How hip-hop is aging gracefully

On the 2006 released song  It’s Okay (One Blood), American rapper The Game raps, “You 38 and you still rapping? Ughhh.” The Compton emcee, born Jayceon Taylor, was 26 at the time and later said that the line was aimed at Tony Yayo of the G-Unit rap collective he once belonged to. 

Two decades later he would find himself on the music podcast Drink Champs confronted with the question of how he felt about that line in hindsight having reached the age of 42 while still rapping himself. “That was too early, that came from a young nigga,” he sheepishly admitted to podcast host N.O.R.E. “When I was 26 and talking about a nigga who is 38 I never thought that day would come.” 

We all get humbled by the reality of our own aging at some point, that is if we’re lucky enough to live beyond our youth, but this moment reflected more than the humbling of one aging emcee. It reflected how for most of its history rap music had been perceived as a young man’s game. But as the legendary radio DJ Ibrahim Jamil “Ebro” Darden once pointed out, that’s mainly because rap music and the hip-hop culture of which it forms a part is young in itself. 

It was only in 2023 that hip-hop celebrated 50 years of existence, having emerged out of the Bronx, New York around 1973. That’s a far cry from, say, jazz or country which have been widely recognised as genres of music since at least the 1920s. It’s no wonder then that hip-hop has been viewed as exclusively a part of youth culture for most of its history. It’s simply because it hadn’t existed for long enough for different generations to grow old with it. 

But after 50 years, that’s definitely not the case anymore. The average age of hip-hop artists with a #1 album on the Billboard 200 chart was only 18 years old in 1992, but by 2024, that average had doubled to 36 years old. Will Smith was only 20 years old when he and collaborator Jazzy Jeff won the first-ever Grammy Award for Best Rap Performance in 1989 for their song Parents Just Don’t Understand.

Now, in 2025, brothers Pusha T and Malice of the rap group Clipse have been nominated for several Grammy awards including Best Rap Performance, Best Rap Song, Best Rap Album and even Album of the Year. All at the ages of 48 and 52 respectively. 

Their 2025 album  Let God Sort Em Out  has been widely praised for its raw, introspective and versatile lyricism; the longstanding chemistry between the duo of brothers; the inspired production from their long-time collaborator and friend Pharrell Williams; and the emotional weight of the album’s themes around family and faith. And they’re not the only ones laying false the claims that rap is a young man’s game. At the forefront of this is the legendary Queens emcee Nas who used his guest verse on the Clipse album to tout his place in the rap landscape.

He rapped: “Single-handedly boosted rap to its truest place / Fuck speaking candidly, I alone did rejuvenate / Hip-hop to its newest place / Made it cool for Grammy nominated LPs from previous generation MCs.” It’s not just talk. At 52 years of age, Nas has had one of the most impressive late-career runs of any musician of any genre.

In the last five years alone, he’s released six well-received albums and even won the first Grammy Award of his career, taking home Best Rap album for his King’s Disease project in 2021. 

And this year he’s rolling out the red carpet for several legendary rappers to release late-career albums through his Mass Appeal independent record label. These include releases from Ghostface Killah, Mobb Deep, Raekwon, De La Soul, Big L and even Slick Rick who dropped the album Victory at the age of 60, an album that somehow doesn’t sound old or outdated at all. Here in SA you’ve even got Kwesta releasing Big Brother Theory at 37 and Stogie T dropping Anomy at 44. 

This is not to say that every rapper who tries to pick up the mic again in the latter half of their life finds success. Will Smith, who I mentioned earlier, released an album this year and has been the subject of much ridicule for his lyrics that have been widely received as cringe and out of touch. So it doesn’t work for everyone. Nonetheless, seeing so many hip-hop artists still being able to produce quality art in their later years is encouraging because it means rap fans like myself have music that can grow with us.

The fact that older artists can still command attention, release critically acclaimed projects, and even compete for the highest accolades challenges the long-held idea that relevance in rap is tied exclusively to youth. Younger rappers often focus on immediate gratification and the fleeting trends of the moment, while veteran artists bring reflections on legacy, mortality and family — perspectives that naturally come with time. 

Albums like Let God Sort Em Out or King’s Disease resonate so strongly precisely because they speak to listeners who have grown up alongside hip-hop. Part of the challenge, though, is the way age shapes our engagement with music itself. Many fans stop actively seeking out new sounds as their lives become busier, leaving them to judge contemporary music through the lens of nostalgia. 

This isn’t unique to rap. It happens across genres. But in hip-hop, it reinforces the idea that the genre belongs to the young. 

The late-career successes of Nas, Clipse, and others prove that continued curiosity and devotion can keep music alive, both for artists and listeners. 

Just as some of us discover new albums in indie rock or overlooked hip-hop artists by deliberately looking beyond the familiar, engaging with older rappers’ work requires the same openness.

Ultimately, these careers underscore a broader truth: rap is no longer only for the young, just as hip-hop itself has matured. It is now a multigenerational art form, capable of accommodating youthful exuberance while celebrating the wisdom, experience, and emotional depth that come with age. 

For fans, this means more history, more complexity, and more reasons to keep listening, not because the music is nostalgic, but because it continues to grow with us.