Funny in the light: The Hip-Hop Squabble of 2020

Funny in the light: The Hip-Hop Squabble of 2020

Photo from NY Post

Conscious of what exactly?

J Cole himself has openly lamented about the perceived restrictions of the “conscious rap” moniker, and it’s definitely worth questioning if he falls within this sub genre after all. Cole’s career has a clear schism in the aftermath of the commercial success of 2014 Forest Hills Drive, with the recent decade of J. Cole clearly differentiating his personal code(s), priorities and more from the early iteration. Cole’s “Middle Child”, his 2019 hit track accurately detailed this idle space that Cole was seemingly occupying. He saw himself between hip-hop stewards and young, fleeting, mostly problematic younger acts. In this song specifically, it was easy to hear that J. Cole was comfortably proclaiming that he was one of the top 2 or 3 acts in the genre, regardless of whatever else may come with that. Whether it be bending the knee to Drake on the track or claiming that if he ever got the opportunity it would go a certain way, as enjoyable as a listen sonically, lyrically “Middle Child” reflects Cole’s discomfort with the “conscious” label and its influence on his behavior. He sends a consistent message of warning throughout, to those who count him out that he’s keeping score and coming back around with a vengeance. His 2nd verse takes the common Cole route, spouting generalizations about the betterment of the youth or ceasing violence. In the closing bars he raps, “we hurting our sisters”, yet 8 bars before mentions he’d just finished a studio session with Kodak Black, who was indicted for sexual assault in 2018. Cole sympathizes with him and “wishes he had more guidance for real.” J. Cole is not the conscious rapper of the 80’s, surely. But he is also a far cry from someone like Lupe Fiasco, a stellar MC who went out of his way to continually give the system the middle finger, even if he was not going to benefit from it.

J Cole wants it both ways; he wants it the HOV way.

Jay-Z formally entered the game at 27 or so, was not struggling financially and positioned himself not as the hungry upstart or as the hotep, but the man who lived by a code that sometimes placed him on varying sides of any given issue. He emerged as a man who wanted to succeed and beat the game, to dominate capitalism like no black entertainer had before. This unapologetic placing amongst his peers allowed Jay-Z to never hide from being violently opportunistic at any cost, because his music is about the chase, the risk and telling the tale after. He coaxes you into believing that you’ll make it to the end credits with him. Cole, on the other hand, displayed clear technical skill from his initial tapes in the late 2000’s and early 2010’s. He grew up idolizing the likes of HOV and eventually signed to his label. But unlike his idol, his identity has never been cemented in much of anything. He is not engaging enough as an artist or ambitious enough as a storyteller to supplant his foundation-less persona. His consistent need to please all of his listeners, coupled with his decades long battle with his racial heritage places him outside of the underground, grimy boom-bap, and melodic categories of rap alike. J. Cole exists as kind of his own thing, which was monumental to his commercial rise, but allowed Cole and his followers to believe that he was doing something special and not just unable to properly categorize. Make no mistake: I have many J. Cole songs in my music library. But the question that Cole himself cannot really answer, that becomes the crux of many of his out of booth conflicts, is who does J. Cole make music for? Who is his target audience? Yes, Cole has outwardly rejected the “conscious” moniker, but can be heard on his second mixtape “The Warm-up” comparing himself to Malcolm X.

Hip-Hop has been the genre of the oppressed and has often held space for actionable, revolutionary steps. NWA’s “F the Police”, Public Enemy’s “Fight the Power”, and Queen Latifah’s “U.N.I.T.Y” are all examples of anthems doubling as objectively great songs and providing provocative lyricism that ignites social change, representing the interests of those other than the given speakers. Noname, whose roots are in Chicagoan activism and spoken word poetry, posted a tweet in the weeks after the murder of George Floyd by Minnesota police officers, asking Hip-Hop’s biggest voices to speak up and out. Not even asking for tracks(don’t worry, lil baby saved the day), but for communication to one’s respective platform via social media. A tweet. She did not use any specific names, but healthy speculation led the twitterverse to the two American members of the “Big 3”, Kendrick Lamar and J. Cole. Lamar and Cole specifically have profited substantially from stories chronicling the pain and experiences of black people within their communities and beyond. Both have presented varying kinds of positive messages, namely Lamar’s “Black boy fly” or Cole’s “Crooked Smile”. None of this however disqualifies them from the work or the moment, which Noname feels compelled to communicate as a fan of both and peer.

What Noname is implying is at the very least, if this is how you’re feeding your family and this is what your fans think of you, show them who you are. Show them that you stand with them and show them that you’re willing to lose something. Class has historically been a divider of people longer than the fabricated concept known as race, and so societally nobody expects a billionaire, regardless of how they’ve accumulated their wealth, to die in the street for a cause. In the court of public opinion, Lamar, Cole, Jay-Z, and countless others are removed from that expectation. But why not show up? Or use your platform for something that is not so self-aggrandizing? I cannot speak for Kendrick, but I am sure between that tweet and the name drop on Noname’s 3rd project that he’s had a conversation of some kind with the Sundial artist. Cole was clearly so personally slighted by being called out publicly in this way, that he responded how he saw fit. With a diss(adjacent?) track.

“Snow on the bluff” is the worst song in his discography, which is saying a lot because he has a handful of songs dressed in misogyny and loaded with terrible poop bars. He hasn’t had a thought-provoking verse since his verse on Be Free that he only included when performing on the Letterman show. He’s too hyperaware that he has things to lose and that he clearly doesn’t want to lose them if that means aligning himself in certain ways. It’s easier for Cole to find himself upset about issue A or issue B, express himself randomly via interview or subliminal bar, and even get arrested in a large group of people, than it is for him to structurally change his position and who his dollars support. Perhaps Noname’s suggestion of releasing a tweet is just too much for Cole, the man whose most recent album rollout included riding around the country in a beat-up Honda Civic; or a man who sought out not one but two stints of professional basketball in overseas leagues. Instead, he can dedicate more time mentoring younger artists, including the many on his label who have publicly expressed their unhappiness, or protecting the art form that he continually tells us he owes everything towards.

Instead, he would prefer to co-sign much of the worst of the genre, including his 3 hour sit down with gimmick rapper Lil Pump or his appearance on the Mitch and Yachty podcast before that was disbanded. Cole would rather offer his time and efforts towards problematic, lackluster male figures in the rap industry and protect his bottom line. Despite Noname’s success, she would never sit across from the likes of a Yachty, Kodak or Tekashi 69, artists who continually aid in the dilution of hip-hop by accepting any and everybody and participating in the memeification of black art. Cole, like many high-achieving capitalists, puts the burden of moral correctness on his audience, who is primarily made up of lower-achieving capitalists, instead of himself. Essentially, he acknowledges, albeit quietly, that there are moral issues here but feels afforded the privilege of ignorance because he’s rich and famous doing what rich and famous people do.

Snow on the bluff v. Room 33

Cole’s surprise drop in June of 2020 suggests that Noname’s anger is misplaced. “My IQ is average, there’s a young lady out there way smarter than me”. Cole is setting this song up in a strange way. Though clearly a response to Noname’s tweet about himself and others being silent during as necessary a time to be loud as possible, for what it’s worth Cole is already adopting his patented humble approach. He remarks on the track that people think he’s intelligent because he has a college degree(Magna Cum Laude at St.Johns), but admits that he doesn’t read. Cole lays out all of the entities that Noname appears to have her misplaced anger at, including himself, before saying that he is not above criticism(yet the song continues).

Cole argues that Noname’s background has potentially contributed to her understanding of the world in a way that his, and many others, did not.

“She strike me as somebody blessed enough to grow up in conscious environment.With parents that know ‘bout the struggle for liberation and in turn they provide her withA perspective and awareness of the system and unfairness that afflicts ’em And the clearest understandin’ of what we gotta do to get free”, Cole raps in the opening minute.

In this track, Jermaine Cole simultaneously minimizes any and all work Noname has done on her own, but also the importance of community as progression. If Noname’s parents, or anyone else’s, have lived this way and raised their children as such, would they not strive to inform as she has? Or not remain silent when lives are at stake. This feels less like Cole attempting nuance about the black family unit and more like projection about having parents of different races, split between Germany and North Carolina. Black people are the only group ridiculed for having two parents, together, in a world where the majority of marriages conclude in divorce and marriage has only been legal between black folk for so long. Marshall Mathers rapped “And Clarence lives at home with both parents. And Clarence parents have a real good marriage” to raucous applause. I digress.

Cole takes the offensive approach, questioning the tone and leadership tactics of Noname and perhaps her perceived defense team. He has eight or so bars of this self-righteous position, hiding behind the “average man” line of questioning before adding that he thinks it more effective to treat people “like children”. Perhaps a line that would’ve worked for Cole at a different juncture in time, both in his socioeconomic standing and in the state of the world. Lives were at stake of course, and being treated like a child is a luxury. Especially when one is, just a child after all.

The Cole track is short and again, his worst. I do not feel the strength to go line by line at the atrocity, or address the fact that the 3:15 run time includes about 1:40 of rapping. But Cole finds the time to address his distance from his previous roots financially, in as J. Cole a way as possible. “Feel like a slave that somehow done saved enough coins to buy his way up outta slavery”. What? The “Lights Please” rapper compares himself to an enslaved ancestor who presumably purchased his own freedom. How narrow-minded, in so many facets. What sticks out most, is if Cole would liken the general black experience(non-wealthy, uncertain ,other) to enslavement, why should we applaud if he “escapes”?

Cole tweeted the following morning triumphantly standing behind his words, almost too smug about what he had contributed towards. At the height of civil unrest, the world was now talking about a surface level J. Cole track and minute skirmish with Noname.

I hate to do this in front of company. The world often mistakes or assumes passionate exchanges between black people as aggressive and quarrelsome; the least we can do is give them a front row seat. That is essentially what McGruder unearthed with the “n — moments” within the boondocks. Cole was now having one of these, inviting Noname into his ring of foolishness, to stoop to this level in front of the world. And she took the bait.

Over Madlib production, Noname manages to do what so many claim is impossible: recite a meaningful message in a catchy song over adjoining instrumentation. She has an incredibly smooth delivery, even here where she is opening the track mourning the killing of OluwaToyin Salau. Attacks galore on black female lives while “ n — s in the back quiet as a church mouse”. Noname is not begging for Cole to read a book or to quell the “fake deep” allegations he claims to be getting. She is simply asking him to take the small amount of time to conduct his research on the very real, ever present assault on the black body. Cole himself raps about using one’s influence for those who cannot and valuing authenticity in self. But he was unable to see this critique for what it was.

Noname and J. Cole are incredibly different rappers with unique, stark differences. Noname grinded her way through the Chicago spoken word scene before pivoting with her first few mixtapes. Her 2 albums that were released before this track exchange were met with acclaim, but were not very long and did not feature big-time collaborations from a label’s perspective. Cole at this point had garnered much of the cult following that very well may follow him into the sunset. They are both thrown into the same box, but are fundamentally disagreeing on what each is willing to sacrifice. And that is a conversation that any oppressed people will continue having within.

“I guess the ego hurt now”, Noname continues as she is in disbelief that she is the target of Cole’s words. “He really ‘bout to write about me when the world is in smokes?” I don’t believe that policing one’s tone is the most hot button issue in the 2020’s specifically, but one’s tone is certainly indicative of general feelings towards another person or idea. Cole’s tone on “snow on the bluff” is not only smug and self-righteous, but he sounds like a man with a hurt ego. Being “woke enough” to conveniently retain his conscious label is more important to Cole than admitting, publicly, that he may have misstepped. And further, in the back half of “Room 33”, Noname’s tone reflects that she is disappointed in a man who she probably had a significant amount of respect for. How could he be doing this, or focusing his time and effort on this right now? She scoffs at his bars and actions, asking if that’s “all he can offer”. Even after the release of each track, Cole had opportunities to pivot, to educate, or to inform his fanbase which is incredibly impressionable that he was prioritizing the wrong things. Whether he chooses to believe so or not, Cole’s bullheaded response to Noname’s tweet promoted many of the same ideas, in 2020, that are plaguing hip-hop’s creators and newer vanguard. Anti-intellectualism, paternalistic misogyny and forcing one’s audience to accept the bare minimum are all proudly present in Cole’s track.

Everybody Dies

Noname is far from perfect, as we all are. Her original stage name carried an ethnic slur that she has since removed and done so carefully. One of her more notable songs was named, “Diddy Bop” and she did not have the foresight to understand the monster that is Sean Combs. But, she manages to denounce him and his efforts at any of her performances where it’s among the set, and she does not sing those specific words. Her strangest misstep is continuing to align with Jay Electronica and allowing him to spew anti-semitic raps all over her otherwise flawless Sundial. But going toe to toe with Cole was exceptional for the way that the mask of conscious rap was peeled back for a second. It is in Noname’s best interest commercially to retract from beef with Cole, which she has continually done since. She has downplayed the severity and even said the two occupy similar lanes and have squashed the issue on the phone. Noname has not, however, removed the song. And although she is quoted as calling “Room 33” an ego trip, she has kept the song on dsps and given her proceeds to mutual funds. As I write this, she continues to prioritize community with her massive book club spanning across the country.

Noname released “Rainforest” in February of 2021, and she took some subtle shots at Cole, referencing “Everybody dies” and asking why he makes excuses for billionaires, claiming he’s “broke on the bus”. A clear reference to the “Everybody Dies” music video and insinuating that no amount of capitulating to their interests will make him anything close to the Billionaire, not even the accumulation of the dollar amount. In comparison, he’ll always be broke on the bus.