There’s an increasing level of cinematic quality that has permeated Freddie Gibbs’ catalog ever since he cracked the code with Piñata alongside Madlib. His haunted tales of the streets—the wins, losses, and grief—have gradually intertwined into a gritty kind of resilience. By the time you hear him mutter “check, check” into the microphone, you know you’re about to enter a world. His stories from the underbelly of Gary, Indiana, are wrapped in mafioso mystique, where the same people he once did dirt with—friends, enemies, exes—recur as catalysts of tension and emotion. These aren’t just details; they’re narrative fixtures, often stylized through cinematic motifs: the Blaxploitation flair of Piñata, or the Sopranos-tinged paranoia that defined his first fully collaborative project with The Alchemist, the Grammy-nominated Alfredo (2020). The aesthetic isn’t surface-level—it’s a tool of cohesion that heightens the worldbuilding across his catalog.
On Alfredo 2, the mob references give way to nods toward the Yakuza and noir cinema. The palette darkens. The protagonist is at a crossroads: he’s climbed the mountain, but he’s unsure of what the view means anymore. Gibbs flirted with the major label machine with Bandana under a deal with RCA, and then with Warner when $$$ dropped. It was these moments that allowed him to bask in the bed of roses he’s worked diligently for independently. Yet, You Only Die 1nce wrestled with the industry’s volatility and mounting losses. Alfredo 2 sounds like an artist cutting through the fog. The grief is still there, but so is the clarity. The smog of Alchemist’s hypnotic production gets pierced by Freddie Gibbs’ sharpened presence.
This marks their third joint effort (following Fetti, which also featured Curren$y), and it feels like a carefully strategized attempt at another Grammy run—but not at the expense of quality. In fact, the minimal guest list gives the duo more room to breathe. Gibbs and Alchemist build on the high points of their first outing and double down: songs like “Skinny Suge II” dive into harrowing introspection of death, pairing gut-wrenching truths surrounding the parallels of the streets and rap with gleaming synths and tense drums. Where “Skinny Suge” delved into regrets and trauma, its sequel finds him resurrected with vengeance as he raps, “Cowards die a thousand deaths, n***a, I got a thousand lives.” Tracks like “God Is Perfect” and “Lemon Pepper Steppers,” though vastly different, share the same DNA—East Coast haze meets Midwestern technicality. Gibbs thrives on finding unexpected pockets to bury his flows, and here, those acrobatic cadences snap crisply into Alchemist’s drum patterns. It’s a true collaboration between two artists who know exactly who they are and refuse to dilute that for each other.
That synergy is especially refreshing given the chaotic chapter Freddie Gibbs recently lived through. Disillusionment with the industry, headline-grabbing feuds, and a string of public fallouts have loomed large. That competitive fire fueled Alfredo in 2020, when he seemed to take on every rapper like Michael Jordan did opposing teams. But the bitterness calcified. The camaraderie once central to his mythos feels absent now, and Alfredo 2 reflects that.
The stripped-back guest list benefits the project, sidestepping the bloat of a high-profile sequel. It also quietly speaks to the relationships Gibbs has maintained—and the ones he’s severed. Benny The Butcher, who appeared on Alfredo, becomes a target again on “Empanadas,” where Freddie Gibbs tosses subtle darts at both Benny and Jim Jones. That same animosity leaks into “Lavish Habits” via pointed bars about Gunna, and Akademiks—all past rivals. On “Gas Station Sushi,” he barrels through Alchemist’s murky beat with high beams on, eventually landing another not-so-subliminal jab at Curren$y. If these call-outs once felt like provocation, they now read more like catharsis—a way to air out the wounds.
Still, not all bonds are broken. Anderson .Paak delivers one of the year’s best hooks on “Ensalada,” a smoky, melodic track that ties Gibbs’ PTSD-laced narratives into something almost radio-ready without losing depth. J.I.D. pops up on “Gold Feet” for a tightly wound back-and-forth that recalls Gibbs at his most nimble. If there’s a misstep, it’s Larry June’s appearance on “Feeling,” where his slow, casual delivery stifles the momentum Gibbs builds with some of his strongest melodic work to date on the hook.
Ultimately, Alfredo 2 reasserts that Gibbs is far from finished. For an artist who’s recently mulled stepping away from hip-hop altogether, this doesn’t feel like a retreat—it feels like a recalibration. Nowhere is that clearer than on “I Still Love H.E.R.,” a spiritual follow-up to Common’s classic. If you heard 2024’s “On the Set,” you know how tired Gibbs has sounded—worn down by industry noise, fading friendships, and the grief of watching peers pass. On “A Thousand Mountains,” he even toys with the idea of Andre 3000-style exile. But on “I Still Love H.E.R.,” he doesn’t escape—he reflects. He might not be in love with rap anymore. But he's still here. And somehow, Alfredo 2 proves he hasn’t missed a step.
