I never talk to other music journalists because, honestly, I don't care what they think. Music journalism is stupid, vain self-gratification.

But if I did talk to other journalists, I'd ask them what it would take for them to award an album full-marks - 100%, 10/10, 5 stars or whatever. What does a collection of music have to be to achieve a perfect review? Have they ever been tempted to award one? Did they have to argue with their editor for hours over it - how many albums can justifiably receive a perfect score per year / decade / generation?

I didn't get the chance to review Killer Mike's RAP Music last year. If I had, I would probably have been seeking out other examples of 'perfect' reviews for reference. It comes as close to perfection as anything I've heard in the last couple of years, and it seemed so easy to break down: Mike on the mic, Jaime on beats. Occasional, perfectly pitched appearances from other MCs.

But even RAP Music has one track I sometimes choose to skip (I'm not saying which). So it's not perfect. It can't be. But of course, that's a load of horseshit. Perfection isn't always perfect. And occasionally, journalists have to be allowed to hyperbolise.

Run The Jewels isn't perfect. Personally, I think the beats and rhymes can't eclipse the double-career-high that the earlier collaboration between Jaime and Mike threatened. It's angrier (if that's possible). There are less spaces to breathe. Pummeling bassline follows pummelling bassline.

As you'd expect, Jaime takes a far greater weight of the rhymes - his only vocal appearance on RAP Music was on the colossal bass-bounce of 'Butane'. The pair riff off each other like Ill Bill and Sabac, alternately self-effacing (Mike's rutting "God damn, fat bastard!") and psychotic. The result is thrilling, if not quite as bang-your-head-against-the-car-roof enjoyable. There's no 'Jojo's Chilling' here. Everything has a solid middle-finger salute tattooed behind on show.

Stylistically, it feels more like an El-P album - the closest recent antecedent is Cancer for Cure. You can almost draw a graph line for how an El-P album will run, and Run The Jewels hits every dot. There's the typical overly-dramatic-intro, tracks mid-way through that run together like a dream live set (that pattern flows all the way from Fantastic Damage), plus the frequently apocalyptic line-enders that never quite result in the fabric of the earth ripping apart.

Mike joins in with hardcore sex 'n' violence, including the classic refrain "Do Dope, Fuck Hope" from 'DDFH' and a memorable backslap for recent best buddy El on 'Banana Clipper' ("Producer gave me a beat / said it's the beat of the year / I said El-P didn't do it / so get the fuck out of here"). As tough as MOP, the pair will be happily ripping basement clubs new arseholes across the world with the jet black sci-thuggery of 'Sea Legs' and 'Job Well Done'.

If the album has a weakness, it's the lack of standout oddball gems in the vein of 'Jojo's Chilling'. Jaime's sense of humour has always been dark, but at times the anti-genial atmosphere of Run The Jewels can become overbearing (see El's insistence on 'A Christmas Fucking Miracle' that "the most impressionable minds get molested and informed by manipulating forces"). It's not a pity party, but the narcissistic urge to just fuck the world and be done with it is a message Jaime's delivered before, and more than once.

So journalists are idiots. But sometimes, they're also right. It's still going to take a much stronger, more original, and more distinctive album than Yeezus to knock this off its perch as rap album of the year so far.