It’s been nearly sixteen years since the last full-length Clipse album. In the landscape of hip-hop, that’s practically a generation. But now, as the genre sits at an inflection point—divided between the polished and the primal, the commercial and the cathartic—Pusha T and Malice return to the scene not with a whisper, but with the roar of judgment: Let God Sort Em Out.
This is not just a reunion. It’s a reckoning.
Once feared and revered as the harbingers of coke rap’s golden age, Clipse now reemerges with something even heavier in their hands than product or punchlines: purpose. And with a tour to match—the Let God Sort Em Out Tour, kicking off in Boston this August—the duo’s return signals more than just nostalgia. It’s an incursion into today’s culture, a recalibration of hip-hop’s moral compass.
To understand the weight of this return, you have to rewind.
When Hell Hath No Fury dropped in 2006, critics heralded it as a masterclass in street realism. Produced in its entirety by The Neptunes, the album was ice-cold in tone and razor-sharp in narrative. Pusha’s clinical detachment paired with Malice’s spiritual tension made for an alchemy that no one else could replicate. Where others boasted, Clipse confessed.
Their final official project as a duo, Til the Casket Drops (2009), signaled an evolution, both sonically and philosophically. But shortly after, Malice—now No Malice—chose a different path. He stepped away from rap to pursue faith, authorship, and introspection. Meanwhile, Pusha T became a solo force, ascending to president of G.O.O.D. Music and crafting a solo catalog that redefined luxury drug rap.
Still, fans waited. Some hoped. Others moved on.
But the chemistry between these two brothers was never dead. It was dormant.
The Album: Let God Sort Em Out
The title is stark. Militaristic. Biblical. It nods to the infamous Crusader slogan—“Kill them all; let God sort them out”—yet it’s laced with modern duality. In Clipse’s hands, it’s not just a provocation. It’s a thesis.
Sources close to the project describe Let God Sort Em Out as a tightly wound narrative: part confessional, part indictment. It wrestles with themes of sin and redemption, materialism and morality, power and paranoia. The Neptunes are said to be executive producing the entire record—a reunion that instantly raises stakes and expectations.
Expect the production to be stripped and menacing—elegant but never pretty. The drums won’t just knock; they’ll punish. Synths will cry out like church organs in a cathedral with blood on the floors.
What makes this album more than a sequel, though, is how Clipse has aged. Pusha T, fresh off solo successes like It’s Almost Dry, brings a precision sharpened by years of solo dominance. No Malice, having walked through fire and found faith, isn’t here to entertain. He’s here to warn.
This isn’t the Clipse of 2002. This is Clipse after seeing both sides of the empire. And they’re no longer interested in survival. They’re preaching judgment.
The Let God Sort Em Out Tour, it isn’t just a victory lap. It’s a crusade.
Starting August 3 in Boston, the duo will hit major cultural hubs—New York, Miami, Atlanta, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Dallas, Chicago—before closing out in Detroit on September 10. Each stop is curated, not random. These cities aren’t just tour markets; they’re battlegrounds where hip-hop’s heart still beats raw and loud.
Joining them on the road is EARTHGANG—a choice that speaks volumes. The Atlanta duo is known for bending genre lines and infusing Southern funk with spiritual reckoning, making them the ideal spiritual opening act for Clipse’s apocalypse gospel.
Expect no fluff, no fillers, and no backing tracks. This will be raw mic-to-mouth warfare. And in a world where performance is often faked or filtered, Clipse is poised to make each stage feel like a confession booth or a crime scene—depending on the night.
The return of Clipse isn’t happening in a vacuum.
Rap today is fragmented. The melodic autotune wave still rules the charts. Drill has taken hold of the streets. Conscious rap thrives in corners. But few acts today balance grit and thought like Clipse once did—and possibly can again.
More importantly, there’s a spiritual undertone in today’s culture, a yearning for meaning beneath all the chaos and consumption. Kendrick Lamar’s recent battles, Kanye West’s Sunday Service era, even artists like J. Cole and Denzel Curry—many are pointing toward something bigger than themselves.
Clipse fits into that landscape not as imitators, but as originators returning to reclaim their post.
And they bring credentials that few can match: street credibility, lyrical mastery, and now, lived experience that stretches beyond the booth. They aren’t here to make bangers. They’re here to testify.
Thematic Breakdown: Sin, Success, Salvation
If early reports and past trends are any clue, Let God Sort Em Out will likely revolve around these key themes:
- Sin: Expect brutal depictions of street life—both from a first-person perspective and as a critique. There will be no glamorization here. Clipse has always been more Wire than Scarface.
- Success: Pusha T’s voice has long embodied high-end hustling. We’ll likely hear sharp contrasts between opulence and emptiness. He’s never been one to lie about the cost of the throne.
- Salvation: No Malice has wrestled with faith in real time. His verses may function as moral anchor points, countering Pusha’s cold logic with searing conscience. Together, they won’t resolve the tension. They’ll embody it.
This internal conflict—luxury versus guilt, faith versus fame—is what makes Clipse different from every other duo in hip-hop. They don’t rap with each other. They rap against each other. And somewhere in the middle, the truth emerges.
What Fans Should Expect
- Unreleased cuts from Let God Sort Em Out
- Live reinterpretations of Hell Hath No Fury deep cuts
- Stark stage design—minimal, menacing, symbolic
- Possibly spoken-word interludes or No Malice’s sermons woven between sets
- Cameos—maybe Pharrell, maybe Kanye, maybe other G.O.O.D. Music alumni (though that remains speculative)
Flow
Clipse isn’t just picking up where they left off. They’re returning as men who’ve seen the machine from both inside and out—and now they want to burn it down and baptize what’s left.
In a genre where cycles are short and attention spans shorter, Let God Sort Em Out and its accompanying tour are a reminder: some voices don’t age out. They just get sharper. Harder. More necessary.
