Album Review: Uy Scuti by Young Thug
Uy Scuti isn’t peak Thug, but it’s an unvarnished, oddly intimate document of survival. You can hear him trying to rebuild bridges while still unable to drop the habits that got him here.
A year ago, it seemed unlikely Young Thug would see freedom for decades, as he sat in jail on RICO charges tying YSL to gang activity. But after an unexpected plea deal and release on probation, Thug is back with his first full-length project since the trial and leaked jail phone calls airing everybody. The album’s title—named after one of the most prominent known stars—telegraphs Thug’s post-prison ambition to shine brighter than ever. Despite court-imposed limits forbidding him from rapping about gang affiliations or collaborating with gang-linked artists, UY Scuti finds different ways to express his truth (outside of the horrenous album cover that sparks conversation because that’s what he does), striking a balance between introspection and bombast, a comeback effort that feels equal parts defiant and cathartic in the wake of his legal turmoil.
Without naming names, he vents about betrayal and broken trust, even sneaking in a jab about a “rat” ex-associate (widely presumed to be Gunna because why not) on one track, then pivots to heartfelt remorse elsewhere. The court’s gag order on gang glorification is evident; instead of street anthems, Thug turns inward. On the seven-minute-long, drawn-out, but kind of interesting “Miss My Dogs,” for instance, he points out his apologies to loved ones and addresses strained friendships, airing out guilt and gratitude in equal measure. These reflections give the album a confessional tone that we haven’t heard from Thug in years. Far from feeling muzzled by legal restrictions, he uses them as an impetus to dig deeper into personal storytelling and survival. He still swings between brilliance and nonsense. His gift for bending words into soundscapes is intact, but you notice more flat spots than on Jeffery or Barter 6. Sometimes the filler syllables feel like spaceholders where gang talk used to be. On the other hand, moments like “Catch Me I’m Falling,” where he details courtroom dread—“Court every day lurkin’, I was geeked up on the Perky, bein’ sober wasn’t worth it, talkin’ ‘bout a hunnid-plus years”—hit harder because of how plainly he lays it out.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Thug opens the album by testing boundaries and faceplants. The intro of the first track, “Ninja,” repurposes audio from a prosecutor’s courtroom tirade (branding him “King Slime” and “the most dangerous of the twenty-eight” defendants) as if to underscore the scrutiny he’s under. Yet instead of a nuanced response, Thug barrels into a muddled boast track that quickly becomes one-note. He doubles down on a repetitive hook built around the N-word, using it as punctuation in a way that feels more gratuitous than impactful. The attempt to flip “ninja” into a persona or concept falls flat; what’s meant to convey stealth and power ends up feeling tone-deaf and crass. It’s a jarring, conceptually confused start—arguably one of the worst songs in his catalog—and a misfire in allowing shock value to trump substance. If Uy Scuti is meant to reintroduce Young Thug post-trial, “Ninja” does it no favors.
Fortunately, the album finds its footing once that opener is behind us. Free of the “Ninja” gimmick, Thug begins to navigate the tightrope between intimacy and bravado that defines this project. Nowhere is this balance more compelling than on “Sad Slime,” a stark mid-album highlight where Thug drops his guard and addresses recent betrayals head-on. Over a somber, minor-key beat, he all but bares his soul, confessing “I been cryin’ all day/I seen my brother turn to a rat in my face.: The reference is unmistakable. It’s a striking moment of vulnerability from an artist who once seemed invincible, thanks to eccentric vocals and braggadocio. It succeeds in deepening the listener’s connection; we’re hearing Jeffery Williams rather than the untouchable “Slime” persona. Despite a few clunky lines, “Sad Slime” lands as one of the most heartfelt songs he’s ever released, translating real-life anguish into music without feeling like exploitation. Under intense scrutiny, Thug manages to let us see the cracks in his armor, however briefly, and it’s riveting.
Threaded between these introspective peaks, however, Uy Scuti offers plenty of the flamboyant bravado that made Young Thug a star, albeit now couched in the context of his recent trials. “On the News” (featuring Cardi B) is an early banger that flips the very experience of Thug’s notoriety into a rallying cry. Over a frantic London on da Track beat, Thug and Cardi trade bars about life under headlines. “Do you know how it feel to see your face on the news?” Thug shouts on the hook with a mix of pride and indignation, clearly referencing his own media spectacle. Cardi B follows with a characteristically brash verse, peppering the track with tabloid-friendly one-liners. That interplay of defiance and self-awareness carries into “Pardon My Back,” one of the album’s standout tracks and a clear statement of Thug’s post-trial mentality. Lil Baby handles the opening verse with hungry precision, rattling off lines about felon-status hustling and bulletproofing his SUVs. It’s a high-adrenaline setup, and when Thug jumps in on the second verse, he sounds sharpened by circumstance. His flow is tighter than usual, less playful sing-song, and more cold-blooded spitfire.
On the flip side, “Pipe Down” with Travis Scott is where Uy Scuti slightly coasts on formula. Given the title, one might expect a reflective or restrained track, but instead, it’s a rowdy, psychedelic trap banger—essentially, Travis’s home turf. The production is full of woozy synth layers and thunderous drums (complete with the obligatory “It’s Lit!” ad-libs), and Travis delivers a predictably infectious hook. Thug keeps pace, swapping bars with Travis and deploying a few elastic flows, but one senses him leaning on autopilot. The song is catchy and well-crafted, yet lyrically it’s one of the more generic moments on the album, mostly flexes about women, cars, and excess, with little reference to the turmoil that frames the project. The star-studded features elsewhere largely serve to bolster Thug’s vision rather than steal the spotlight. T.I. pops up on “RIP Big & Mack,” lending a veteran’s gravitas to a mournful tribute track. His verse is restrained and respectful, reinforcing themes of legacy and loss that Thug raps about, and it helps the song register as more than an interlude of nostalgia. 21 Savage’s turn on “Walk Down” is predictably menacing—21’s cold, unflinching delivery about murder and mayhem could have easily overpowered a less charismatic partner. But Thug rises to the occasion with a snarling verse of his own, and the two find a grim harmony in their street reportage (aided by a dark, piano-laced beat from London on da Track that sounds straight out of a crime saga).
Future’s contribution on lead single “Money On Money” is another high point: he and Thug have long chemistry, and here they engage in a playful one-upmanship of extravagant boasts. It’s a relief that any real-life tension (due to leaked phone calls where Thug allegedly griped about Future) doesn’t seep into the music—on the track, they sound like brothers-in-bling, goading each other to ever more outrageous flexes. If there is a consistent thread through Uy Scuti, it’s the sense of an artist straining to convey honesty while still delivering the thrills expected of him. The production helps strike that balance. Thug’s longtime producers (Wheezy, London, Southside, and others) provide a typical, if not repetitive, sonic backdrop that swings between paranoia and celebration. Throughout, his flows remain elastic—he still warps his voice into unexpected registers, whether it’s a cracked falsetto to convey despair or a guttural growl to project anger. But you can hear an underlying discipline that perhaps wasn’t as pronounced on past mixtapes.
That doesn’t mean he’s tame now—far from it. On the contrary, some of his lyrics here are among his most unapologetically brazen. He threatens unnamed enemies with “keep it quiet and keep sendin’ blicks,” essentially saying he’ll answer disrespect with gunfire rather than words. Lines like that send a clear message that Thug refuses to be cowed, probation or not. Depending on your perspective, it’s either a bold reclamation of his outlaw persona or a worrying flirtation with the very imagery that got him in trouble. Uy Scuti is a fascinating, if imperfect, document of Young Thug at a crossroads. It does not present a fully reformed man—Thug still revels in excess and street bravado, often in the same breath that he laments what those things have cost him. This tension gives the album a compelling push-pull dynamic. Other times, the mix of tones can be jarring, and the album’s indulgence in filler (20 tracks deep) means not every song is repeat-worthy, by latching on the “whoopty doo” trend, and the rest of features from Mariah the Scientist, Lil Gotit, Ken Carson, YFN Lucci (yes, the squashed the beef), and Sexyy Red aren’t memorable. It isn’t a victorious comeback nor a defeated apology; it’s something more intriguing, but more of a portrait of Young Thug learning to live (and create) under heavy scrutiny.
Above Average (★★★☆☆)
Favorite Track(s): “Sad Slime,” “Pardon My Back,” “Miss My Dogs”