thirteendegrees °: Clique City Vol. 2 Album Review

Not even a decade removed from the end of the Obama years, SoundCloud’s new gen yearns for the millennial zeitgeist: the WorldStar exclusives, teen dramedies, and grainy selfies; the Hood By Air tees and Margiela Futures; even those Imogen Heap and Cortex samples. And it’s not just the rappers—influencers are using old iPhones at runway shows and have been “bringing wired headphones back” since the decade turned. The midpoint of the 2020s feels so aesthetically dependent on the past that its own cultural identity feels elusive. Sometimes this leads to charming revivalism; other times we end up with whatever the fuck Tumblr Music is. Is everything just a reference of a reference?

Chicago’s thirteendegrees ° is a standout from the ongoing nostalgia parade, a rap game time traveler who probably watches 106 & Park like white 30-somethings watch Friends. He meticulously infuses his sound with early 2010s hip-hop touchstones and boasts historically accurate visuals to match: His cover art mirrors G.O.O.D. Music and A$AP Rocky, designed like CD jewel cases; a promo video for his latest tape, Clique City Vol. 2, reimagines a throwback BET interview with kitschy CGI and snap-heavy R&B beats. “So what can the fans expect from you in 2025?” thirteen is asked in the video’s faux Q&A. “2025?” he retorts. “2015!” On Clique City Vol. 2, he builds on his archivist formula with Santigold-inspired artwork and a dozen songs that remind me of how badly I used to want some YMCMB merch. He deftly adapts the victorious Boi-1da horns, robotic melismas, and classic soundbites; my favorite track, “Teardropz,” kicks off with Drumma Boy’s patented “Listen to dis track, bitch!” The gimmick works for him just as much as it works against him.

Like a human Wayback Machine, thirteendegrees pulls from parts of Young Money and the Swag Era that had been left to die on broken webpages. His technical prowess is hard to ignore; he and Lunchbox are today’s only Auto-Tune belters that can hold a candle to T-Pain. When I hear thirteen yelp “What’s wrong with demmm?” on “Digital Luv,” it instantly brings me back to “Chopped N Skrewed.” The radio R&B gloss of “Tumblr Modelz” is full of gems (despite its corny premise): the Zaytoven bells, the bop flourishes, the way the “B” in “bitches” detonates from his lips on the hook. But like his contemporaries, it’s near impossible to distill thirteendegrees’ identity outside of his influences. Sure, my childhood love for Rebirth is vindicated by “Talkin 2 Much (Knockout),” a sappy, guitar-led Wayne & Nicki rehash, but the track shows how well thirteen can build off a prompt rather than crafting something original. He also runs the risk of sounding too dated: The hellish brass and bass of “Chinchilla” recalls Tyga’s Well Done series—a watered-down version of the bangers Waka Flocka and Rick Ross were dropping in 2010.

But thirteen’s knack for harmonies and songwriting ultimately separate him from other acts in his lane. “I got cake/Teardrops on my face” he intones to open “Teardropz,” one layer of his vocals frigid and unperturbed as the other shoots past the stratosphere. thirteen’s adlibs reach similar heights on track two beside the most millennial radio-pop hook you’ll hear today: “Got a guilty pleasure/I love super hot girls.” (Welcome back, LMFAO.) Even the somber, aqueous symphony of “Heartlezz Sucka” is made more intoxicating thanks to his bionic coos and wails behind its wistful refrain. To close out certain songs, he gives himself an encore when the hook loops (“Sing that mothafucka!” he yelps on “Talkin 2 Much”). Despite his execution sometimes feeling contrived, thirteendegrees has all the tools to make a hit song for both today and yesterday. He’s nearly as funny and malleable as Young Thug, but it’s clear how much Lil Wayne’s reign plays a role in his approach. “I’m the best rapper alive, and you know that be facts, uh,” he spits. Self-belief is a good place to start—he just needs to bring us somewhere we haven’t seen before.