View profile

Why J. Cole Is Back To His Best Self On 'Off-Season'

Backseat Freestyle
Why J. Cole Is Back To His Best Self On 'Off-Season'
By Jayson Rodriguez • Issue #21 • View online
Welcome to Backseat Freestyle. This is my weekly hip-hop newsletter that I send out every Friday focusing on one big thing that happened over the past seven days. I also include links to what I’ve been listening to, reading and watching. If you’re a subscriber, thank you for your continued support. If you’re arriving to this issue by way of forward, LinkedIn or social media, please subscribe below. With that said, let’s get into it….

J. Cole // Credit: @JColeNC
J. Cole // Credit: @JColeNC
Front Seat
This is what’s driving hip-hop this week….
BY ALL ACCOUNTS, Jermaine Lamarr Cole has never tried to be all things, to all people. In fact, from my personal experience to consuming his interviews over the years, he’s shown a clear-eyed view of who he is as a man. J. Cole, on the other hand, with his considerable talent has been put to the test as he’s tried to figure out where his discography places him among the hip-hop solar system. He’s a star, no doubt. But when does he burn brightest? The Cole catalog features an array of versatility: a hit-seeking debut, a course-correcting sophomore effort, dense and abstract concept albums and barn-busting features. It’s hardly a, will the real J. Cole stand up situation. But as he enters The Fall-Off Era, a two-project offering that includes his latest album, The Off-Season, and what he’s calling his last project where he’ll actively compete, The Fall-Off, legacy is on his mind. The timing couldn’t be better to find his footing.
Back Seat
Respect my mind or die from lead shower.
THE LORE OF J. COLE among J. Cole fans is potent. It goes something like this: talented, southern lyricist migrates up north, overcomes all obstacles to sign with Jay-Z—but corporate overlords force him to be something he’s not until he breaks free, as chronicled on 2013’s “Let Nas Down,” a standout from his second album Born Sinner (that put the rapper on the road to stardom).
It’s a neat narrative, tidy as to divide the roles cleanly. Cole, our innocent hero, versus “the label,” and all its capitalistic machinations. As tempting as that tale may be, it does a great disservice to J. Cole. It absolves him of agency in his own growth. The irony, also, is that it erases the missteps that truly mark his evolution. 
A better demarcation point is Cole’s appearance at the 2013 BET Awards and the aftermath. Red carpet flicks captured Cole flossing in designer shades, a big gold chain and a Versace sweater. Rap star shit. The problem was DJ Drama and Brandon T. Jackson also wore the exact same top to the same event. It’s a night Cole would later reference when it came to his image overhaul. He went from the typical, idealized rapper outfit and a tight shape-up to sweats, jerseys and ‘locs. But the issue wasn’t the look, it was the lack of restraint toward the vision; his idea of stardom was gaudy and he drowned in the excess. 
It’s not unlike his musical pursuits. 
It isn’t a coincidence that J.Cole came to prominence amidst the Great Recession. Stripped of the need to impress upon fans how fly he was or how he partied due Wall Street’s woes, Cole instead used his considerable lyrical talents to tell smaller tales (with noble payoffs) across his trio of mixtapes from 2007 to 2010, highlighted by The Warm Up’s “Losing My Balance.” Case in point, in that song’s third verse, Cole documents falling hard for a young lady who he’s smitten by so much he makes sure to highlight her intellect in addition to her physical appearance. It’s a new feeling (and perspective) and he’s trying to reconcile the change it’s brought upon him. It’s a precursor to the domesticity he flashed on 4 Your Eyez Only’s “Foldin Clothes,” a much discussed track in the Cole cannon. 
Cole works hard throughout The-Off Season to revisit the hunger he had during his come-up, before his bank account had more commas than a college essay.
His sixth album, The Off-Season, released last Friday, also arrives during an economic downturn. Following a pair of concept albums, the aforementioned 4 Your Eyez Only and 2018’s KOD, where on the latter Cole flirted with being more KRS-One than Nas (a didactic downer vs. tryna kick knowledge), the new project is a return to austerity. His aim is tighter, his measure more refined. 
On “applying.pressure,” he calls out rappers for ballin’ beyond their budget rather than minding the inspiration thats within their means: 
These niggas’ whips hard, behind closed doors can’t pay the lease/
Ain’t nothin’ wrong with living check-to-check, cause most have to/
Instead of cappin’, why don’t you talk about being a broke rapper/
That’s a perspective I respect because it’s real/ 
What it’s like to be nice as fuck but got to stress to pay the bills.
He brings the track together honing in on envy and noting, despite his own millions, he’s worked to conquer measuring success and happiness by material standards. For good measure, he throws in a bar for neither the millionaire nor the hustler looking to improve their circumstances, but the complacent troll in the middle: Envy keep your pockets empty, so just focus on you.
His own focus on wealth on “” and “the.climb.back” during the country’s financial failings isn’t without pitfalls. Cole wants to provide a virtuous alternative to the One Percent (“It’s not about the money, it’s more about the time/Shit makes sense when you see how I spend mine,” he raps on the former.). It’s a line, however, that would likely unite Bernie Sanders and KRS in judgement. 
Cole works hard throughout The-Off Season to revisit the hunger he had during his come-up, before his bank account had more commas than a college essay. On “” he looks to shatter the mythology of the hustler turned rapper, noting his family tree is filled with users, so lessons on how to flip coins into cash were lost on him, resulting in empty pockets. The antidote to that adversity? Desire. Meanwhile, he serves up “close,” about a friend’s failed battle with drugs, as an allegoric examination of the choices we make and where they could take us. He’s been fostering this relatability since day one (see: Dreamville, Revenge of the Dreamers, A Dollar and a Dream tour, et. al) and it works most when he keeps things simple. His best work on this album is often songs that are merely one verse and one idea.  
He wrestles with that idea, that the distance from his child’s innocence to his own experience isn’t as far as it seemed in his youth.
Where J.Cole truly soars, in this manner, is on “,” a breezy horn number with a boom bap drum backdrop. Blogs and rap media have excerpted Cole’s admission of tussling with Diddy as a headline, but that sells the song short. With its diary-like candidness, it’s not hard to envision the track as a sequel, of sorts, to “Losing My Balance.”
Some 12 years later, the young man who was looking for meaning in minutiae has matured into a man who can find symbols in moments. He begins by addressing religion, a light he recognizes but admits these days he doesn’t have the discipline to stick with it. A notion that’s not unlike many at home just trying to survive quarantine instead of striving for improvement. However, it’s the line that gives the song its title—recounting the first time his young son told him “Dad, let go of my hand,” that brings Cole’s genius to the forefront. His verse pivots to the lessons he’ll have to imbue on his progeny, equipping him with a toughness to survive, which forces Cole to reckon with what it means to be a Black man in America and raise one. He wrestles with that idea, that the distance from his child’s innocence to his own experience isn’t as far as it seemed in his youth. It’s a realization that cuts deep across a large portion of this country and connects more than any punchline Cole can offer. 
It’s been asked many times: does man make the times or do the times make the man? 
Perhaps that’s been the J.Cole lore all along. 
Music, reads, podcasts and videos (music and more) I’m checking for.
The past year there’s been a lot of chatter about the next class to run it following the Drake/Kendrick/Cole triumvirate. Travis Scott and Lil Baby have proven to be contenders. Polo G’s consistency has him rising up the ranks, too. He connected with Lil Wayne for his latest, “Gang, Gang.” [Listen
Speaking of Lil Baby, he’s the running point on the “Space Jam: A New Legacy” soundtrack alongside Kirk Franklin with Just Blaze on the boards. Spiritual gangsta shit. [Listen]
What happens when you say “Stunnaman” three times? Does it rain? Ha. Birdman back, with Weezy and Roddy Ricch in tow for a new personal anthem. [Listen]
Damn, homie. This YG and Mozzy collab album, Kommunity Service, starts off hard with “Gangsta,” a flip of 50’s “Wanksta.” “Drop A Location” (screaming for G-Eazy to hop on the remix) and “First 48” are early favs. [Listen]
Patience isn’t always rewarded in the music biz. But props to Def Jam riding hard for Bobby Sessions. “Gold Rolex” (featuring Benny The Butcher and Freddie Gibbs) is the type of impact recordI’ve been waiting for from the young upstart. [Listen]
Benny The Butcher x 38 Spesh? Yesss. Their crews collide for the Trust The Sopranos collab LP. [Listen]
I wrote about A$AP Rocky’s unusual roll out recently and he’s back at it again, this time on the cover of GQ and gushing over Rihanna. If you’re keeping count, he’s headlining Lyrical Lemonade Summer Smash, Lollapalooza and Gov Ball. Still waiting on a new record. [Read]
Nice piece to read on Big Rube and his origins as the interlude/spoken word master on rap records. [Read]
I’m not a heavy listener of The Joe Budden Podcast, so that’s why I haven’t put much interest in the recent drama in the newsletter, but Vulture’s Craig Jenkins gives a definitive account if you’ve had a hard time keeping up. [Read]
RIP Paul Mooney. [Read] [Read]
Nas and Mass Appeal are putting a huge stamp on the culture with their Hip-Hop 50 initiative, which was announced this past week. (Disclosure: I’m consulting on this project.) Related: the Universal Hip-Hop Museum broke ground with the help of Nas, Fat Joe, LL and more. [Read] [Read]
UMG + Triller finally reached a licensing agreement (necessary if Verzuz was gonna really flourish). [Read]
Haven’t read this yet, but I have to imagine it’s amazing because it always tends to be when Quincy Jones speaks. [Read]
Level ups: My brother Young Sav named co-head of urban at Arista, LVRN taps my homegirl Priya Minhas as director of creative content, the homie Roderick Scott was promoted to VP over at Republic Records and Laruen Wirtzer-Seawood is Soundcloud’s new chief content and marketing officer. [Read] [Read] [Read] [Read]
Naomi Campbell is getting good at interviews. I missed this last month, but her sit-down with Dave Chappelle was a good chat. [Watch]
Latto hits reset on her name and drops “The Biggest,” where she addresses her former handle and provides a visual that recounts her rise and new reign. [Watch]
The most fun view of the week? Young MA channels LL Cool’s “Doin It” in the clip for her “Don Diva” video, featuring Rubi Rose on the track and as the vixen. [Watch]
A close second, Tobe Nwigwe. The brother does it again with “Fye Fye” featuring Fat Nwigwe. His visuals are fuego, but being back outside is going to do some good things for his movement. [Watch]
Backseat Freestyle is written and produced by Jayson Rodriguez for Smarty Art LLC. If you have any comments, questions or want to discuss sponsoring a newsletter issue, feel free to email me: And follow me elsewhere:
Twitter: @jaysonrodriguez
Instagram: @jaysonrodriguez
YouTube: jaysonrodriguez
YouTube: smartyartllc
Podcast: coming soon

Did you enjoy this issue?
Jayson Rodriguez

What's driving hip-hop? Find out with a reported essay + curated links to new music/music vids, pod recommendations and good reads delivered straight to your inbox every Friday. Vroom, vroom.

In order to unsubscribe, click here.
If you were forwarded this newsletter and you like it, you can subscribe here.
Powered by Revue