Photo by Callie Richmond for ATG.
Been listening to lots of The Warm Up, J. Cole's 2009 mixtape. Cole is an emerging voice in hip-hop by default as the first artist signed to Jay-Z's new imprint, Roc Nation, and it made sense to test the waters. ATG's visual assassin, photographer Callie Richmond, sang his praises during South by Southwest and I thought he did an admirable job as Jay's arena opener. He's an XXL Freshman, a blog mainstay, respected and name-dropped by important people. It's becoming increasingly difficult to ignore Cole's career.
Believe me, I tried.
I smugly dismissed the work as derivative, opportunistic bullshit from
a silver-spooned rapper. There was every reason to: the mixtape is
called The Warm Up and its tracklist includes vanilla titles like "Dreams"; his ill-advised verse on The Blueprint III was a disrespectful ascent and difficult to accept and said verse wasn't particularly interesting; the tape's art features Cole standing in the rain holding a basketball looking like a member of O-Town.
But I slept.
The Warm Up is transparent, blue collar, stuffed with warmhearted shout outs to family, well-paced and produced, ripe with zingers and generally an exemplary, four star release. Oh, and the social commentary is pointed and welcome.
"My mind's elsewhere/my mom's health care," Cole snarls on "I Get Up," the point when his identity crystallizes. He's a young, educated guy with perspective. He's loyal and responsible, excited to "put chains on my niggas like I own slaves." He's about being a father.
Cole takes frequent jabs at absentee dads, actually. On tape centerpiece, "Lights Please," there's resonating stingers like, "It's a shame how niggas blame hoes for giving birth to a baby that took two to make coward nigga you a fake." On this reflective gem Cole's strengths are front and center: his narration is on point, his semi-sung chorus is soulful and wounded, there's a big fat moral compass guiding dude's material and it's all brought together by a winding, hardworking flow. Not surprisingly, "Lights Please" reportedly inspired Jay-Z to sign Cole.
Where contemporaries like Drake have an overwhelming drive for fame and rap about fame's intricacies left and right, Cole's worker bee bars rap for the ever-intangible respect metric. Where Drizzy's ties to, say, women are loose and about the moment, Cole's commitment to romance and monogamy in his music is a left field attribute for rap but an admirable one. On a February freestyle over Common's "Go," he keeps it real: "didn't even get to watch the All-Star game/had to do the old Valentine's Day thing/had to make some plans so my lady wouldn't complain."
The conscious elements leave him at home with mid-level, critically beloved lyrical dudes like Phonte (both of whom call North Carolina home), Skyzoo and Elzhi, but neither of the aforementioned are anointed sultans-in-waiting for Jay-Z's throne. The Warm Up dropped in the wake of the Jay-Z endorsement and I expected bullish rants and entitled club bangers. Cole applies restraint and taste.
Cole's jacked beats invigorate proverbial real hip-hop standards and come from a learned corner. He wrecks Hova's "Dead Presidents," Talib Kweli's "Get By," Big Boi's "Royal Flush," and in less voluntary fashion LL Cool J's "I Shot Ya" remix live on New York radio, complete with in-the-moment station DJ reactions.
Cole is slated to drop his Roc Nation debut this summer. There's every reason to pay attention.
- Ramon Ramirez
But I slept.
The Warm Up is transparent, blue collar, stuffed with warmhearted shout outs to family, well-paced and produced, ripe with zingers and generally an exemplary, four star release. Oh, and the social commentary is pointed and welcome.
"My mind's elsewhere/my mom's health care," Cole snarls on "I Get Up," the point when his identity crystallizes. He's a young, educated guy with perspective. He's loyal and responsible, excited to "put chains on my niggas like I own slaves." He's about being a father.
Cole takes frequent jabs at absentee dads, actually. On tape centerpiece, "Lights Please," there's resonating stingers like, "It's a shame how niggas blame hoes for giving birth to a baby that took two to make coward nigga you a fake." On this reflective gem Cole's strengths are front and center: his narration is on point, his semi-sung chorus is soulful and wounded, there's a big fat moral compass guiding dude's material and it's all brought together by a winding, hardworking flow. Not surprisingly, "Lights Please" reportedly inspired Jay-Z to sign Cole.
Where contemporaries like Drake have an overwhelming drive for fame and rap about fame's intricacies left and right, Cole's worker bee bars rap for the ever-intangible respect metric. Where Drizzy's ties to, say, women are loose and about the moment, Cole's commitment to romance and monogamy in his music is a left field attribute for rap but an admirable one. On a February freestyle over Common's "Go," he keeps it real: "didn't even get to watch the All-Star game/had to do the old Valentine's Day thing/had to make some plans so my lady wouldn't complain."
The conscious elements leave him at home with mid-level, critically beloved lyrical dudes like Phonte (both of whom call North Carolina home), Skyzoo and Elzhi, but neither of the aforementioned are anointed sultans-in-waiting for Jay-Z's throne. The Warm Up dropped in the wake of the Jay-Z endorsement and I expected bullish rants and entitled club bangers. Cole applies restraint and taste.
Cole's jacked beats invigorate proverbial real hip-hop standards and come from a learned corner. He wrecks Hova's "Dead Presidents," Talib Kweli's "Get By," Big Boi's "Royal Flush," and in less voluntary fashion LL Cool J's "I Shot Ya" remix live on New York radio, complete with in-the-moment station DJ reactions.
Cole is slated to drop his Roc Nation debut this summer. There's every reason to pay attention.
- Ramon Ramirez
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