Drake and J. Cole are coming up there. At 33 and 35, respectively, the two titans have more in common now than during the decade in which they critically and commercially clashed with each other. They are both relatively new parents and closer to their forties than they were in the early twenties. Both have aged remarkably well, and managed to stay oddly prolific throughout this pandemic, with scrapped projects, EPs, albums, apologies, DJ Khaled appearances, and promises of long-running efforts. Another thing the two rappers have in common in 2020 is that neither is operating at its commercial peak. In July alone, Drake released three songs, while Cole released two, none of which will be considered a nominee for the summer song. There is an ecosystem of much younger rappers that rule the charts: Roddy Ricch, DaBaby, Lil Baby, who have taken care of that. Despite the fall in pure dominance, or perhaps because of it, Drake and J. Cole seem content to be experimenting on the margins.
Nowhere is this more evident than Drake and Cole’s “Only You Freestyle” lyrical tour-de-force miracle Lewis Street EP. Each release is almost impenetrable to a wider audience. The hooks are not flashy, if there are hooks; most melodies are irrelevant; If the two of you are racing something, it’s your own invading boredom.
“Only You Freestyle” features Drake delivering his toughest and toughest verse in years, somehow simultaneously. During the haunting production of M1OnTheBeat, Drake hits, before and behind the beat. The lyrics don’t make sense. Drake begins the song with a comic threat: “Chubbs could block this jute for a chain” (layman: his friend Chubbs will steal your chain), and ends the verse by threatening to hit some high school kids (it could be a metaphor, who knows at this point). He raps in a UK accent that dissolves in Arabic, which was quickly taunted by fans worried that the Toronto rapper said “baby you and me are the baddest” because he couldn’t pronounce the words correctly. In essence, the whole thing is messy. There is a feeling that he is trying to evolve in real time, allowing fans to see the customs of his interests.
In contrast, Cole’s Lewis Street EP initially seems to duplicate the Fayetteville rapper’s perception when an old curmudgeon wagging his finger from his platinum porch. “The Climb Back” and “Lion King on Ice” are sampling rules for souls who come to Cole’s heels being lyrically and socially beaten by Noname in June. In the last song, Cole returns to easier targets, rapping “I tried to warn blacks that they wouldn’t last long / I hope they see how they got there and left.” The veiled shots are likely aimed at the SoundCloud generation she tried to guide on her latest full-length album, 2018. KOD.
At his best, Cole is a narrator motivated by conflict and, over the years, he often had to create it himself if he wasn’t available. But “The Climb Back” and “Lion King on Ice” feel like a refocusing exercise rather than a commercial gambit. It doesn’t seem like he has anything more to prove, and Cole even makes time for humor, something that has often eluded him in his most ambitious moment. “They demand to clap as often as the Genius app misquotes me” and “A problem with me is how the BET Hip-Hop Awards / I’m starting to see niggas don’t want it” are really funny phrases on otherwise serious business. .
Drake and Cole are in a war of attrition with their legacies. The two will be popular as long as they remain in the public eye. What nobody wants to admit is that music has nothing to do with their level of stardom. And yet, the two MCs still seem interested in honing their talents for some forgotten reason. Even if the results are not perfect, the experiment has become a fascinating sight to see.
