kendrick lamar like that

In the midst of what some have been referring to as hip-hop’s civil war, J Cole’s shifty eyes peek between both sides anxiously at the mere thought of betraying either friend, Drake and Kendrick Lamar. Together they formed the Big 3, a trifecta of MCs who carried their mentors’ legacies and affirmed lyricism’s position in the mainstream during the 2010s. What J Cole – and the public – may have celebrated as three generational talents who’ve pushed the boundaries of hip-hop to its commercial peak as a unified front, his other two counterparts have made it abundantly clear that they’re playing for keeps. And as a result, the generational consensus for the better part of the 2010s was that J Cole was trailing behind as the third wheel with a catalog of snoozers and faux-philosophical revelations, and arguably, one of the most insufferable fanbases online. But, if it weren’t for his fans parading around the “platinum with no features” feat, he wouldn’t have actually tried to prove anyone wrong. 

His surprise drop, the tight 12-track mixtape, Might Delete Later is yet another affirmation of J Cole’s candidacy for the coveted GOAT title. At its core, the mixtape is a lyrical exercise emphasizing hip-hop’s competitive nature and extending his ambitious run into the 2020s. However, the release of Might Delete Later arrived on the heels of Future and Metro Boomin’s Kendrick Lamar-powered “Like That” and days before his annual Dreamville Festival. Along with the snippets that arrived before its release, the bar for Cole was raised much higher due to external circumstances that could’ve easily gone unacknowledged.

Might Delete Later highlights the hunger in Cole’s belly, one that became evident in projects like K.O.D. where he pushed back at the narratives being spun by young Soundcloud prodigies like Lil Pump and Smokepurpp. However, in the following years, Cole has been on a mission to bridge generational gaps, play peacemaker between his other two cohorts, and prove that his relevance isn’t limited to his fanbase. He’s been able to move at his own pace and afforded the luxury of reaching new heights on his schedule. Much of these periods of silence have been dedicated to sharpening his craft, and figuring out how to transcend the lyrical box he’s been placed in without losing sight of his talent, albeit with stints of pro ball here and there. It became clear on his 2018 feature run that to be the best, he would have to align himself with other artists – specifically those that he isn’t necessarily friends with – who could push him outside of his comfort zone.

It’s been especially refreshing to hear J Cole embrace his Southern roots more openly, too, whether through collaborations alongside Dreamville cohorts or otherwise. “Pricey,” the opening track, sets the tone with a calming and cool effect that sounds like it should soundtrack an old-school Cadillac with gold plates riding through a deeply leafy and muddy forest, accented by Ari Lennox’s decadent vocals and Young Dro’s hypnotizing bridge over glossy bluesy guitar strings. However, the inclusion of Gucci Mane, who previously collaborated with Cole on “There I Go,” helps bookend the album, alongside Trae Tha Truth’s appearance on “Trae Tha Truth In Ibiza.” Their spoken word passages that conclude the songs they respectively appear on allow Cole to push an uplifting message without sounding preachy. 

But as much as J Cole’s humble lifestyle is a central force of this project, whether he’s bragging about pulling “your b*tch with no line-up and Crocs,” scoffing at the notion of extravagant bottle service, or simply, recollecting harsh memories growing up in Cumberland, Might Delete Later isn’t a body of work that aims to do much else besides wreak lyrical tyranny on the rest of hip-hop and make it clear where he stands among the crowd. It’s best summarized on “Crocodile Tearz,” a fiery banger that’s filled a cut-throat performance from Cole over an eerie Memphis-leaning beat that has traces reminiscent of Drake and 21 Savage’s “Knife Talk” except even bigger. It’s here where he puts his peers on notice, rapping, “Should do the Freshman cover twice, I’m never outclassed/ It’s not another n***a breathin’ that could outlast/ The Fall Off is like Hov droppin’ Reasonable Doubt last.” 

Unfortunately, this level of vigor and tenacity in the spirited competition of hip-hop remains unmatched throughout the rest of the project, even on “7-Minute Drill.” Though a response to Kendrick’s internet-shattering verse on Future and Metro Boomin’s We Don’t Trust You, it may have been better considered a “warning shot” rather than an outright diss. Quite honestly, “7-Minute Drill” showcased a lack of self-awareness, especially when trying to come at another artist’s discography with non-descript bars that could be toward anyone. But what’s worse is that even the idea of poking fun at Kendrick Lamar’s 5’5” stature weighed heavily on his conscious. For the first 48 hours, he was nearly declared the winner of the first round yet the discourse on his response ultimately became overwhelming. Then came his infamous Dreamville Festival apology, where he gracefully bowed out from the feud, admitting that he fell victim to peer pressure.

Nonetheless, this project attempts to reinvigorate the spirit of battle rap within J Cole, who has openly stated that artists like Canibus and Eminem inspired him. While records like “3001,” “Huntin’ Wabbits,” and the Alchemist-produced, “Stickz & Stonez” further fortify Cole’s M.O. across this album of being an elite MC, his efforts to chase clever and witty bars put a spotlight on his questionable rhymes – both on this album and historically. “Pi,” the Daylyt and Ab-Soul-assisted song, feels like an ode to “WROH” from Ab-Soul’s These Days where the TDE MC and the battle rap veteran trade bars a capella. For Cole, attempting to land a transphobic punchline was just a tone-deaf decision. Even if he wants to argue that it’s for the sake of creative freedom – and, let’s say that was the case: why exercise that liberty for a throwaway bar that’s hardly effective outside of being offensive? Haven’t we learned anything from the “Jodeci Freestyle?”

Regardless of some of the missteps, Might Delete Later remains a step up in J Cole’s catalog, especially having not released a mixtape since Friday Night Lights. He finds places to push his pen further and other moments where he can simply enjoy the fruits of his labor. “H.Y.B” and “Stealth Mode” are prime examples of Cole’s ability to find inspiration from the new generation, even outside of the U.S. Bas, who appears on both tracks, pulls J Cole into a hedonistic lifestyle on both tracks that extends the themes of songs like “Passport Bros.” Central Cee’s inclusion on “H.Y.B” is another heavyweight co-sign for the Brit. However, much like “Pi” and “Crocodile Tearz,” the tinges of external influences, namely 2023’s “Sprinter,” seep through the summer-friendly production. 

As a precursor to The Fall Off, J Cole’s fourth mixtape stands as a strong body of work but one that will likely be remembered in the shadows of the controversy that surrounds it. For an artist who declared, “​​​​I hit ’em up, bitch, I’m 2Pac twin,” he ultimately succumbed to the pressure that comes with the #1 spot. Unlike his hoop dreams, his efforts to enter the battle rap octagon have been thwarted completely, though whether this permanently erases his place among the Big 3 will be determined with time. Nonetheless, Might Delete Later continues an epic run for J Cole, only if he dismantled his momentum with an apology.

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