2014 Forest Hills Drive might stand as J Cole’s magnum opus, but 4 Your Eyez Only doesn’t trail too far behind. At a time when surprise drops became the new norm—largely thanks to Drake’s If You’re Reading This and Beyoncé’s Lemonade—Cole took a confident artistic leap and delivered one of the most focused bodies of work of his career without notice. Songs like “Changes” are poignant reflections of systemic oppression, growing up in poverty, and the struggles the Black community faces, all while tying it together with the loss of his friend. Then, there are songs like “Neighbors,” from J Cole’s POV, detailing a raid on a residential home-turned-studio that was only targeted because the predominantly white neighbors couldn’t fathom having Black neighbors who created legitimate wealth through hard work and sacrifice. On 4 Your Eyez Only, Cole carved out a distinct lane where his confidence as a storyteller flourished beyond his lyrical tenacity. He’s always been an exceptional rapper, but hyperbolic bravado has never been his crutch. Instead, humility has been the backbone of his artistry.
Things changed in the aftermath of 4 Your Eyez Only. Once a hip-hop recluse, J. Cole returned with a vengeance. K.O.D. marked his return as he doubled down on his critique of the SoundCloud generation, silencing doubters while delivering a string of compelling features throughout 2018. His competitive spirit was evident, reminding listeners of his past as a college athlete whose passion for basketball mirrors his commitment to music. The Off-Season emphasized this athletic parallel even more, aligning him with MCs like Cam'ron who also share that competitive edge. Yet, despite the focus on proving his place in the game, Cole’s signature thoughtfulness remained at the core of his evolution. Both K.O.D. and The Off-Season revealed his increasingly complex worldview, particularly as he adapted to fame. Songs like “Kevin’s Heart,” which tells the story of a man battling temptation and guilt, mirrored the headline-grabbing scandal involving comedian Kevin Hart. These projects represented Cole’s calculated strategy: to establish his position not just with his dedicated fanbase but within the broader hip-hop elite.
With this renewed drive, the goal was clear: to cement himself among the greatest—GOATed in every aspect, with the numbers and catalog to back it up. A defining moment in this journey came with his verse on Benny The Butcher’s “Johnny P’s Caddy.” After a string of unexpected yet stellar collaborations, his long-awaited link-up with Benny felt like mutual validation. But the most impactful moment? Cole boldly proclaimed himself the “best rapper alive”—a statement Benny himself had no choice but to agree with.
This wasn’t the first time Cole made such a claim. On J.I.D’s “Off Deez” four years prior, he rapped, “N***as gon’ honor my name, boy, I’m a God in this game / Y’all n***as homonyms, sounding the same / Not in my lane, so I can’t complain.” And while it’s true he’s carved out a lane few can occupy, such talk inevitably stirs the pot. Let’s be real: hip-hop doesn’t operate in seasons like sports, where a bad year can be redeemed with a championship. Momentum can last months, a year, or even a lifetime, but a loss can haunt an artist indefinitely.
This year was disruptive for J Cole. Despite a run of impeccable projects and features that solidified his case as one of the greatest living rappers, external voices shifted the goalpost. Competition breeds confrontation, and hiding from it never makes for a compelling narrative. Perhaps Kendrick Lamar had something so devastating in the vault that Cole’s reputation would have suffered worse had he not bowed out of the battle. But let’s not forget—Cole once (allegedly) fought Puff Daddy on Kendrick’s behalf. That has to count for something, right?
Still, his recent actions have weakened his claim to greatness. Yet, according to Joe Budden, Cole is in the best position of his career following the release of his new single, “cLOUDs.” By stepping away from the feud, he’s found solace in avoiding the static. Unlike Drake, who spent the past year on the defensive, or Kendrick, whose moves are hyper-analyzed, Cole exists in a comfortable middle ground where he’s fueled by rapping about rapping and not his peers’ personal shortcomings. But that’s precisely the problem—his commitment to being the best has wavered.
This brings us to Joey Bada$$ and Freddie Gibbs—two formidable MCs who could stand toe-to-toe with Cole in lyrical warfare but not in streaming numbers or sales. But as Mal (co-founder of the Rory & Mal podcast and formerly of the Joe Budden Podcast) pointed out, no one wants to hear Cole talk about “turning artists into martyrs” when he backed out of his own battle. Drake turned him into a punchline; Kendrick dismissed his apology. Now, Gibbs and Joey are taunting him too. Gibbs put it bluntly on his burner Instagram page: “N***az be rapping about how they kill rappers and kill they careers and blah blah blah but he backing outta rap beefs.”
Cole needs some friction. As long as he’s riding bikes through New York or writing lyrics on the beach while war wages in hip-hop, this next portion of his career might risk becoming a “what if?” Budden is right—Cole is removed from the drama that dominated the year’s discourse. But on the flip side, he’s also removed from a conversation he once helped shape. At this point, his drive to be the best seems to have faded—he’s already bowed out of that fight.
The launch of his blog, The Algorithm, suggests he has more in store, though whether that means a new album remains to be seen. The recent string of releases, including "cLOUDs", feels like an attempt to return to normalcy but doesn't fully address the narratives that have followed him since "7 Minute Drill" and worsened after the cringe remix of “Grippy.” With The Fall Off reportedly being worked on (though not anywhere near being released, apparently), J Cole finds himself at a crossroads in his career. He now faces a choice: commit fully to his strengths as a storyteller or risk trying to reclaim the #1 spot after folding under pressure. The latter is a risky decision, especially when competing against artists who have more to gain. His approval rating could be worse, but it could also improve. Ultimately, a redemption arc, stemming from his devastating forfeit and the lackluster attempts to shake it off, is the only way J Cole can salvage the next leg of his career from being ridiculed. After all, nothing fuels a comeback better than a bit of bad PR.
