magic “will always remain three” even when one member is missing. It’s a deft way of saying that De La are still making official art with intelligence, even as they grieve.
“Sunny Storms” picks up that thesis and sharpens it. Pos wakes up and stretches his prayers to the sky, then notes that “as we got older, we talk healthier,” while also “cooked up an oath putting an emphasis on growth.” He’s teaching his kids to keep their eyes open, no longer waiting for the world to serve them. When the beat switches, he reframes storms as opportunities: “No need to grieve for the death of the old you that ushers in change/Give birth to better versions for you to claim/The best weight loss is losing the opinion of others with a cross to nail to you for sinning.” Preem keeps his presence to tasteful cuts that mark transitions. Pos’s metaphors—molasses in the walk, a hawk waiting for the worm—are simple but effective. He’s always had a gift for reimagining clichés, but with this album, he uses everyday images to express spiritual resilience. It’s one of the record’s most optimistic moments, proof that the group can still write uplifting songs without sounding naive.
A handful of tracks explore interpersonal messiness. “Just How It Is (Sometimes)” is a narrative about a woman deleting photos of her ex from social media. Pos lists the mundane details—scrolling through pics, deleting shots from Brazil, purging digital memories—to illustrate how heartbreak is now mediated through phones. The hook by Gareth Donkin is airy, but Jay Pharoah’s skit at the end goes on too long. The humor about Aquaman and “Blankman” pulls attention away from the core story. It’s a rare time the group’s comedic instincts feel indulgent. “Day in the Sun” offers a brighter relationship vignette, with Pos comparing himself to Frankenstein as he wanders the city thinking about an unnamed partner. Q‑Tip’s cameo is understated. He sings along on the hook and delivers another solid verse, and the track feels breezy without being shallow. These songs show that De La has always balanced introspection with everyday storytelling.
“Different World” shifts that balance toward grief. Pos begins by noting that he was once caught in the vines of grind but is now in a place where he’s braver. He compares his new mindset to a bright hue and acknowledges that he’s navigating dark thoughts. The chorus, built around a reinterpretation of The Four Tops’ “A Different World,” frames the idea of entering a world worth living. Poet Gina Loring delivers a spoken‑word interlude about levity and ancestors becoming friends. In the second verse, Pos addresses Dave directly: he says he wishes Dave had never died and admits that Maseo would rather be home than touring. The honesty is striking; there’s no poeticizing. Pos bites his lip and admits he’s blessed to have Dave steering the ship.
“Patty Cake” uses nursery‑rhyme structures to critique the cycle of poverty. Pos recites “patty cake, patty cake, baker’s man,” then flips it into commentary on a child who “ain’t got vision but he rock Louis shades.” He depicts apartments where nobody works, but there’s always a cigarette, elders eating dog food, communities splintered by addiction and neglect. The concept is clever, but the imagery is vivid, and the way Pos weaves Biblical references (“Classically trained and accepting pain but we stay so calm, it’s all in God’s palm”) shows his ability to ground critique in spirituality. “The Silent Life of a Truth” feels like one of Pos’s AOI‑era concept tracks, and it’s one of the more straightforward cuts here. He tells the story of truth hiding since “Adam and his rib,” points out that parents hide the truth to preserve fairy tales, and notes that lies travel around the world before the truth gets dressed. The metaphor isn’t original, however, he notes that people tell the truth to their side piece while lying to their spouse, and that lies dance sweetly while truth remains in gag orders. DJ Premier’s hook scratches give the track a hypnotic feel. It’s not the album’s deepest moment, but it’s a solid piece of adult rap.
“EN EFF” (pronounced “N.F.”) is a harder song. Another classic Preem cut, Pos criticizes industry envy and musicians who chase fame without asking who owns the land. He recalls being young, breathing in the glamour of the industry, only to learn that jealousy tries to dim your light. He also warns against hypocrisy (“A nigga heart is on hate while his face lies to you with a grin”). Black Thought arrives and rips through his verse with typical precision. While channeling Dave from “Stakes Is High” here, he’s sick of passport bros, giving up game to niggas failing classes, and half‑ass hip‑hop flows, and he refuses to dumb down his writing. The track’s structure recalls 1990s East Coast rap, and DJ Premier’s cuts are crisp. It’s a muscular moment that breaks up the album’s introspective run without resorting to nostalgia.
Other guests include Little Dragon’s Yukimi Nagano on “Cruel Summers Bring FIRE LIFE!!” while they are having a good time singing over Quincy Jones’ “Betcha Wouldn’t Hurt Me” and Roy Ayers’ “Everybody Loves the Sunshine.” Slick Rick, who earlier released Victory in the Mass Appeal series, steals the scene on “Yours” with his signature sing‑song delivery, and Common complements him by playing the supportive older uncle over another vintage Pete Rock beat. Killer Mike’s verse on “A Quick 16 for Mama” is heartfelt. Produced by Nottz, he remembers telling his mother he wanted to be an MC and being guided by her wisdom. And of course, Nas, once again, absolutely bodies “Run It Back!!” with a mix of flexing, timeline-jumping, and industry resentment, and he’s throwing all of it out quickly, almost like he’s testing how much density he can get away with. And that’s the interesting part in the context of the record, Pos’s verse is about craft, locality, process, and longevity; Nas’s verse is about how the industry mishandled him, how time rewrote parts of his career, and how he still demands placement in the canon.
The final portion of the record dives deeper into spirituality and ageing. “Palm of His Hands” features Bilal on a gorgeous hook, singing that he doesn’t want to get older because “the breath of the world feels colder.” Pos’s first verse addresses his survival: he marvels at “older rappers out here livin’ good like it’s still their heyday” and notes that he and Maseo attack tracks differently now, honoring the ghosts and holy ones who defined their neighborhoods. He hints at the legal battles around their catalog (“a legacy tatted up with legal issues that we never tore apart”) and frames their longevity as a blessing. He turns to fatherhood in the second verse, telling his son to treat women better than he treated his own mother. He admits to failing tests that his mother taught him, and he hopes that when death is near, he’ll be surrounded by his “seeds.” The song reveals a level of vulnerability that Pos rarely showed in the 1990s. He’s willing to tell on himself rather than mythologize.
On the title track, he extends that vulnerability into metaphysics. The “cabin in the sky” is both a Black cultural reference—Lena Horne and Duke Ellington starred in the 1943 musical that inspired the title—and a personal metaphor for the afterlife. Pos uses the cabin to imagine a space where he can reunite with loved ones without rent due or gentrification. He wonders if his father thinks about those who paid different prices and contemplates the weight of what Dave experienced. The hook ponders whether he’ll get his own cabin and how his family will manage his departure. It’s a powerful piece that avoids clichés about heaven and uses the afterlife as an extension of earthly community.
“Don’t Push Me” ends the album with a wink. Giancarlo Esposito reappears to announce that we’re still in the cabin. Then Trugoy starts rapping like a deliveryman. He jokes about the FedEx man interrupting someone’s morning and notes that the president is Black, but Emmett Till still hasn’t received justice. He flips “Don’t push me, ‘cause I’m close to the edge” into a hook that merges Grandmaster Flash’s social warnings with his own humor. Dave’s verses are loose, occasionally messy, but hearing his voice deliver those playful lines at the end of a heavy album is cathartic. It’s De La Soul’s way of refusing to turn grief into sanctimony, even if it emotionally ends on a high note. They let Dave be Dave: silly, sharp, and politically aware.
The biggest change is Pos’s willingness to look inward. In 2001’s AOI: Bionix, he toyed with concepts like maturity, but he rarely admitted to regret. Here he speaks about physical wear and spiritual discipline on “Sunny Storms,” aging rappers on “Palm of His Hands,” and the fear of death on “Cabin in the Sky.” He tells his son to treat women better and confesses to failing his mother. His writing is sharper and less concerned with cleverness for its own sake. The metaphors are there, but they serve the content instead of the other way around. Maseo’s presence is quieter but essential. He doesn’t rap often, but he will let you know that the group still enjoys clowning. While the album is seventy minutes long, surprisingly, it does NOT drag. Yet the trade‑off is a cohesive, adult record that sits comfortably with its age. The production, primarily from DJ Premier, Pete Rock, and Super Dave West, stays minimal, giving Pos’s words room to breathe. If younger listeners arrive expecting the cartoonish energy of 3 Feet High, they may be disappointed. But if they come for honesty and craft, they’ll find a group aging with dignity.
Standout (★★★★½)
Favorite Track(s): “Sunny Storms,” “EN EFF,” “Palm of His Hands,” “Cabin in the Sky”