How Mobb Deep's 'Infinite' Avoided the Posthumous Album Trap

On “Score Points,” the ninth track from Mobb Deep’s Infinite, Prodigy pours out some E&J for the loved ones he lost along the way: “They killed Yammy with a bat, he ain't see it comin' / They shot my cousin Manu in the face with the Uzi.” His delivery is cold. No emotion. The specter of violence, death, and what’s left behind has always haunted the Queensbridge rapper’s catalog. But it hangs heavier here. Infinite is the group’s first full-length Mobb Deep release since Prodigy died in 2017. Those familiar themes feel even chillier now that he’s gone.

Posthumous albums have a way of turning faithful listeners into cynics. Who could blame them? Record company people are shady, Rule #4080, still applies. For every honorable celebration of life and art (see: Mac Miller’s Circles), there’s a soulless, slapped-together cash grab like XXXTentacion’s Skins. Yet in the trusted hands of Prodigy’s producer and rhyme partner, Havoc, Mobb Deep’s reported final album skirts those pitfalls by leaning into everything that made the duo legendary. Brutality bars and all. 

Infinite is a massive monument to Mobb Deep — an album that soars because it feels like it was created with Prodigy, not about him. The LP doesn’t pimp out his likeness like The Notorious B.I.G.’s 2005 mashup project, Duets: The Final Chapter. Nor does it play like Pop Smoke’s Faith, a working draft released to the world. Havoc cracked open a vault of Prodigy’s unheard rhymes dating back to 2011, toiling away for more than a year to produce the cohesive sendoff Mobb Deep deserves.

It all starts with the production, which ranks among Havoc’s strongest work in years. The sound is varied, but it stays in the Mobb Deep pocket. “We the Real Thing” could slide easily onto Murda Muzik; its hypnotic synth loop animates Bandana P’s inimitable death threats. “Discontinued” sounds like scheming. “Taj Mahal,” laced by longtime collaborator The Alchemist, gives Atlantic City adventures a sinister pulse. There’s no trend-hopping here. If you want to hear Hav and P on Brooklyn drill or catching an Afrobeats vibe, you’ll have to use your imagination.

Lyrically, Prodigy is the north star of Infinite, mostly because his stash of rhymes is, well, finite, leaving his colleagues to tailor their verses around his tone and themes. The result is lots of murder fantasies, but P also dips into love, loyalty, and legacy. The most impressive trick is “Mr. Magik,” which finds Havoc and Prodigy rhythmically in step, trading metaphors about various ways to make their opps vanish. The subject matter occasionally falters — see: “My Era,” a limp homage to the group’s ’90s hip-hop peers — but moments of prophecy (“Pour the Henny”) shine through. You feel a chill when Prodigy tells mourners not to cry for him, when he insists listeners will “play this when I'm dead and gone,” when he imagines his final moments and what’s left behind.

Havoc is the glue that melds the 15 tracks through his hooks, bridges, and outros. He spins internal raps with gusto and deepens the album’s cohesion with meta callbacks to previous songs on the tracklist. (This includes the thug-love song “Down for You” and its sequel, which share a beat and energy). Cameos are mostly limited to friends and family, which keeps the album grounded and authentic. Big Noyd pops up for a nostalgic reunion on “The M. The O. The B. The B.” Infamous alumni Raekwon and Ghostface go bonkers over a gorgeous bongo-and-string arrangement on “Clear Black Nights.” Nas, who distributes Infinite through his Mass Appeal record label, contributes three strong features (two flip the same “It’s Mine” Easter egg). Outside guests are chosen with intention. Virginia counterparts Clipse match Mobb Deep’s cutthroat lyricism. H.E.R. and Jorja Smith offer a timeless touch similar to “Hey Luv (Anything),” the Mobb’s 2001 R&B crossover with 112. Everything has a rhyme and a reason.

This is all a best-case scenario. Infinite could have gone terribly wrong. Gang Starr’s uneven One of the Best Yet, released nine years after Guru’s 2010 death, preserved DJ Premier’s sample-based boom-bap aesthetic, but still sounded disjointed. Biggie’s 1999 album, Born Again, plays like a compilation mixtape — and not one of the dope ones. Even more egregious, Tupac Shakur’s 2004 album, Loyal to the Game, awkwardly set his words to Eminem’s production alongside features by Shady Records artists like Obie Trice. ’Pac pledging allegiance to G-Unit via digitally altered vocals on that same album is especially diabolical.

In a time when Timbaland is championing artificially intelligent songmakers and deepfakes of Pac and Big as a podcast bros proliferate on the all-AI social network Sora, the tools to modernize — or mutilate — Prodigy’s art are ever-present. Yet Infinite stays true. It shares more in common with A Tribe Called Quest’s 2016 farewell project, We Got It from Here... Thank You 4 Your Service (released months after Phife Dawg’s death), or Big L’s The Big Picture from 2000, helmed by the Harlem rapper’s D.I.T.C. crew. All three leaned on collaborators with integrity to honor the work left behind by hip-hop giants, and triumphed.

That’s what makes Infinite feel special. No cheap tricks. No overcompensation. No half-stepping. And for chrissake, no AI. Instead, it just stitches together Prodigy’s scattered thoughts to create something that will last as long as the sun shines to light up the sky.