J Cole review: The Fall Off – The rap legend’s final album is a nerdy history lesson in hip-hop | rap

C Cole released his debut mixtape in 2007, and now, nearly two decades later and six consecutive albums stateside, the North Carolina MC is still grappling with the weight of so much hope piled upon him. He frames The Fall Off as a graceful bow – “to do in my last life what I couldn’t do in the first,” he says – and it almost sounds as if he were a student approaching the end of a long period of study, with this double album as his graduate thesis.

Across 24 tracks and 101 minutes, The Fall Off is full of technical proficiency, raw lyrical skill, citation, interpolation, and sampling, and attempts nothing less than to embody a half-century of hip-hop. Through direct and indirect references, lessons unfold throughout. Falling Inevitable is inspired by Nas’ 2001 Stillmatic track Rewind. I Love It Again is a clear reference to Kumon’s I Love It Again. Bunce Road Blues borrows lyrics from Usher’s Nice & Slow but connects to an R&B show with guest vocals from Nigerian singer Tems. The Let Out is reminiscent of SpottieOttieDopaliscious from OutKast’s Aquemini, etc.: all ample material for the audience to ponder the past and future of hip-hop.

But not every fan wants to study, and those who do are left with questions. The Fall Off feels like an attempt to express Cole’s growth and development, but it lacks the emotional depth that comes from real human interactions: he’s the only fully realized person on this album, and the people he interacts with, both metaphorical and real, seem to function more as props.

On Legacy, he acknowledges his previous attitude towards women – “I need a shout out for the hoes / I need to read the reviews” – but by the time we get to Life Sentence, a nod to DMX’s How’s It Going Down, those impulses have been tamed by his marriage to his long-term partner Melissa Heholt: “I found out who I want to be / Slowly, but surely he cut his hoes / If you go, do it, do it right / Put the ring on your finger, now you and I We do life.” She bore his two sons, making him a grateful husband and father, but for a four-verse song described as “the most real song” in his discography, his wife is drawn thin, with a strangely faceless presence.

Like many of the passages here, it is purely autobiographical, and although any autobiography is great for audiences, it does not always highlight broader truths. In terms of safety, Cole keeps the lens squarely on him even as he expands the cast list, singing from the perspective of people who have letters from home for this now-famous star (that might immediately conjure Nas’s “One Love,” or perhaps his most famous rap song, Eminem’s Stan). But again, despite the letter-writing tool, these ideas seem to be just J. Cole’s thoughts.

It’s strongest when examining hip-hop itself, and at times the album reminds me of Ralph Ellison’s 1952 novel The Invisible Man. In the book’s famous battle royale scene, the naive narrator believes he’s being called upon to give a speech. When he arrives, he is blindfolded at the door and forced into a fierce competition, fighting against other young black men for the entertainment of the drinking and cheering crowd. Relatedly, the public rap battle between Kendrick Lamar and Drake — which Cole briefly participated in before he apologized and walked out, to the consternation of many — had fans wondering if Cole had more to say about the feud on The Fall Off. He addresses it obliquely on What If by citing hip-hop history, channeling Notorious B.I.G. and 2Pac to form a conversation that might have prevented two of the genre’s most famous tragedies. It’s another tool that may seem a bit heavy, but Cole realizes that violence and death are a cash crop in today’s attention economy, and that the stakes are still high.

Like Ellison’s writing of the fight scene in Invisible Man, Cole uses The Fall Off to write about new takes on ancient practices in the United States: the fickleness of the fans, the intoxicating allure of the spotlight, and the black male fight scene are addressed. Near the end of Bombs in the Ville/Hit the Gas, present-day J. Cole offers sage advice to his younger self: “Fame is a drug you’re chosen to take / Unfortunately, you can’t be sober and great / You’re just like the flower the world wants to hold / They sniff your petals until they grow / And then they throw them away, a new flower grows / Can’t take it personally, that’s how it goes.”

Hip-hop buddies will notice the drum sounds like Nigga What and Nigga Who (Originator 99) by Cole’s former mentor, Jay-Z, and Jay-Z’s former mentor, Jazz O. For better or worse, The Fall Off is J Cole, the student, transitioning fully into J Cole, the teacher. If he truly finishes recording music, perhaps this album will serve not as his thesis, but rather as an instruction manual for others: a witty, deeply erudite but somewhat fragile read.