A J. Cole story
On stage at the 2019 Dreamville music festival is when I last saw J. Cole in person. He’s 6'3, so even from afar, the towering height makes him appear larger than most performers. He wore no jewelry that night. Dressed down in a red Dreamville jersey and blue puma sweatpants with none of the visible indicators associated with rap stardom.
A small army of eyes watched his every movement, repeated his every rap, entranced. As he sang “Love Yourz” the entire campground became perfectly unified. A collective consciousness. With none of the accolades to certify it as a hit, the soul-bearing response said it meant more to them than any song on the Billboard charts.
In a much smaller venue six years prior, I saw J. Cole for the first time. Still a giant in stature, but his current head of dreaded hair was then a short fade, and on his wrist he wore a diamond watch. The crowd, which couldn't have been more than 800 in total, paid a dollar for the show, a promotion he pulled off in Atlanta and nine other cities.
The Dollar and a Dream tour started 16 days before Cole’s sophomore album, Born Sinner, was released on June 18th. A release date he shared with Kanye West and the late Mac Miller. Atlanta’s date was on the 12th, a small but communal night. You could feel a sense of togetherness amongst the people in that room.
Everyone that night naively believed he could challenge even Kanye. He wasn’t at superstardom level yet, but the base he built purchased merch, bought albums, showed up for concerts, all because they were loyal to him, a well-rounded southern rapper no one heard of before signing with JAY-Z and Roc Nation on February 13th, 2009.
Drake released So Far Gone that same month, on the 24th. Fast forward to June, The Warm Up, Cole’s first release as a Roc Nation artist, dropped on the 15th. Billboard announced Drake’s signing to Young Money with distribution through Universal Republic on the 30th. Drake had the red carpet introduction with three Lil Wayne features, a Trey Songz hook, and a bidding war from all the record labels. J. Cole’s arrival was quieter, less grandiose.
I always found that endearing about him. His story was essentially the American Rap Dream. Cole was from Fayetteville, North Carolina, and moved to New York City in hopes of a record deal. This identity changed with his third studio album, 2014 Forest Hills Drive.
He rewrote his narrative using this project to share a semi-autobiographical retelling of a small town boy who leaves home searching for stardom. Finding, on the other side, a cardboard city filled with plastic hearts, meaningless possessions, and “Love Yourz” as the revelation from his journey.
He may be the first rapper I remember who posed the question, “Do you wanna be happy?” to open an album. Unlike Kanye, who reinvented himself from college dropout to a God amongst men, J. Cole went in the reverse direction. Leaving the dream entirely. Shrinking his celebrity to be unattached and disengaged. The following albums, 4 Your Eyez Only and K.O.D., kept him rooted in a reality outside himself. These albums aren’t as strong, but they commit to a pivot that separates Cole before FHD and Cole after.
Watching him at Dreamville Fest, I couldn’t help but see him as the rapper JAY-Z signed and the one who let Nas down. The rapper who became the antithesis of Kanye in almost every way, but how Kanye cultivated his audience as a dropout who dreamed of rap stardom is what Cole has done better than most. Unlike Kanye, no one credits him as a genius in craft. His style of rap isn’t innovative. The critics like him, but never loved him.
Despite never gaining the acclaim of an exceptional artist, J. Cole was convincing. Able to make an audience trust that a dollar and a dream was enough to be a rap star, then showed them it could be done. When stardom came, he stripped away the glory and gold for silence and stillness. There’s been blunders, career hiccups, but he never lost the core built from those intimate shows, underground mixtapes, and countless fan engagement.
Talent, skill, a hit record, all that matters, but it doesn’t change the fact that careers are made on the backs of fanbases, and watching him build his, over the years, taught me the same important lessons that Kanye West did:
Make them believe and know when to change.