Album Review: Lonely at the Top by Joey Bada$$

With Lonely at the Top, it captures a rapper who can still eviscerate his peers while cradling his infant child; it honors the East Coast’s boom‑bap roots while making space for introspection.

Courtesy of Columbia Records.

They say it’s lonely at the top, in whatever you do,
You always gotta watch muthafuckas around you,
Nobody’s invincible, no plan is foolproof,
We all must meet our moment of truth. — Guru on “Moment of Truth”

Brooklyn’s Jo‑Vaughn Scott spent the last three years in another medium. When fans asked, “Where the hell has he been?” the answer was on television sets. In Power Book III: Raising Kanan, he resurrected his villainous character Unique after the season‑three cliffhanger. Rather than coast on familiarity, he used the return as an exercise in reinvention: “We’re used to seeing Unique in a certain light… let’s take the calm, charismatic, well‑calculated fly dude, and let’s make him unhinged,” he told People. It was a challenge he welcomed because it required him to “reimagine this character a little bit.” By his own account, the transformation was “really fun to portray,” and he spent much of 2024 and early 2025 filming and promoting the show, which explains his absence from the rap release calendar. Off camera, he embraced fatherhood; he and actress‑singer Serayah welcomed a child in mid‑2025, and he told Essence that they were determined to build a strong Black family structure by “breaking those generational curses and setting an example for the future.” Acting and parenting left little room for a major rap project.

Those expecting a quiet, domestic LP were teased last year with talk of a love‑centered project. After releasing 2000 in 2022, he hinted to a hip‑hop outlet that his next album might be “about love,” and he spent a three‑song run—“Welcome Back,” “Show Me,” and “Wanna Be Loved”—exploring romance over “elegant production.” That brief exploration of neo‑soul grooves led fans to speculate about a full‑fledged R&B record. The promised record never surfaced. Instead, the first half of 2025 saw him lean into battle rap, release loosies, and stoke the biggest coast‑to‑coast feud in recent memory.

On New Year’s Day, he dropped “The Ruler’s Back,” rapping that rap fans were doing “too much West Coast dick lickin’,” taken from JAY-Z’s “22 Two’s.” It was a provocation aimed less at specific artists than at regional complacency. West Coast rappers responded, and he responded in turn. The loaded Lux‑assisted “My Town” is an extended challenge. Over a flip of Cam’ron’s “Welcome to New York City,” he taunts his opponents: “Fuck a 20 v. one… I’ll take anybody,” then snarls, “I’m smokin’ all you niggas in the blunt, this the light pack/The irony for months, they told Joey to fight back.” He even jokes, “Ray Vaughn was so last week/Now, I’m hearing shit about some nigga named Ass Cheek,” playing off Ray Vaughn’s TDE labelmate AZ Chike. On “Crash Dummy,” he flips Tupac’s “Hit ‘Em Up,” sarcastically thanking Ray Vaughn for “making it clear that Dot [is] scared,” an allusion to Kendrick Lamar. He continues, “Any day of the week, I take on at least ten of you,” raising the stakes well beyond one‑on‑one. The war escalated through multiple songs—“Sorry Not Sorry,” “Pardon Me,” “The Finals”— and at one point, he even announced his engagement to Serayah in the middle of a diss (“Want me to engage, so you mention my fiancée”).

For most fans, the barrage read as clout-chasing, but in August, he appeared on The Breakfast Club and described the campaign as both playful and competitive. “My energy was more connected to… ‘Yo, you having y’all moment, but New York City got something to say too,’” he explained. He insisted that he harbored no animosity: “It’s 2025 and it’s playful… This rap shit is a sport, and I have so many allies on the West.” The rap war, he said, was about proving lyrical dominance rather than creating enemies.

Daylyt, one of his most formidable adversaries, eventually agreed. On “End Credits,” he bows out of the feud with an unexpected gesture of respect. Over Nas instrumentals like “N.Y. State of Mind,” the Watts emcee raps, “The Ruler’s back, oh, you the man, Joey/Today I crown you the King of New York for taking that stand, Joey/You really took the fade with all of us, a brave man/NY‑made man, it should say ‘Immortal’ when your grave land.” Daylyt thanks him for sparking “healthy competition” and acknowledges that the battle inspired creativity across both coasts. In a rap world where beef can spill into violence, this exchange underscored that the fight was about bars, not blood, even if the whole exchange was sloppy and confusing.

“ABK” (“Anybody Killa”) is a battle‑rap clinic disguised as a single. Debuted on Jimmy Kimmel Live in July, he roars, “Everybody got a price and I’m owed this here/Who wanna go bar for bar? Somebody hold my beer/Y’all niggas ain’t war‑prepared, my sword is near/The King Arthur rap extraordinaire.” Later, he addresses Ray Vaughn directly: “They thought I was light work, so they sent their little mans to kill me/Thought it might work, all 2025, I hit ‘em where it might hurt.” The track’s beat shifts through multiple drum patterns and sample flips, echoing the energy of ‘90s New York mixtapes. It’s less a radio single than a mission statement that he is ready to take on anyone who doubts him. The problem here is that the track’s not on this record.

However, Joey Bada$$ wastes no time asserting himself on Lonely at the Top. The album opens with “Dark Aura,” a chest-thumping return where Joey revels in the “lifestyles of the rich and famous” and basks in his success. Over what feels like a menacing sample by Moo Latte that is flipped by Pro Era-alumni Chuck Strangers, he spits, “You ain’t talkin’ money, you must be talkin’ a different language/Independent mindset, we ain’t fuckin’ with the majors/Can’t get back our time spent, gotta treat it like it’s sacred.” The hook rides a menacing loop reminiscent of Statik Selektah’s sample‑based production, and the verses aim at executives who delay albums or stifle creativity. The song directly references his frustrations with Columbia Records, which held back the album. On Instagram Live weeks ago, he vented, explaining that his album was “signed, sealed, and delivered” yet still shelved, and he blasted the label for being “dead weight.” The video later captured him at the Blue Note jazz club announcing a new release date, effectively wresting the narrative back from the corporation.

“Swank White” keeps the momentum, pairing Joey with Griselda’s own Westside Gunn for a dose of gritty luxury rap. The production leans into dusty, head-nodding East Coast grit—the perfect canvas for Joey to talk his Wall Street and Brooklyn talk. He reports live “from the side with the glass tinted” and salutes hustlers dodging subpoenas. Joey’s verses are braggadocious yet introspective; he boasts about dropping “80 in the market” and being so self-made that “nobody ever told me that the top would feel this lonely.” That line hints at the album’s thematic core: success has isolated him. Still, Joey sounds invigorated, rattling off stock tips and Inshallah flexes in the same breath as street threats. Westside Gunn’s verse oozes fly menace—all Chanel moccasins and bloody Prada references—adding an extra coat of East Coast grime. Gunn’s high-pitched drawl complements Joey’s steadier flow, even if his bars (stunting about shell casings and ski masks) feel almost routine for him. The chemistry is there, though, and Joey holds his own.

With “Supaflee,” the album swerves into radio-play territory, for better and worse. This is a glossy, carefree track built for the clubs and playlists, complete with a catchy hook from Bri Steves that oozes swagger and style. “Ain’t nobody got style like me, uh-no-no,” she sings, over a bouncy beat that uses the drum pattern for Jigga’s “I Just Wanna Love U (Give It 2 Me).” Joey uses the opportunity to stunt on everybody. His wordplay is sharp as ever (he quips that “all them diamonds cut on the wrist is a suicide watch”), and he’s clearly having fun piling on flamboyant flexes. It’s undeniably fun, but it’s also superficial. As a radio single, it’s serviceable and slick, but coming after two harder tracks, it risks feeling like a detour into fluff. “Highroller” continues the commercial streak with mixed results. The beat is big and R&B-sample-heavy, built to head nod and vibe, and Joey dives into a fast-paced life narrative. “Blowin’ money fast, but we ride slow/This lifestyle we live to die for,” he raps, painting the picture of a hustler living on the edge. A$AP Ferg shows up for a guest verse, injecting some wild energy—he brags about falling in love with a stripper and adds a dose of his trademark Harlem slick talk.

The first real curveball comes with “Ready to Love,” a full-fledged rap love song complete with Ty Dolla $ign’s silky hook. It’s a bold pivot into R&B territory—all sultry melodies and slow-winding percussion—clearly aimed at radio and the ladies, especially when Hitmaka is involved. To Joey’s credit, he leans into vulnerability here, at least at first. He admits, “I’m too grown to be so alone” and yearns for a queen to match his king, referencing Jay and Beyoncé. There’s even a touching nod to personal growth: “I’m tryna be a better man for my daughter,” Joey confesses, letting us see the fatherly softness under his tough exterior. These moments, where he strives to be more mature and emotionally present, show genuine reinvention—the kind of evolution you’d hope for after a three-year detour into playing a family man (and a villain) on TV. But Joey can’t resist mixing sugar with salt. In the next breath, he’s back in braggart mode, ogling his girl’s body and flexing his wealth. It’s jarringly on-brand for a rap love track, one moment he’s pledging devotion, the next he’s calling her a “badass bitch” and boasting about possibly giving her his last name after he’s shown off his car on I-95. It’s a decent palette cleanser, sure, but also the most conventional cut here. Translation: enjoyable, a bit corny, and not as convincing as it should be coming from such a proud lyrical warrior.

The album course-corrects with “BK’s Finest,” a booming homage to Brooklyn that drags the album back into hardcore territory. Joey absolutely snaps here, reclaiming his home-borough pride with venom and authentic detail. The verse is a tour of Brooklyn’s underbelly and bravado: “My borough was thorough… we some grimy niggs, fuck your baby moms and take your shit,” Joey growls unapologetically. He shouts out every block and pays respect to the OGs. A highlight is Joey tipping his hat to Hov’s blueprint while warning would-be kings: “Hov laid out the blueprint… Word to Brooklyn’s finest,” he raps, mixing tribute with a subtle claim to the throne. You can tell Joey’s in his element over the dusty drums and smooth samples (producer Chuck Strangers? Statik Selektah? Whoever it is, they understood the assignment). It’s Statik. When guest Rome Streetz jumps in for the second verse, the onslaught continues. Kai Ca$h and CJ Fly all came through with their staggering charisma.

Right after that victory lap, Joey plunges inward on “Underwater.” This track is the emotional core of the album—a dark, swirling portrait of anxiety, loss, and spiritual struggle. Over a jazzy, submerged-sounding beat (the title is apt), Joey unleashes some of his most brutally honest bars about his mental state. “Standing in my own way… I think I’m about to break down,” he admits, voice practically cracking under the weight of stress. He confesses he’s “sick in the head and I know that shit”, revealing a level of candor that might shock fans who know him mostly as a confident battle rapper. The verse finds Joey grieving a fallen friend (most likely Capital STEEZ)—“Been grieving ever since I found out that my homie dead”—and dealing with a heavy crown: “told me hold my head but my crown is heavy, got tears flowing like broken levees.” This is raw vulnerability, the loneliness at the top manifesting as paranoia and pain. You can hear the influence of his time away acting, too—there’s a dramatic flair to his delivery, like he’s soliloquizing on stage about his demons. One striking line, “Momma wasn’t there, so I gotta be,” hints at generational trauma and Joey’s resolve to be present (for his child, presumably) where his own mother wasn’t. It’s a blink-and-you-miss-it reference, but it adds depth: the absence of a parent in his life now drives him to be a better father.

After nearly drowning us in sorrow, Joey offers a lifeline of hope on “3 Feet Away.” This song is clearly meant to be the inspirational, pick-yourself-up moment, but it’s also the album’s most overly sincere track, to the point of being saccharine. Over a soulful, bass-heavy instrumental, Joey addresses anxiety and perseverance in straightforward terms. He opens up about his personal growth: “I’ve been dealing with anxiety… practicing sobriety,” he starts, owning up to his struggles. He then flips the narrative to triumph, reminding us (and himself) that the doubters were wrong when they said he couldn’t be who he is now. Thankfully, the final act of the album finds its footing again. “Speedin’ Through the Rain” is a high-octane, coast-to-coast lyrical barrage that merges Joey’s introspection with his competitive fire. The track’s concept, Joey likening his journey to a risky, fast drive through a storm, makes for some thrilling imagery. Over a propulsive beat by Jay Versace, he floors the gas: “Pedal to the metal on the road to the riches, pit stopped at the mosque real quick, Allah my witness,” he raps with focus.

“Still” is the album’s penultimate statement and perhaps its most important mission statement. This track finds Joey linking up with lyrical heavyweights to reflect on legacy, purpose, and the burden of greatness. However, it’s disappointing that Rapsody only delivers a hook and not a guest-stealing verse. Over a soulful, classic East Coast beat (Statik Selektah literally drops his tag here, so you know it’s that warm, boom-bap soul), Joey balances ferocity with philosophical calm. Joey delivers two verses (the second one full of advice and self-reflection), then Ab-Soul comes in as a sort of sage character for the final act. Ab-Soul’s verse is dense, abstract, and brilliant in its own right. He references the Four Horsemen and calls himself “the fifth horseman… appointed to redirect the apocalypse,” steers an Impala with hydraulic switches as a metaphor for controlling fate, and admits even he struggles to face himself in the mirror.

All of this sets the stage for the finale, “Lonely at the Top,” which serves as both a title track and a concluding thesis. Built around the famous hook from Gang Starr’s Moment of Truth (1998), he’s directly aligning himself with that ‘lonely king facing reality’ narrative from ‘90s East Coast lore. His verses are reflective and unflinchingly honest, tying together the album’s themes one last time. In the first verse, he has “flashbacks to the days of my youth… 193 Vernon Ave, Tompkins and Troop,” very specific Brooklyn corner memories, and recounts growing up next to the trap on his grandma’s stoop. He paints the picture of those days: running in packs, “getting harassed by the cops, hands up, don’t shoot,” learning the code of the streets (staying silent, guilt by association). There’s pain in these bars and a sense that Joey’s carrying the weight of all those experiences with him. He explicitly connects back to the album title: success has forced him to sever ties—“had to cut off some relations to ensure I would last”—and now whenever he comes back around the old block, “niggas be looking so mad.” Joey balances reflection with resignation; he’s proud to be at the summit of his game, but he’s not sugarcoating the solitude or fear that comes with it.

Joey is at the summit, yes, but the air up there is thin and lonely, and Lonely at the Top sometimes gasps for cohesion. It’s still a fascinating, if uneven, portrait of an artist at a crossroads. He proves that he still has elite lyrical chops and the courage to reinvent parts of himself—we see him as a doting father, a paranoid survivor, a romantic, and a battle-tested kingpin—but he’s also somewhat trapped by the very image he’s trying to transcend. The album’s best moments come when Joey finds balance: when the East Coast grit and the grown-man introspection coexist (as on “Still” and “Underwater”), you hear an artist who can wear the crown and bear its weight. But when he lurches toward radio trends or overstates his point (as with some of those singles and the heavy-handed finale), the spell breaks. If he can streamline the vision and resolve those contradictions, his next chapter could honestly see him claiming that throne. As it stands, he’s peering down from the top, one hand on his crown and the other on his heart—compelling, conflicted, and undeniably himself.

Above Average (★★★☆☆)

Favorite Track(s): “BK’s Finest,” “Underwater,” “Still”