Considering that Port of Miami 2 released a whole thirteen years after the original, I wondered whether the sequel would be a throwback to Ross’s beginnings in the mid-2000s or progress towards more modern hip-hop trends. In an odd twist of events, the album gave me neither.
Released under Epic Records and Maybach Music, the long-awaited sequel delivers 15 tracks and 66 minutes of what I would essentially consider to be more of the same from Ross’s previous releases. While this doesn’t necessarily hinder the record’s quality in itself—Ross’s past efforts have been more successful with critics than not—it stops the project from being anything more than “just another Rick Ross album.” As there are many things that work in the album’s favor, there are just as many things that work against it, all of which would be easier to explain upon analyzing the project’s flaws individually.
Luckily, the album kicks off on a high note with the rambunctious anthem “Act a Fool,” which features chopped-up synths, monstrous 808s, and a welcome feature from labelmate Wale. Ross’s confidence shines through on this track better than any other on the record, and while he reserves himself to using the same flow for a majority of the track, his assertive delivery ensures that his bars about general grandeur still pack a massive punch.
The following track “Turnpike Ike” is less admirable, as it features a handful of unbearably painful interludes where an unnamed woman is asked by Ross to remind the listeners of just how rich he is. The dialogue is stilted and completely distracted me from what would’ve otherwise been a mediocre song to begin with—not to mention that the entire concept of said interludes felt outdated and tacky.
In fact, coming off as outdated or tacky is one of the biggest struggles that Port of Miami 2 faces. Many of the sung hooks on the album fall completely flat, whether it’s due to awkward writing or melodies that feel cheap or uncalculated.
For example, the hook sung by Sam Harvey on “Bogus Charms” has a nice sentiment to it, but the lyrics are extremely generic, and the lone piano/falsetto combination sounds as if it was ripped directly from a rejected Charlie Puth demo. Drake’s verse on the closing track “Gold Roses” is phenomenal, featuring some of his most intricate wordplay since his 2018 single “Diplomatic Immunity;” however, his hook has very little structure in regards to flow, and the tune he sings is an utterly pathetic excuse for a melody. Immensely talented vocalists like Summer Walker, Teyana Taylor, and John Legend also make guest appearances, but the songwriting gives them very little to do.
The production across the record is also something I’m torn on. On one hand, the instrumentation is lush, monumental, and extravagant—such is the case on the flashy victory lap “BIG TYME,” which features cascading pianos and larger-than-life drum fills. On the other hand, it would’ve sounded better had this album dropped in the early 2010s. It may sound odd, but I feel that the production on most of these tracks would have fared better in another era of hip-hop music. This is especially reinforced by the fact that Ross hasn’t switched up his sound since his previous record; he doesn’t seem to be progressing forward in the same way that other rappers from his generation are.
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