Album Review: Solace & The Vices by Bryson Tiller
For the most part, Bryson Tiller delivers on the promise of a project that’s both a vibe and a voyage. It’s celebratory yet introspective, polished yet honest, and it finds strength in its duality.
A decade ago, “Don’t” catapulted Bryson Tiller to R&B stardom almost overnight, a bittersweet rise that brought as much anxiety as acclaim. Over the years, he has opened up about self-doubt and the weight of fame, and each project in his discography has inched further into introspection. Solace & The Vices continues that trajectory: it’s a double-disc album that finds Tiller candidly reckoning with his demons and growth in equal measure. The two-part album series marks the tenth anniversary of his breakout (T R A P S O U L), and it reflects just how far he’s come from the timid Louisville kid who doubted himself.
Conceptually, the project is split into two halves with opposite energies. The Vices is the high-sun summer side—celebratory, high-energy, and rap-forward—while Solace is the autumnal side—somber, vulnerable R&B that turns inward. In a twist, Tiller released the Vices half first and saved Solace for later, an unconventional rollout that ultimately makes emotional sense. We get the victory laps and indulgence upfront, then the self-reflection and accountability afterward—like enjoying a wild night out and facing the morning after. Hearing the boastful fun of The Vices before the introspective Solace adds depth; once the second half arrives, it forces you to reevaluate the brags and bravado through a more sober, melancholic lens.
On The Vices, Tiller leans fully into his hip-hop side. Dynamic, hard-hitting production from the likes of Charlie Heat, Teddy Walton, Hitmaka, and Gravez fuels this disc’s brash exuberance. The beats thump with heavy bass and crisp percussion, and Tiller responds with some of the most confident rapping of his career—sharp flows, playful flexes, and a palpable sense of fun. He boasts about blowing “200 bands” in a night or coming in “First Place,” and that swagger is infectious. This side has no shortage of features. Rick Ross drops luxury rap gravitas on “Mini Kelly,” while teen rapper Luh Tyler brings his forgettable youthgul energy to the bouncy “No Sharing.” He even finds time to croon on the sultry “Last Call,” slipping in a Ginuwine “Pony” reference that’s equal parts cheeky and nostalgic. Through it all, Tiller holds his own. He’s not the most elaborate lyricist, but his laid-back charisma carries the tracks. Some lines fall into cliché or clumsy wordplay—a forced streaming-service pun here or there—but nothing that kills the vibe. This half of the album is meant to thrill, and it does, delivering bops that show Tiller can cut loose and rap with the best of them.
Flip to Solace, and the mood shifts to late-night introspection. This half is quiet, soulful, and unguarded—a featureless set of songs that finds Tiller alone with his emotions. Musically, it’s stripped-down and cinematic in a subtle way: mellow keys, muted drums, and autumnal tones set the backdrop while Tiller sings in a restrained, heart-on-sleeve register. He sets a confessional tone right away on “Strife,” vowing “no more skipping therapy… no more 2 a.m. disappearing”—owning up to his demons with raw honesty. That accountability carries into “No Contest,” where he essentially lays down his pride in a relationship and admits fault. Throughout Solace, he confronts fear, regret, and the longing for clarity after years of confusion. On the airy “Star Signs,” for instance, he even ponders cosmic fate, wondering if a romance fell apart simply because it was the right person at the wrong time. The songwriting is candid and sometimes strikingly poetic, but always accessible. There’s no pretense—just a man pouring out insecurities and apologies over smoldering R&B grooves. It’s the kind of soul-baring material that made fans connect with Tiller in the first place, now matured and filtered through ten years of life experience. He even closes the Solace disc with a recording of his young daughter praising his singing—a brief, heart-melting moment that shows where his priorities ultimately lie.
Even the cover art reinforces this duality of shadow and light. One side of the album’s artwork (for The Vices) shows Tiller bathed in bright summer sunlight—bare-armed, face turned upward—projecting openness and confidence. The other side (for Solace) is awash in autumnal hues, depicting him in a puffy jacket against the backdrop of fall foliage, gazing directly at the camera with a contemplative expression. The high-sun warmth of the first image symbolizes pleasure and optimism, while the second’s darker, end-of-year tone hints at introspection and pain. In essence, the visuals capture the album’s two emotional seasons, giving us a literal picture of Tiller’s journey from carefree brightness to thoughtful dusk.
After a decade in music, Tiller delivers a double album that’s both deeply personal and broadly enjoyable. Solace & The Vices might not quite recapture the lightning-in-a-bottle magic of his earlier work, but it’s easily his most ambitious project and his most compelling work since that debut. By splitting his artistic persona into two, he actually finds a decent center: the vulnerable grown man and the confident hitmaker coexist here in a way that feels honest and earned. There are minor hiccups—a lukewarm hook or a cheesy line pops up now and then—but for the most part, they’re outweighed by the project’s cohesion and maturity. All told, it’s his second-best release he dropped that caps off Tiller’s first decade nicely.
Solid (★★★½☆)
Favorite Track(s) on Solace: “Strife,” “No Contest,” “Star Signs”
Favorite Track(s) on The Vices: “Mini Kelly,” “Last Call,” “Finished”