Album Review: Infinite by Mobb Deep
With Infinite, the arc feels unbroken. Queensbridge grit carried across decades by Havoc and The Alchemist, pushing the duo’s blueprint into the present tense without sanding off what made it matter.
Mobb Deep’s story starts in Queensbridge, the New York housing complex that fed their bleak, steel-cold vision of East Coast rap. Across The Infamous (1995), Hell on Earth (1996), and Murda Muzik (1999), Prodigy and Havoc built a canon of fatal-calm storytelling over shadowed drums and minor-key loops; the duo’s “Shook Ones, Pt. II” became a generational touchstone and remains enshrined on one of the greatest hip-hop songs of all time. That run didn’t just define a sound—it reset a mood for mid-‘90s hip-hop, and fans have long tracked how Havoc’s production and the pair’s clipped imagery recast New York’s streets in noir. Prodigy’s death in 2017 froze that chemistry in place, leaving Havoc to hold the name. Prodigy, born Albert Johnson, had lived with sickle-cell anemia since childhood and died at 42 after being hospitalized in Las Vegas; the loss hit the city and the culture hard, and Havoc spoke publicly about the shock of losing his partner while trying to keep their legacy intact. In the years since, he has kept the catalog alive onstage and in reissues, even as the question lingered: what could “Mobb Deep” mean without the two of them side by side.
When Havoc announced that Mobb Deep’s ninth studio album would be titled Infinite and that the production was complete, it created a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. Eight years have passed since Prodigy’s death, and the duo hasn’t released a full‑length project since The Infamous Mobb Deep in 2014. Infinite arrives under Mass Appeal’s Legend Has It campaign, a series dedicated to celebrating hip‑hop trailblazers. Havoc entirely produced the album with assistance from longtime collaborator The Alchemist, and features previously unreleased vocals from Prodigy. This is important with this album, especially as it deliberately turns away from the synthetic, trap‑heavy trends that currently dominate radio and reaches back toward the bleak soundscapes that made Mobb Deep famous.
Havoc helms the majority of the production and clearly approaches Infinite as an homage and evolution. His beats revisit the sparse, minor‑key loops and hard drums of The Infamous and Hell on Earth, but they also reflect the subtle layering techniques he has honed over the past decade while producing for artists like Ye & Ty Dolla $ign and 2 Chainz. The opener “Against the World” encapsulates this blend: eerie keyboards and a muffled bassline conjure the cold, concrete ambience of Queensbridge while modern low‑end gives the record weight. The hook, a refrain of “It’s Mobb Deep against the world”, is delivered like a war cry. Havoc’s verse admonishes younger rappers—“You niggas talk a good one but never follow through”—while Prodigy’s ghostly voice spits lines about global dominance and greed. The song is both nostalgic and forward‑looking, reminding listeners that the group’s worldview always encompassed more than block warfare.
Throughout Infinite, Havoc toggles between moods. On “Easy Bruh,” he uses a menacing piano loop and raw drums to craft a thuggish anthem in which both MCs trade threats and insults. The hook’s chant of “Easy bruh, better take it easy bruh” is a warning and a taunt. Prodigy’s verse is unrepentant: “Fuck a fair fight, you get jumped out here” and “My fans are crazy, you might get shot.” Havoc’s response extends the intimidation but also introduces self‑awareness—he boasts about sitting “like a king in the pharaoh” yet concedes he grew up “from the bottom of the barrel.” This duality surfaces repeatedly; Havoc’s production frames bravado with hints of regret. His beats on “Look at Me” and “Down for You” expand the sonic palette. The former is a midtempo track with a hypnotic bass groove; Prodigy criticizes clout chasing—“You a civilian, so how would you understand the life of power and privilege?”—while Havoc warns against trusting unworthy companions. Clipse’s verse is vintage coke‑rap swagger—Pusha T and Malice muse about staying true as brothers and wonder who will remain relevant ten years from now.
The first part of “Down for You” is a solid R&B offering with Nas and Jorja Smith. Havoc’s lush chords and a shimmering sample give the track a romantic sheen, and Nas uses his verse to muse on family and personal accountability. Also, it’s playful and braggadocious, weaving references to Deja and Jorja Smith while harkening back to his classic verse from 1999’s “It’s Mine.” Prodigy glues the song together with a hook that bridges the tough exterior with vulnerability. These pieces show Havoc pushing beyond grimy loops into more melodic territory without chasing trends. H.E.R. adds warmth to the sequel (“Down for You”). However, it may be confusing if it adds anything different to the album, but kudos to them, considering the verses from Havoc, Nas, and Prodigy were different from the original. Speaking of Nas, he returns on “Pour the Henny,” spitting a sermon that touches on faith and survival (“Whatever comes out of Satan’s mouth is a lie perverted… keep God close on purpose”) and acknowledges his own brushes with death. Big Noyd’s cameo on “The M. The O. The B. The B.” is a nostalgic treat, aligning him with his old crew. Ghostface Killah and Raekwon steal the show on “Clear Black Nights”; Ghostface’s imagery (“My tongue spit hell fire, get scorched from the flames”) and Raekwon’s street poetry (“Rhymes hit harder than a crowbar/Similar to Ozark, all niggas in it”) channel the energy of Only Built 4 Cuban Linx… and mesh seamlessly with the Mobb’s bleak backdrop.
The four songs produced by The Alchemist—“Gunfire,” “Taj Mahal,” “Score Points,” and “My Era”—serve as tonal pivots. Alchemist’s signature is his ability to make vintage samples sound gritty and cinematic; he loops obscure soul records, filters them until they sound like they’re playing from a dusty cassette, and then pairs them with crisp drum programming. On “Gunfire,” he crafts a sparse, shuffling beat under Prodigy’s boasts—“King of all kings, Don of all Dons”—and Havoc’s snarling verses about paranoia and violence. The hook is simply Prodigy chanting “Gunfire”, letting the beat breathe. “Taj Mahal” is a narrative epic where Prodigy recounts a night of decadence and gambling with time‑stamped detail (“7 p.m. and I just woke up… 9 p.m., scooped the Alchemist… 10 p.m., we drove to AC… then we went up in the Taj Mahal”).
The Alchemist’s beat shows the story with a psychedelic loop that feels like a crime‑film montage. Havoc enters to remind listeners of the consequences—“Pray to God I don’t gotta give my shooters a call”—adding tension. On “Score Points,” Alchemist uses a haunting sample and heavy drums to match Prodigy’s verses about paranoia (“My intuition forces me to pay attention, like AK‑47s force bullets through them vests”) and Havoc’s critique of clout chasers (“They attention whores, chasing clout till they get that bloody mouth”). Finally, “My Era” is a nostalgic homage where Prodigy and Havoc trade shout‑outs to hip‑hop heroes—“Wu‑Tang and Mobb Deep… Big Pun, Nas, JAY-Z”—while the beat evokes a smoky basement cypher. These tracks illustrate how The Alchemist complements Havoc’s sensibility: he doesn’t change the album’s atmosphere but injects color and variety.
At the heart of Infinite is Prodigy’s vocal presence. His verses were recorded before his death (none of that Artificial Intelligence nonsense), yet they do not feel like leftovers. On “Against the World,” he declares, “New York is just one crumb on the map, one crumb ain’t a lot/You happy with that piece? I’m gonna need that pie”. The hunger remains evident. On “Gunfire,” he boasts about being the “King of all kings, Don of all Dons,” but there is a melancholy undertone when he raps about being “fiending for a nigga to approach me, raise up”—as if he knows he’s rapping from beyond. In “Score Points,” he contemplates mortality and trauma—“My friends’ bodies was riddled with bullets… they killed Yammy with a bat… they shot my cousin Manu in the face with the Uzi”—and the line “Too much murder, my emotions are fear‑proof” sounds chilling in hindsight. On “My Era” he lists the legends he sees as peers and proclaims, “This vintage wine, you a trendy vodka”, emphasising authenticity over trendiness. Even his lighter moments, like “Love the Way” where he reminisces about jet‑setting and luxury (“Jacuzzi on the roof out in Singapore laughing so hard the Clicquot came out my nose”), serve to humanize him. Havoc’s mixing does justice to these vocals; he keeps Prodigy high in the mix, often doubling his lines with subtle reverb that adds a spectral quality without making them feel ghostly.
Havoc’s own verses have matured. He still delivers threats with his signature rasp—on “Pour the Henny,” he warns, “Anybody violate, gotta give ’em all the best of me”—but he also reflects on perseverance and camaraderie. “Think about my life and all the moments I coulda folded, but never folded” is a line from “Score Points” that reveals his resilience. In “My Era,” he celebrates their longevity and chides younger rappers for lacking authenticity (“Niggas soft for real, like key lime pie”). On “Discontinued,” he rails against industry fakes—“Stupid is what stupid does, let me catch a slug/The best shit you ever dropped, a fucking dud”—and uses the hook to assert that “The Infamous, they don’t make ’em like us no more”. His introspection is especially poignant in “Pour the Henny,” where he confesses that music is his therapy and acknowledges jealousy and conflict. Havoc’s rapping isn’t as rhythmically tight as it was twenty years ago, but his conviction compensates.
As an album experience, Infinite is remarkably cohesive. Clocking in at just over 51 minutes, it avoids filler and flows with the confidence of a veteran crew. The sequencing balances narrative tracks with conceptual pieces, interleaves Havoc and Alchemist productions to provide variety, and places the most melodic songs in the middle to break up the dark onslaught. The only weak link beyond the “Down for You” confusion is “Easy Bruh,” whose repetitive hook and generic threats feel like a relic from a mixtape; however, even that song benefits from a catchy beat and call‑and‑response interplay. Some may wish for more creative risks—Havoc does not update his sound as drastically as some of his contemporaries (and he doesn’t have to), and the album occasionally feels like a time capsule. Yet that fidelity is also its strength. Infinite stubbornly clings to Mobb Deep’s lane and refines it. It honors Prodigy without resorting to syrupy tributes and gives Havoc space to reconnect with the duo’s essence.
Infinite succeeds for the reason that it recognizes what Mobb Deep represent—uncompromising street poetry delivered over moody, immersive beats—and executes that vision without pandering. Havoc’s decision to handle most of the production ensures continuity, and his collaboration with The Alchemist adds just enough texture to avoid monotony. Prodigy’s posthumous vocals are treated with care, and his verses remain piercing. The guest features were perfectly placed rather than dilute the core sound. There are minor missteps, such as occasional repetitive hooks and a reluctance to experiment sonically, but those are outweighed by the album’s cohesion, emotive depth and hard‑won authenticity. For fans who feared that a post‑Prodigy Mobb Deep record might feel like a patchwork, Infinite offers reassurance: it feels whole, vital and worthy of the duo’s legacy.
Great (★★★★☆)
Favorite Track(s). “Gunfire,” “Clear Black Nights,” “We the Real Thing”