The marriage between music and movies is longstanding and stronger than ever, as evidenced by the cinematic album. See, the best moment in a movie is often burned into our brains because of the music that accompanies it. Whether it is the score or the soundtrack, the sonic choice is perhaps the most important indicator of the intended emotion. Moreover, musical artists have long looked to cinema for inspiration for their music videos, and many filmmakers have cited knowing the exact song they would like to decorate certain scenes.
With over half of the 2020s decade behind us, it’s evident that this merger of the two mediums is increasingly entangled. While music videos have often bordered on being short films (like Michael Jackson’s 1983 hit “Thriller”), the concept of the visual album has increasingly become a creative desire for musical artists.
When pondering cinematic albums, which are distinct from visual albums and movie soundtracks, it’s a rabbit hole deeper than the one Alice fell into. An album reaches a cinematic scale when it is (seemingly) effortlessly narratively and sonically aligned, creating a visually imagined experience for the listener. Each song is like a new scene and, when done well, seamlessly leads into the next, propelling the story forward, revealing new details, and diving into the depths of the human experience. Even limiting the selection to an incomplete decade generated a long, long list, spanning genres and styles of all kinds. From the recent and forthcoming albums by Charli XCX, to the early works of The Marias, to the vaulted visuals of Beyoncé’s Act I and Act II, motion pictures are essential to conveying their creative vision, and that’s only citing works from this millennium.
Certain traditionally Black genres, like hip-hop and rap, are commonly dismissed by music scholars and broader audiences, based on assumptions that the music is vulgar or sounds uneducated. However, rap is arguably the most loquacious and clever genre. Rap, and more broadly hip-hop and R&B, are most similar to movies because of their emphasis on lyricism and storytelling. In a majority of rap albums of the 2000s, 2010s, and 2020s, artists draw similes and metaphors to fictional personas like Batman, Tony Montana (“Scarface”), Patrick Bateman (“American Psycho”); rappers have even directly called on filmmakers like Stanley Kubrick or sampled dialogue from movies to enhance the worldbuilding element of their music.
While the endorsement of a white male director like Christopher Nolan isn’t necessary for those genres to feel legitimized, his recent defense in casting rapper Travis Scott in “The Odyssey” underscores the historical and artistic importance of the genre. “I cast [Travis Scott] because I wanted to nod towards the idea that this story has been handed down as oral poetry, which is analogous to rap,” Nolan says in an interview with Time Magazine. The two also collaborated on the original song “The Plan” for Nolan’s 2020 film “Tenet.”
Black Music Month provides the perfect framework to highlight the interconnected creative nature of making music that’s anchored in subliminal cinematic storytelling. To honor and celebrate, and ground this list a bit further, one album by a Black artist for each year of the decade was selected, exemplifying cinematic storytelling through music.
Ungodly Hour (2020) by Chloe x Halle
Lost in the liminal pandemic years, Ungodly Hour by the dynamic sister duo Chloe x Halle is a perfect album that reads like a female-led coming-of-age story. Powered by pop-seasoned R&B beats, the record embodies the joys of fleeting youth and the first taste of adult-like freedom.
Released under Parkwood Entertainment, Beyoncé’s label, it’s easy to see the pop star’s influence in Chloe x Halle’s titular music video. The visuals and album covers’ chrome-casted religious iconography symbolize an evolutionary nature, and each line lends itself to upholding that notion. Ungodly Hour confesses to stumbling while seeking a sense of self; it captures trying to wear a new pair of sexy shoes despite not being broken in yet.
As the album ascends, their confidence grows, but, just like in the movies, there is a humbling moment where self-doubt creeps in. The innocence in their pitch, layered with heavenly harmonies, is like trusting a siren seen while lost at sea. Ungodly Hour is a shedding of the naiveties of their younger years. At their most vulnerable, on “Overwhelmed” and “Lonely,” Chloe x Halle are also their most angelic.
shut the fuck up talking to me (2021) by Zack Fox
The best comedies cause ruptures of laughter because of their ability and willingness to be absurdly and audaciously stupid. Zack Fox, the comedian, actor, rapper, and DJ, inserts this exact persona into his 2021 album Shut the fuck up talking to Me, composed of 9 tracks of threatening buffoonery. Although not cinematic in length, the nearly 20-minute album perfectly suits the glow-up of the dweeb-ish coming-of-age stories, reminiscent of “Superbad” and “Good Boys.” As in many comedies, there are several moments when listening, when one cocks their head to the side, like an auditory double-take at the outrageous remarks Fox makes. The goofy and immature lyrics are still clever, as if he’s stepping into the role of both the loser and the bully. In deploying the duality and overlooked intelligence of rap music, Fox landed a Pitchfork score of just 3.6 (out of 10), which mirrors the often poorly rated, yet highly enjoyable, comedy flick.
Few Good Things (2022) by Saba
Few Good Things exemplifies a particular part of the coming-of-age narrative that pinpoints the moment we mature into the adult-aged paradox of an uncertain understanding of self and the comfortable confidence of enjoying the life we are given. This is evident in Saba’s shift in sound for his third studio album; albeit softer, he channels the overall energy into sketching memories through the lyrics of each track.
The Chicago West Side native takes us on a ride-along through his historic neighborhood. Saba floats across 14 tracks, carried by neo-jazz instrumentals. Because the album is so grounded in place, Saba has transported us to the corner stores and empty lots he used to frequent. The production of Few Good Things, particularly its sound design, has a grainy texture that evokes the look and feel of shooting on celluloid. In layering environmental noises, like laughter and birds tweeting, Saba narrows in on the details that build those spaces in our minds. The themes explored resemble films that dance between memories and dreams, connecting the puzzle pieces of our past in a different way – the building blocks are all there, but he’s looking for a creative way to reconstruct them.
In collaboration with filmmaker C.T., Saba created a short film to accompany the album. Like the story of the record itself, the 24-minute movie shows off the warmth and complexity of Chicago’s West Side and those who make the community – the visualization is only additive, rather than repetitive, to Saba’s story. Notably, the extended video is not a visual album, as it features only snippets of each song, peppered with playful shots that reflect the simplicity Saba speaks about melodically.
Let’s Start Here. (2023) by Lil Yachty
Straying from his normal trap flow and sound, Lil Yachty’s Let’s Start Here. is a surprising experimental blend. Lil Yachty’s staple autotuned vocals are layered over funky bass lines and guitar riffs. Let’s Start Here. resurfaces the psychedelic rock sounds of the late 1960s, modernizing them with elements of funk and pop.
Lil Yachty’s fifth studio album is so cinematic because it lends itself to Afrofuturism, a genre yet to be popularized and seen on the silver screen. Sci-fi films like “Neptune Frost” and “Space is the Place” (which were released almost 5 decades apart) are the easiest comparisons to draw, but each body of work has a distinct complexity that is not replicable. Let’s Start Here. was co-released by Motown, giving the album and Lil Yachty a bit of validity for the transition to funk and soul. The substance of Yachty’s songs spans a wide range of subjects, showing off his deep knowledge of music history and highlighting how this newly emerging genre is one of the most expansive.
Purposely, yet still unsettling, the album’s cover art is AI-generated. Meant to align with the album’s overall alternative nature and subvert shots at executive boards who control creative output, it almost feels ahead of its time, like many other Afrofuturist texts. Lil Yachty shows us that this struggle is as prevalent when making music as it is when making movies. There is a weakening pushback in the film industry against AI-generated work, but, similarly, the agenda for incorporating such tools into creative work comes from those at the top.
WE STILL DON’T TRUST YOU (2024) by Future & Metro Boomin’
The moment WE STILL DON’T TRUST YOU begins, listeners are launched into the opening credits montage of a noir cyberpunk blaxploitation film. The 2024 2-disc album is a second installment from Future and Metro Boomin’, following the battle-inciting WE DON’T TRUST YOU, which features Kendrick Lamar’s firing shots in the infamous standoff with Drake. But this is not Metro’s first dance at crafting sonically cinematic beats; his 2023 soundtrack for Across the Spider-Verse is near-perfect.
Despite its categorization as a rap album, the synthy production sounds like it’s gliding amongst the stars, putting us on our way to another galaxy. Future, one of the most influential rappers of this millennium, remains dialed in on the fictional female protagonist through every song. In a full exploration of feelings, we’re brought along on a sensual, vulnerable ride, often aided by the emo-melodic harmonies and verses of The Weeknd (who also emulates a cinematic nature through his discography, particularly with the album “After Hours”). Every affair and cry for reconnection is more raw and revealing than most contemporary romance movies.
Clocking in at 88 minutes, the album takes a tonal shift after 18-tracks. Similar to how many recent movies have one too many endings, disc-2 keeps the story going while reverting to self-indulgence and showing off skills for the sake of showing off. Metro seamlessly switches up with Future, and the two lock in to complete the mission.
Sad and Beautiful World (2025) by Mavis Staples
Oh, Ms. Mavis Staples, a true American gem. The soul singer, who’s been in the game for over seven decades, shows off her stunning, musical mind once more on her 2025 album Sad and Beautiful World. With mostly covers and one original song, listeners are soothed by Staples’s true rhythm-and-blues intonation. An overall mellow production that hints at Americana, Sad and Beautiful World encapsulates what it means to be a participant in humanity.
Perfectly rounded out at 10 tracks, the stories sung thematically and emotionally serve up a nostalgic slice of life. My mind’s eye paints warm landscapes where the stench of hope and home overwhelm the senses. Sad and Beautiful World sits somewhere between a documentary and a slow-burning western-like drama, like “Nomadland” and “Paterson.” Staples rendition of Curtis Mayfield’s “We Got To Have Peace” calls to the cinematography and relationships explored in these films. Her soothing voice holds us like a hug as we trek through mountains and valleys, with a familiarity like David Attenborough’s in a nature documentary. Staples borrows messages from many disparate genres and time periods, and in doing so, she articulates an enduring attitude toward how to survive and smile through it all. Like many other aging masters, Staples waxes poetically to reinforce the importance of love and peace; like many other aging masters, we are blessed to still have her around to deliver the gospel.
THIS MUSIC MAY CONTAIN HOPE. (2026) by RAYE
Opening with a proper introduction and closing with credits on “Fin.”, RAYE’s most recent record, THIS MUSIC MAY CONTAIN HOPE, is intentionally cinematic. RAYE, a British artist who’s often compared to the powerhouse Amy Winehouse, rips out her heart to remind us that we all have one. As Roger Ebert famously said, movies are a machine that generates empathy; THIS MUSIC MAY CONTAIN HOPE. is a musical manifestation of that sentiment.
Over 17 songs, spanning 73 minutes, RAYE narrates personal anecdotes that the listener can easily visualize, and, more importantly, feel in their heart. Hans Zimmer’s feature on the album solidifies RAYE’s affinity for and understanding of the cinematic arts, and his crescendo on “Click Clack Symphony” sets us up to be completely crushed, yet held, by “I Know You’re Hurting.”
Drawing inspiration from classic Hollywood aesthetics and musical numbers, the album dances across genres. On “Beware… The South London Lover Boy,” a narrator prefaces the story to be sung with a daunting tone heard in old horror flicks, and RAYE’s vocals are summoned by a classic scream queen screech. On songs like “I Hate The Way I Look Today” and “Nightingale Lane,” RAYE directly states what she’s about to sing, as if listeners are in the room with her for a live performance like Marilyn Monroe as Lorelei Lee in “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.”
Although classified as R&B/Soul, there are rap-like flows and showtune-like choirs that support the storytelling. Continuing to showcase her impeccable range, she also delivers dance-pop moments that reinvigorate listeners. THIS MUSIC MAY CONTAIN HOPE. sonically seems like a mixtape as it moves through memories with diverse sounds. RAYE’s experimentation and direct nods to other media, like movies, keep the album bold while weaving narrative vignettes.
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