Future's Albums, Ranked

Today, we’re going to attempt a ranking of Future’s studio efforts - that means no mixtapes or collaborative efforts. The best Future projects are typically thought to be the ones that fully encapsulate a singular vibe. The mixtapes Monster and 56 Nights are the most ready examples of this approach. However, unlike his mixtapes, Future’s albums are hard to readily categorize. There are no bad Future albums. On any given day, each of Future’s seven albums (six studio efforts + one re-release) could be considered his most interesting. The quote-unquote best may be easier to distinguish, but even then it’s difficult to articulate why the polished efforts demand more respect than the more raw or ambitious additions. 

Below is our ranking. Whether you agree or disagree, make sure to drop your own list in the comments section.

The original Pluto is the result of enormous potential and haphazard execution. “Tony Montana,” “Same Damn Time” and “Magic” were all originally mixtape cuts that garnered him a cult-following, but there were no adequate follow ups to be found on the album. Contrastingly, left-turns like “Turn On the Lights” and “You Deserve It” may have arrived too soon for public consumption. These experimental ballads, including the sentimental “Permanent Scar,” were supposed to be the album’s heart. Instead, with a curious tracklist whose inherent energy deflated quicker than a balloon at a kid’s birthday party, these would-be highlights were faced with an uphill battle.

Is there a chance that we may have all collectively dismissed EVOL simply due to circumstance? A majority of us just weren’t trying to hear another full-length collaboration with Metro Boomin so soon after an unnecessary album with Drake. Core fans wanted Future to expand upon the understated and disarming tones of Purple Reign. We wanted him to flesh out the defiance of “Inside the Mattress” or the heart-wrenching honesty of “Perkys Calling.” Instead, we got Monster 2: The Album; an album meant solely for Future’s mainstream fans.. But Monster is a crowning achievement for Future, is it not? And in trying to recreate the wicked nature of the aforementioned mixtape, EVOL sinks into a demonic trance of its own. At 11 grim tracks, EVOL is one of Future’s most tightly wound projects. It’s home to Future’s inaugural collab with The Weeknd, “Low Life,”  which also doubles as the album’s thesis statement; EVOL plays like a crass diatribe against the people and systems that have turned Future’s initial infatuation with fame and fortune into something dark and sinister. “In Her Mouth,” “Xanny Family,” and “Seven Rings” are relentless in their depravity. Only on “Lil Haiti Baby,” the arresting centerpiece that recounts a young Nayvadius’ constant fight for survival, are we offered a brief respite, a flash of endearment. Unlike his first time around, Future uses his newfound time in the spotlight to make everyone as uncomfortable as possible. This album’s main goal is to hammer home just how much an aging Future has succumbed to his vices, and it does so with frightening ease.

This is worth repeating: there are no bad Future albums. FUTURE is ranked here simply because we’ve discovered a newfound appreciation for the projects we plan on ranking above it. FUTURE’s production is pristine, a captivating meld of Zaytoven’s twinkle, Southside’s menace, and Metro Boomin’s sense of urgency. There are hidden gems abound (the explosive “Super Trapper” and “Poppin’ Tags”; the vibrant “Might As Well” and “Outta Time”; the unbearably sassy “I’m So Groovy”). And the one-two punch of “When I Was Broke” and “Feds Did a Sweep” is one of the most poignant in all of Future’s catalogue. FUTURE is a surprisingly effective mood board. 

A few months, a handful of remixes and a revamped tracklist later, Pluto is finally the album it always could’ve been. When Future cries, “It brings water to my eyes just to hear me on the radio,” mere minutes into the project, it immediately sets the tone for this quote-unquote debut album to double as a victory lap of sorts. With the Nard & B produced anthem at the forefront, the album is given a whole new life, and with the run of songs from “First Class Flights” to “My,” before the string of remixes and features that showcase his numerous industry cosigns, Future’s talents as an evocative vocalist and reliable hit-maker are given centerstage. In the seven months between the original and Pluto 3D, Future’s autotuned style began to mutate the DNA of mainstream rap and, because of this, delivering a reissued version of his debut proved to be an inspired move.

Every Future album serves as an effective bookend for the ATLien’s non-linear rise to superstardom. Each one is a reliable snapshot of a conflicted artist on the verge of a new chapter in his life. And following the anticlimactic nature of his debut, Pluto, an revitalized Future strove to attain new, euphoric highs on Honest. But because Honest sent the Atlanta artist running from the deceptive bright lights of Hollywood, scarred by a lukewarm reception to his progressiveness, it’s become an underrated addition to his catalogue. With its wide-eyed ballads (“I Won”) and delicate confessionals (“I Be U”), it’s earnest bids for pop success (“Move That Dope”; “Blood, Sweat, Tears”), and its genuine showcases of exemplary rapping (“Benz Friends (Whatchutola”), Honest is a lovesick magnum opus.

DS2 is a psychedelic experience. Future feels cold and distant, like he’s aware of the fact that he’s playing directly into the commercialization of his own sound. Where his first two albums had progressively taken the artist out of his comfort zone, DS2 comes on the heels of an undeniable back-to-the-basics mixtape run and understandably doesn’t stress to push any boundaries. But at its heart, DS2 is unabashed ode to Future’s regional come up. And with no frills (the sole feature is from Drake), we get to see Future at his most dexterous, fleshing out his stream of conscious style with laser-sharp focus. When compared to its namesake, Dirty Sprite, Future’s progression as a songwriter can’t be understated. His skillful pen is now able to inject an undertone of haunting loss and murky, unresolved insecurity, into even the most carefree of records. “Blow a Bag” grieves the death of his granddad; “The Percocet & Stripper Joint” is less about lust and more about self-discovery; and after the tragic survivor’s guilt found on “Blood on the Money,” “Trap N*ggas” plays like a cleansing spiritual. After revealing too much too quickly, Future’s process of course correction between Honest and DS2 is nothing short of riveting. Gone, at least for the moment, were the days of outright soul-bearing. We didn’t deserve it. Instead, Future quickly became a master of elusive, piecemeal storytelling; the breadcrumbs, as it were, meant only for the fans who would truly resonate with his pain.

That leaves us with HNDRXX, 2017’s devastatingly slept-on follow up to FUTURE. HNDRXX is monumental; finally, the general public got to look at Future’s versatility through the same lens as his longtime fans. But with the subsequent virality of FUTURE’s “Mask Off,” the more experimental album by the virtuosic rapper was cast aside as a self-serious tangent. In reality, HNDRXX is a fully realized pop-rap extravaganza with more poignant heartache and infectious melodies than any of The Weeknd or Drake’s past few albums. It should’ve been Grammy-nominated. After four long - and at times, dreary - years, HNDRXX is his first true stab at building up his happiness. In that sense, HNDRXX is a methodical deconstruction of Future’s most deep-rooted insecurities. It doesn’t feign to offer any sort of remedy for a childhood of trauma and a career of reckless abandon. Instead, through its exquisitely sequenced tracklist, moments of clarity (“Incredible”; “Fresh Air”; “I Thank U”; “Sorry”) are allowed to punctuate the oftentimes suffocating self-loathing. HNDRXX is Future at his most vile, endearing, brazen, poignant. It’s a multi-colored tapestry comprised of all the swatches that make Future one of the most versatile artist’s of our time.