Performing an album in its entirety is usually reserved for musicians looking to capitalize on nostalgia by marking anniversaries of classic albums. And while legends such as Jay Z, Nas and Public Enemy have done it, it’s rare in hip-hop. Sunday night at Jiffy Lube Live, however, J. Cole countered tradition by playing all of last year’s “2014 Forest Hills Drive,” just nine months since its release.
Despite what Cole may think, "2014 Forest Hills Drive" is not a classic album — merely a competent one. It is Cole's rap bildungsroman, following his path from Fayetteville, N.C., young'un to New York college student to Roc Nation signee, as he contemplates topics including the pursuit of happiness and class and race divisions, using self-produced, soul-kissed beats that recall early Kanye West as a backdrop.
In a rap world that evolves daily, Cole is a reassuring throwback to the genre’s past. He’s not afraid to be corny or vulnerable, such as when he recalls the apprehension of losing his virginity on “Wet Dreamz,” and he might be rap’s last relatable star.
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On Sunday night, Cole strived to be relatable, often to the detriment of the concert. Performing on a stage set modeled after the roof of his childhood home (the image that adorns the cover of “2014 Forest Hills Drive”), Cole worked his way through the album, his voice worn to a rasp by his year-long tour. Several times during his set, he squandered momentum and energy by launching into meandering speeches, whether explaining the perils of a small-town mentality, making crowd-pleasing local references or denying his intelligence: Saying that he couldn’t find the titular “St. Tropez” on a map “for a million dollars” or that he didn’t know what LED stood for were dubious claims from the St. John’s University graduate.
He followed one of his most powerful songs, the Lil Jon-referencing “G.O.M.D.,” with more rambling, telling lame jokes as an introduction to “No Role Modelz,” a song that objectifies and patronizes women. While misogyny is nothing new to hip-hop, it is even more insidious when it comes from a “conscious” posture. With his songs and his speeches bounding between pseudo-intellectualism and faux ignorance, it was tough to take Cole seriously.
Before playing the closer “Love Yourz,” Cole thanked the crowd for sitting through the entire album. “They told me not to do that,” he claimed, saying it was important to play the whole album no matter how “scary” it was to expose himself.
But after comparing Big Sean’s all-killer, no-filler opening set to J. Cole’s self-indulgent one, the straw man of his argument might have had a point.
Kelly is a freelance writer.
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