Jermaine Cole, who performs under the stage name J. Cole, uploaded a video on Instagram announcing his final album on Jan. 14. The Fall-Off, released Friday, brings the North Carolina rapper’s career to a close in grand fashion, featuring 24 tracks and a run time of almost two hours. Though several thoughtful highlights shine through, Cole repeatedly undermines his own ambition by bloating his final act with some of the most wince-inducing missteps of his career.
The concept for The Fall-Off centers around two trips Cole made to his hometown of Fayetteville, N.C., at different points in his career. On “Disc 29,” Cole raps from the perspective of his 29-year-old self returning home with newfound success, while “Disc 39” contains reflections based on a return 10 years later. On both legs, Cole makes his most powerful statements when he leans into his storytelling ability, making creative use of perspective.
On “SAFETY,” the most beautifully produced song on the album, Cole assumes the perspective of a hometown friend calling to catch up. “The Fall-Off is Inevitable” tells the story of the rapper’s life in reverse, opening on the image of a hearse and ending in the hospital where he was born. Cole uses the unique concept to conjure thought-provoking visuals as he watches himself ask, “Do I?” at his wedding and witnesses his father coming into his life. Warm guitar textures and dynamic saxophone flourishes reinforce the intimacy of “Quik Stop,” a gorgeously written vignette of an interaction with a fan whose fervor blew Cole away.
“This life is more than just rap, more than the bitches you scrape,” Cole raps. “More than the riches you stack, see, it’s the difference you make.”
The Fall-Off’s most abrasive blunders come when Cole makes personnel and style decisions that step outside of his strengths. Future’s auto-crooned vocals, featured on “Run A Train” and “Bunce Road Blues,” turn solidly produced songs into train-wrecks. Cole’s singing attempts, an unwelcome staple on both the album’s discs, fall similarly flat, especially when he moans “I be texting you, texting you” over a stock trap beat on “Legacy.” “The Let Out” marks the marathon’s rock bottom with an overproduced rap-rock crossover whose tasteless guitar infusions might be tolerable if not for its equally obnoxious chorus.
Mercifully, Cole unloads most of The Fall-Off’s wayward experiments on “Disc 29.” “Disc 39” refocuses the introspection central to the album’s purpose, with Cole using his more experienced persona to rap about his past with nuance and wisdom. Reaffirming love for his city, his family and hip-hop as a whole, Cole steers his jumbled swan song into an emotional farewell. Still, the lack of direction and ugly lowlights early in the tracklist make arriving at the finish line a test of patience.
With The Fall-Off, Cole succeeds in giving fans a few tracks that serve as reminders of what made him so beloved as an artist. This isn’t a dumpster-fire sendoff à la The Clash’s Cut the Crap. The record’s messy conception, however, relegates one of contemporary hip-hop’s most influential voices to a clumsy and, at times, embarrassing exit.
2 ½ Wet Dreamz out of 5
