It’s kismet that hip-hop, one of the biggest genres in music, is experiencing a renaissance just over 50 years after its birth. If rap is known for anything, it’s pushing boundaries, and that’s exactly what we’re witnessing right now: a rap renaissance.
While rap music is undergoing another transition, some might say it’s reinventing itself, we’re seeing seasoned rappers return to the microphone, despite receiving an ambivalent response. The mixed reception begs us to ask hip-hop fans: Why is hip-hop the only music genre where artists are crucified for making music once they reach a certain age?
Pop, rock, and country artists are never raked over coals for continuing to make music as they get older; they’re celebrated as “legacy acts.” So, why can’t hip hop have legacy rap acts? There always seems to be a lack of respect for some of our most elite artists, and what’s even more unsettling is watching fans online mock veteran MCs when they perform.
Since its inception and rise in popularity, rap has often been labeled a “young man’s game.” Andre 3000, one-half of the legendary hip-hop duo Outkast, echoed that suggestive idea in a 2023 interview with GQ, saying, “It feels inauthentic for me to rap, because I don’t have anything to talk about in that way.” At 48, he further explained, “Not to say that age dictates what you rap about, but in a way it does.”
3 Stacks concluded by saying he’d be forced to rap about getting a colonoscopy and dealing with poor eyesight, as if there’s something wrong with speaking honestly about aging and the realities that come with maturity. It’s also worth mentioning that after receiving criticism from several peers in his age bracket, he later clarified in another interview, “Our formulas are different. I don’t know what it takes for him to say the same thing over and over and still keep it creative. But I love him for doing it.”
L.L. Cool J., Jay-Z, Nas, Raekwon, Clipse, Ghostface, and more have entered the group chat with plenty left to say on the mic. Aside from Uncle L., none of the aforementioned rappers are forefathers of the genre, but many are graduates of hip-hop’s early classes and have proven that rap doesn’t come with an expiration date. Twenty-one years after his debut, Jay-Z’s 13th studio album 4:44 led the 2017 Grammy nominations with eight nods, reinforcing that greatness in hip-hop can absolutely grow with age.
Nas recorded and released two three-part trilogies, six albums total, over just three years (2020–2023). LL Cool J, who debuted in 1985, recently dropped his 14th album in 2024. Now, approaching and surpassing three decades in hip-hop, these artists are boldly pushing back against the genre’s unwritten rules, proving that age has no bearing on one’s ability to craft sharp, reflective, and prophetic lyrics.
Hip-hop hasn’t allowed many of its artists to grow old and grace audiences with “grown folk” music. Some fans are begging for a more mature sound from their favs as they age. That’s the lane many have been hoping Drake would explore, though he seems hesitant to fully move in that direction. In a genre where the fanbase can be apprehensive about aging artists, Drake’s hesitation feels warranted; a more mature sound and subject matter can come with consequences, including the risk of being pushed out of the spotlight.
You can potentially alienate your core audience when you shift toward a more mature sound. But that also brings us back to André’s sentiment: “I don’t know what it takes for him to say the same thing over and over and still keep it creative.” Somehow, Drake has managed to do exactly that, yet he’s still criticized for it. Strangely enough, Big Sean created the emotionally mature album many hip-hop fans claim to want, and it was largely ignored.
This year [2025], Wale proved that Black male emotion can be refreshing and marketable. Yet the online kerfuffle surrounding Jim Jones’ place in hip-hop is an interesting one. It’s hard to pinpoint whether the discourse stems from the music he’s recording and releasing at his age, or from the idea that his sound hasn’t aged well. Jones’ persona is closely tied to club culture, and perhaps that’s where the disconnect lies for his core fanbase, especially those who have grown older alongside him.
I believe there is an audience that Jim targets, but it still leaves us questioning: if music is meant to reflect an artist’s life, does that suggest a lack of progression, or is this simply ageism at work?
Both things can be true at once. This is where we’re left to ponder and parse, not just Jim’s life and career, but hip-hop as a whole, and examine whether we’re witnessing stagnation or generativity. Perhaps the lack of maturation is detrimental to the culture and leads many in our community to fall into a form of arrested development.
Personally, I staunchly believe that Dipset was the precursor to mumble rap. During the height of their run, lyricism began to take a backseat and was overshadowed by a trendy, flamboyant image. Today’s hip hop landscape lacks that foundation of lyricism; a lot isn’t being said, and much of the music is filled with empty space and ad-libs. Ironically, that same approach to rhyming helped catapult Jim Jones to relevancy in today’s rap climate.
Ageism and sexism have deeply affected female rappers, and not their own fault. Women in hip-hop are subjected to age shaming far more than men, a reality rooted in the industry’s longstanding misogyny. We’re watching this play out with Nicki Minaj in real time.
Minaj once benefited from the narrative that Lil’ Kim was “old, bitter, and jaded,” simply because a new girl was on the hip-hop block. This campaign to elevate Minaj while diminishing Lil’ Kim was orchestrated all before she was 40 years old. Now the tables have turned. Minaj may not be explicitly told she’s “too old” or that it’s time to step aside, but the sentiment is subtly implied, even as she continues to defend her apex status.
Just this year, Billboard reported that for the first time in 35 years, not a single hip-hop song appeared on the Billboard Hot 100 (we’ll ignore the rule changes that contributed to this). That doesn’t mean hip-hop is no longer a dominant genre. Instead, it suggests the culture is experiencing a renaissance, regrouping, recalibrating, and finding its way back to the essence of its roots. Hip-hop is still winning; you just have to look at the broader picture.
Outkast was just inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. Clipse reunited after a 15-year hiatus with a resurgence and album rollout that evoked the feeling of classic hip-hop, now delivered through a more mature lens. It goes without saying that we didn’t start with the charts, nor do we need the charts to legitimize our belonging or contribution to a culture and genre we created out of expression. Commercial success doesn’t define the culture.
If you ask me, we’re witnessing a new arc in rap music. Hip-Hop is poetry in motion, and since when does poetry not age well? Since when are poets left speechless, with nothing more to contribute to the world, when their art has consistently shaped the zeitgeist? Hip-Hop heads are growing up and growing older, so why can’t the artist of their era still be seen as relevant? They say things get better with time.
Well, our veteran MCs are still delivering witty wordplay, powerful performances, and elite enunciation with unbelievable breath control. The material now encompasses family, vulnerability, and life lessons. They stand on proof that the only real limitation in rap is creativity, and they demonstrate that no rapper needs to put down the microphone unless they choose to. They, too, deserve to be viewed as legacy rap acts — with prestige, age, and maturity working in their favor, not against them.
Recently, an interview from the 1990s resurfaced of Ghostface Killah manifesting his longevity and dedication to both his craft and the genre. In it, he says, “Even when I get 60 years old, and I got false teeth in my mouth, I’ma be rhyming, talking about false teeth…so for people in my generation, they’re gonna grow with me and feel me…I might not be doing no shows, but I’ma rhyme my ass off til it’s time for me to go, because I love music.”
In the aforementioned GQ interview, Andre also said, “Timing and momentum is more important than talent.” I’m not sure that sentiment rings entirely true, but these rap icons are proving that talent can still be the moment.
