The Pinkprint is almost 100% a no-flex zone in which little time is wasted trying to convince an audience of her supremacy ("Why the **** I gotta say it? You n***as don't know it yet?" she raps on "Want Some More") and anthems like the Beyoncé-featuring "Feeling Myself" and Ariana Grande-assisted "Get on Your Knees" land with hell-yeah blunt force. The record's scandalous lead single, a giddy track on which she audibly cracks herself up — is also among its most self-assured, equally laden with Mix-a-lot samples as with emoji-worthy boning euphemisms. But this is no Beyoncé; the record's edges are jagged, risky, and sometimes contradictory (see: "Only").
Still, the transparent humanity and effort apparent even on duds like "Four Door Aventador" are what make Minaj exceptional: the unstoppable, sometimes raw diligence of an imperfect, oft-nitpicked yet undeniably extraordinary talent. The album is a self-medicating inner monologue, performed in full view of a capricious public, and as paradoxical and complex as befits the best, busiest, and most successful female rapper alive.
Queen
Did she release something?
