Album Review: Reconstruction by Lecrae

Lecrae manages to deliver pointed social commentary on Reconstruction, while also exploring his internal landscape with disarming vulnerability.

Courtesy of Reach Records.

Lecrae is a four-time Grammy-winning rapper, but for the past three years (outside of certain loosies and collaborative EPs), he’s been conspicuously quiet. That changes with Reconstruction, his tenth studio album and first proper full-length release since 2020’s Restoration. The stakes feel high for this comeback. In a hip-hop climate crowded with marquee releases, even Charlamagne tha God quipped that if Lecrae weren’t labeled a “Christian rapper,” Reconstruction would demand inclusion in the Rap Album of the Year conversation. And Lecrae himself set a towering expectation. “Broken things can be rebuilt. Broken people can be restored. Broken faith can be renewed,” he declared of his new project. Five years ago, Restoration found Lecrae wrestling with his demons and even hinting at retirement (“Now maybe this the end of a long run,” he mused on its finale). But with Reconstruction, Lecrae returns reinvigorated and unafraid to shake foundations—including his own.

Lecrae signals that this record is staking out bold new territory. Over a hard-edged, anthemic beat with “Reconstruction,” the title track, he angrily calls out institutional rot in Christian culture and politics, making it clear he’s rebuilding his faith on truth, not on the “fraud” he’s seen masquerading as religion. They said we were walking away from faith?/…we was walking away from fraud,” he practically snarls, before framing his journey not as a crisis of belief but as a “reconstruction for clarity.” It’s a striking opening salvo—part protest song, part confessional—that effectively plants a flag. Lecrae isn’t here to preach easy platitudes or retread the comfort zone of Restoration. He’s torching the false idols and rebuilding from scratch. He’s doing it without losing the rapper’s edge that earned him mainstream respect. The title track’s boom-bap drums and gospel-tinged chorus set the tone, featuring gritty hip-hop authenticity fused with the uplift of a Sunday-morning service. It’s the kind of holy fire that immediately announces Lecrae’s new chapter is both musically and lyrically fervent.

That dynamic, hard-knocking beats undergirded by soulful, church-infused textures, defines the sonic landscape of Reconstruction. Across 19 tracks, Lecrae and his production team (including Reach Records mainstays) deftly balance classic hip-hop grit with inspirational flourish. One moment, he’s spitting over crisp 90s-style drum loops; the next, he’s riding a trap rhythm laced with a wash of organ chords or a stirring choral harmony. The album’s range stretches from the holy trappings to the slick modern bounce whose sub-bass hits and melodic hook could slide into Atlanta radio rotation. There’s even a West Coast flavor on “Politickin,” where Lecrae surprises by sounding right at home over a thumping G-funk homage complete with funky synths. Despite the eclecticism, the production never feels like a gimmicky genre-hop; instead, it mirrors the album’s theme of rebuilding by reaching back to hip-hop’s foundations (boom-bap, soulful samples) while pressing forward into fresh territory. The gospel-infused elements (a well-placed choir here, a church organ swell there) reinforce the sense of spiritual revival without ever tipping into schmaltz. Instead of overt altar-call songs, Lecrae opts for beats that knock as hard as the truths he’s unpacking, keeping even the most uplifting moments grounded in hip-hop’s visceral energy.

Reconstruction is one of Lecrae’s most personal and pointed records. He threads the biblical “Fruit of the Spirit”—love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, and self-control—into his verses as guiding lights. But don’t mistake this for a series of polite Sunday school lessons; Lecrae is blunt and unflinching about the darkness he’s survived and the hypocrisy he’s witnessed. The album’s narrative arc feels like a journey from confrontation to catharsis. On early cuts like the title track and “Tell No Lie,” he’s in full truth-teller mode, cutting through the fakery he sees in both rap culture and religious circles. “Tell No Lie” in particular is a bold anthem of honesty, built on triumphant horns sampled from Jerry Rivera’s “Amores Como el Nuestro” (the same melody Shakira repurposed in “Hips Don’t Lie”). Over that instantly recognizable flourish, Lecrae unloads on social-media flexing and performative piety, rapping “Please just keep it real with me/Cross my heart, dot my i’s/Tuck that fire, tell no lie” with a steady, no-nonsense cadence. The beat hits hard and the hook soars, but it’s the message that leaves the mark, calling out our culture of facades and urging raw transparency. Joining him on the track is poet-rapper Jackie Hill Perry, whose fiery guest verse perfectly complements the mission. Fresh off a multi-year hiatus of her own, Perry brings a fierce, insightful perspective, essentially echoing Lecrae’s challenge: stop living a lie.

From there, Lecrae turns the lens inward and upward. “My Story” (the autobiographical track following the opener) finds him recounting his tumultuous journey, from adolescent delinquency in Dallas to hip-hop stardom, with a mix of gratitude and gravity. It’s equal parts testimony and unsentimental memoir, delivered over a soulful beat that feels like flipping through a worn photo album. On “Bless You,” featuring rising CHH star Torey D’Shaun, Lecrae and his protégé share gritty stories of trauma and temptation in the trenches, only to erupt into a heartfelt refrain of praise: despite the scars of sin and pain, God told them “it’s alright” and gave them rest. Rather than preach, Lecrae lets the details of his struggle do the work; one verse has him nearly drowning in guilt, until he gasps for grace like a man coming up for air. The song’s title, a phrase usually tossed off casually, here becomes an earnest prayer of gratitude. It’s a prime example of how Lecrae weaves his faith into the songs: not by forced sermonizing, but through specific, lived-in moments that circle back to hope. By the album’s midpoint, the tone has shifted from the militant truth-telling of the opening to a more reflective search for solace and purpose. On the moody “H2O,” he uses water-as-life metaphors and “water and ice” wordplay to stress how spiritual hydration matters more than flaunting “ice” (jewelry). Track by track, he’s tearing down those old crutches and laying new bricks of faith.

Speaking of bricks, “Brick for Brick” is an album standout that brilliantly marries concept and execution. Over a beat that blends trap percussion with churchy ambiance, think booming 808s, Lecrae builds a spiritual metaphor that’s as solid as its title. “In order to build a house, what do you need? You need some bricks,” he explains, likening each believer (himself included) to a brick in God’s house. The lyrics flip drug-dealing jargon and construction imagery in equal measure, “brick by brick by brick,” to illustrate how true faith is assembled piece by deliberate piece. It’s a savvy twist on the street lingo of “bricks,” turning a term for kilos of cocaine into a symbol of building something holy. And if the concept isn’t intriguing enough, the track features a show-stealing guest verse from a young newcomer, MEEZO! The 22-year-old MC comes in blazing, her Southern drawl and rapid-fire wordplay injecting raw energy that nearly upstages the veteran. In fact, Lecrae was so impressed that he admits he rewrote his own verse after hearing hers, making it one of the most memorable cuts here.

The back half of Reconstruction continues the journey through valleys of vulnerability to peaks of renewal, besides the obligatory Top 40 radio attempts like the back-to-back offenders (“Holidaze,” “Pray for Me”) and “Better Sober” despite Madison Ryann Ward’s beautiful voice. “There for You,” featuring Grammy-nominated vocalist Fridayy, is a stirring confessional about outward success and inner despair. Over plaintive piano chords and a chill, modern R&B groove, Lecrae recalls sitting in a luxury car in the driveway of his lovely house, wondering why he felt dead inside. It’s a poignant meditation on the emptiness of materialism and the solace of divine love, delivered with the frankness of someone who has been to rock bottom despite having all the trappings of success. In a lesser artist’s hands, this might come off as cliché, but Lecrae’s specificity (mentioning the late-model car, the backyard basketball court, the silent suffering) makes it hit hard. “Pray for Me” follows with a defiant twist: over a propulsive beat, Lecrae addresses his detractors and the conspiracy theorists (yes, he’s heard those absurd Illuminati rumors) who have dogged him over the years. Instead of clapping back with anger, he exhibits gentleness and self-control – essentially living out those Fruit of the Spirit—by literally praying for his haters. “I hope you’re praying for me as hard as you’re critiquing me,” he spits, turning the other cheek without turning soft.

Of course, the marquee collaboration on the album arrives with “Headphones,” an emotional summit that unites Lecrae with Atlanta rap heavyweights T.I. and Killer Mike. The track’s title suggests an escape into music, but lyrically it’s about something much heavier: coping with grief and survivor’s guilt. In one of his most personal anecdotes, Lecrae uses his verses to process the death of his cousin, who overdosed on fentanyl, “the deepest form of grief” he’s experienced. Over a somber-yet-smooth beat (equal parts trap ballad and reflective boom-bap), he muses on how loss spares no one, believer or not. Killer Mike follows with a verse that, true to form, is both heartfelt and hard-hitting. Mike recently lost his mother (an event he grappled with on his own album Michael), and here he channels that pain into bars that acknowledge the universality of mourning. T.I., ever the charismatic wildcard, adds another perspective, reflecting on friends he’s lost and dropping a few spiritual questions of his own. What’s striking is how seamlessly these two mainstream rap icons fold into Lecrae’s thematic vision. The chemistry doesn’t feel like a forced crossover, as it feels like three men having a candid conversation about death, faith, and what comes after.

Reconstruction closes with a sense of hard-won resolution. On the final track, “Still Here,” Lecrae sounds almost surprised at his own endurance. It’s a triumphant, if understated, epilogue that marries a skittering drum pattern with warm, organ-like synths and a faint choir, a sonic nod to the gospel truth that survival itself is grace. After 18 songs of struggle and healing, he uses “Still Here” to acknowledge that the journey isn’t over, but he’s standing firm by God’s grace. There’s joy in it, but it’s a calm, unsentimental kind of joy. The man who once nearly walked away from his faith now plants his feet and refuses to budge. In one line on “Die for the Party,” he even references Kendrick Lamar’s famous shout-out (“Sometimes I wonder what Lecrae would do…”), by offering a humble response: he’s not perfect, and “truthfully, I’m nobody to judge.” It’s a refreshing moment of self-awareness that brings the album full circle. Lecrae set out to reconstruct his faith and purpose, and part of that meant dismantling any pedestal people put him on. The result is arguably Lecrae’s strongest album in a decade, one that stands toe-to-toe with his career peaks and pushes his message further into the mainstream conversation.

Great (★★★★☆)

Favorite Track(s): “Tell No Lie,” “Brick for Brick,” “Headphones”