Album Review: Goldfish by Hit-Boy & The Alchemist
Hit-Boy and The Alchemist challenged what a producer‑driven rap album can be. The mixture of liberation, craftsmanship and vulnerability makes it one of the most interesting hip‑hop records of 2025.
Translator’s Note: Originally written in Japanese; translated into English for publication.
Two of hip‑hop’s most decorated beatmakers have swapped chairs. Chauncey “Hit‑Boy” Hollis is fresh from breaking free of an 18‑year publishing deal he signed as a teenager, a contract that gave him just $50,000 up front and no end date. JAY‑Z and Roc Nation’s Desiree Perez helped him secure an end date and “push that through,” and when it finally ended, he couldn’t fathom the feeling as being freed from a sentence, and we couldn’t be more proud. On the other side of the room is Alan “The Alchemist” Maman, a veteran behind the boards whose sample‑heavy production has scored bangers for Curren$y, Westside Gunn and Kendrick Lamar (it’s too many at this point). After almost three decades, he remains “one of the most in‑demand beatsmiths for hip‑hop’s cross‑generational leaders” and, despite a résumé that reads like a Hall of Fame roster, he can still say he’s doing exactly what he wants, already produced for Larry June/2 Chainz, Freddie Gibbs, and Mobb Deep this year. But we’re still waiting for Yasiin Bey and Erykah Badu.
Goldfish is where their arcs converge. For Hit‑Boy, it’s a declaration of emancipation: a full‑length album that arrives immediately after his contract shackles were removed. For The Alchemist, it’s a bold extension from cult craft to front‑of‑house entertainer, sharing rapping duties on a record built around varied sampled-heavy beats that range from boop-bap, drumless, and trap. According to Hit‑Boy on the Joe and Jada podcast interview, the title’s metaphor—“life be like that, we be stuck in a bowl, just going in circles and shit sometimes”—shapes both the album and an accompanying film. Those words conjure a fish darting around glass, where change is more about perspective than escape. On paper, it sounds like a conceptual exercise, but the project plays more like two friends trading war stories over the shifting surfaces of their own beats.
Hit‑Boy’s career has already been trending toward the microphone. In 2023, his solo LP Surf or Drown and its sequel saw him rapping alongside his father, Big Hit. Here, he’s further removed from the behind‑the‑scenes anonymity; he opens “Business Merger” venting about friends who faded when he released his album, noting that his circle is now “so small that it’s closer to a dot.” The Alchemist, whose early days were as one half of the Whooliganz before he leaned into production, mirrors that spirit. “Watching my son spin records and push buttons, still know nothing,” he raps on “Show Me the Way,” before noting that he’s still digging in a different duffle. Over crispy drums provided by Hit-Boy, the pair trade verses like duelling chefs on the earlier forementioned track, each flexing but also acknowledging the costs: the production evokes the triumphant horn-laced opulence in the single’s rollout. Hit‑Boy’s bars are peppered with specifics about deals gone wrong and sliding into the booth with the same fervour he once reserved for his MPC; The Alchemist matches that energy with references to varsity jackets, baking muffins and juggling light bulbs while projecting his voice over the noise.
The album’s concept—being trapped in a bowl and moving in circles—surfaces most clearly when you listen for the recurring imagery of confinement, cycles, and reflection. Back to “Business Merger,” Hit‑Boy turns the producer’s obsession with loops inward: he complains that he tried to “give ‘em the game,” but they didn’t keep it real, while The Alchemist reminds us that paper circulates as they keep it “cyclin’.” The motif returns on “Show Me the Way,” where Al watches his child spin records as he digs for a new hustle and jokes that he won’t fumble the bag again. By “Home Improvement,” the loop is turned into a metaphor for self‑maintenance; Hit‑Boy’s hook is a prayer for stability (“Built me into the man I am, I’m just tryna see forty though, take my son out to Tokyo”). He admits to looping the sample back twice. The Alchemist answers with a list of regrets and lessons: sleeping three hours a night, arguing with his wife in front of his son, and asking whether fans will still celebrate his stats when his status is gone. It’s one of the record’s most vulnerable moments, a crack in the confident veneer that suggests the bowl they’re swimming in is lined with both gold and glass.
In another place, the image of entrapment bleeds into meditations on industry stagnation. On “Recent Memory,” Hit‑Boy laments that peers keep “reheatin’ the same soup” and declares there’s nothing in recent releases that touches his soul. The Alchemist riffs on the same thought, saying the mountaintop is “a nice place to visit,” but he refuses to live there because there’s “nothin’ else for me to prove.” When he boasts about sitting in a jacuzzi with motion jets, he undercuts it with the revelation that not one of his competitors moves him. The refrain “heavy is the head that wears the crown” on “Celebration Moments,” delivered by Havoc over his own menacing ALC drum pattern, echoes the pressure of holding onto success. Hit‑Boy’s verse notes that strangers show more love than friends, that enemies drag his name through mud, and that he learned to wipe opponents “washed” like Tide detergent. The guests bring out different shades of this tension. Conway the Machine’s verse on “Mick & Cooley” is a blast of violence that makes the goldfish bowl look more like a prison yard; Boldy James, on “Not Much,” remembers being “stuck in the hood way longer than I been rich” and reduces his time in the spotlight to a quick spin in a barber’s chair. Their appearances add grit and stakes, reminding listeners that the bowl can be a trap as well as a sanctuary.
When it comes to the rhymes, the project sways between ego and introspection. Hit‑Boy is prone to G‑rated boasts that often land because of their specificity: he can frame a broken publishing deal as incarceration, brag about wearing Nike Tech while hitting the Griddy and then pivot to heartfelt admissions that the people who hurt you most are those you’re close with. The Alchemist’s verses are more surreal, littered with culinary and mechanical metaphors (“I bake muffins and set ‘em in batches… you a robot, you work on an assembly line”). He has always rapped like a beatmaker (words fall like samples, imagery arrives in flashes), and his approach creates texture even when the punchlines aren’t sharp. There are misfires: lines like “large bowl of soup, the way I cut, I might as well have on a barber’s suit” feel like puns that never coalesce, and some of Hit‑Boy’s threats (“I lay him down and I beat the charge”) read as generic. Still, the proximity of their voices is compelling. On “Walk in Faith,” The Alchemist brags about being forever stuck “like a jammed appliance” before Hit‑Boy admits he’s grappling with grown problems and nights where he mixes Coke with Jack to numb the pain. Their vulnerability peeks out not through hooks but within the bars, and when it does, the album transcends producer‑rap vanity.
What does Goldfish represent for both artists? For Hit‑Boy, it’s the sound of a man stretching his craft beyond beat‑making. Freed from a restrictive publishing deal and with the encouragement of a Roc Nation power play, he raps with a confidence that suggests this lane is not a side hustle but a new chapter. He still doesn’t have the natural charisma of the rappers he’s produced, but his earnestness and technical improvement are enough to carry entire songs. For The Alchemist, the album underlines the fact that he’s more than the quiet scientist behind the boards. After years of being one of hip‑hop’s most sought‑after producers and being able to work with everyone from Larry June to Erykah Badu, stepping into the foreground feels like a victory lap. His flow remains nonchalant, occasionally bordering on monotone, but his imagery and timing make his verses feel like inside jokes delivered over joints in his Santa Monica studio. The title Goldfish hints at freedom and entrapment simultaneously: a goldfish has beautiful scales and limited space; the bowl magnifies but also confines. The album plays into that tension. There are risks, but there is also the reward of hearing two masters test their limits.
Great (★★★★☆)
Favorite Track(s): “Celebration Moments,” “Home Improvement,” “Recent Memory”