2013 was a high for hip-hop. Almost every major artist released an album; the masters (Jay Z, Eminem, Kanye West, Lil Wayne), the leaders of the new school (Drake, J.Cole, Big Sean, Mac Miller, Wale, A$AP Rocky) and the rising stars (Action Bronson, Danny Brown, Chance The Rapper, A$AP Ferg, French Montana) all showed out, and many of them impressed.  With the abundance of music came the quick reviews that were short in content and vague in description, not to mention their questionable ratings. A frustrated J. Cole, who’d just released Born Sinner, notably tweeted, “Your 1 listen reviews are f*cking up hip hop.” Granted, there was a lot of material to sift through, and reactions naturally happen quickly, but Cole had a valid point. Even with core fans standing in long lines and waiting until midnight to purchase an album online, a quick review and a single tweet can change the opinions of thousands within minutes. Specifically speaking on Born Sinner, it was nearly impossible to absorb each layer of the album’s content in one listen. It would have taken multiple listens just to grasp the core of the project. Having been released a little over a year ago, we now have had the time to get a better sense of the album’s full scope, including taking more notice to tracks that were overlooked.

Born Sinner takes an invasive look at the unknown side of recognition and fame in the music industry, taking special note of Cole’s access to materialistic pleasures. The album is dark, but not overly depressing or exhausting. It’s relatable, yet complex–a direct reflection of Cole’s soul, which lends reality to the different perspectives on pressure. Cole often uses themes of duality, hence the halo and horns found in his logos and cover art of the album. Born Sinner features duality play on topics such as money, power, relationships and fame. Album-opening “Villuminati” sets the tone of the album, with Cole stating, “It’s way darker this time.” Metaphorically, he’s fighting his way through a new class of hell as he swears to never sell out to mainstream again with singles like “Work Out” (the song that “let down” Queens’ finest).

Please forgive him

According to the preacher man he needs Jesus in him
But the Devil run the T.V. so the demons in him
I’m in trouble
Did a deal with the Devil, now I’m pleading with him
Like give me my soul”

Re-adjustin’ my target audience
Cause it’s obvious
I’ve gone astray

Two of the album’s most overlooked cuts are the “Kerney Sermon” skit and “LAnd of The Snakes.” Both are strategically placed as they allude to the false words and images of the rap industry. “Kerney Sermon” places emphasis on a hustler’s mentality to defraud the masses, while “LAnd of The Snakes” finds Cole being warned of people with ill intentions, eventually reflecting on a time where he was in the role of the snake.

Of course “Power Trip,” featuring Miguel, was the album’s brightest star on the radio, but this is where Cole learns to play the game to win. The song’s double meaning of love for a girl and love hip-hop was sure to move swiftly over some heads, but its radio-friendly production and catchy chorus was a platinum win for Cole.

Perhaps the hardest cut and least talked about was “Mo Money.” Coming in at just over 1 minute, Cole spells out angles from which money is the “root of all evil,” illustrating the control it has on society. The greatest hidden gem, though, is “Runaway.” Cole finds himself asking reflective questions about being selfish or selfless in a long-term relationship while dealing with money and attention. The duality comes in with verse three, as he connects slavery in the past to everyone being enslaved in the current day.

Continuing that theme, Cole describes being enslaved by materialistic wealth, specifically a chain in “Chaining Day.” Borrowing from the Denzel Washington movie “Training Day,” he dives into the part of himself seeking constant approval and what’s unearthed is less than desirable: “This chain that I bought, you mix greed, pain and fame, this is heinous result.” While “Crooked Smile” featuring TLC took the album to a lighter and happier note, the disc finds its way back to a low point on the most talked about track, “Let Nas Down.” Here, Cole self-pityingly laments his aforementioned industry sin (“Work Out”).

The last and final track, (excluding the deluxe version,) is “Born Sinner”–in essence, it is the acknowledgment and acceptance of J. Cole as an artist. Born Sinner is an album for the day 1 fans, and for those willing to invest time and intellect into Cole. He held on to his artistic integrity and core beliefs while furthering his purpose for being in the rap game. Looking back, this album has settled fairly well. It displays his artistic growth on a lyrical and musical level. Some of the strongest songs might’ve been overlooked in reviews, but the fans always know. Just as he found the light of his own artistry amidst the industry’s dark, his project has found light from adoring and attentive fans in spite of the shadow cast by reactionary reviews. On Born Sinner, Cole found an opportunity to write his way out of tension and pressure in order to create a fantastic body of work.

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Cole World: The Sideline Story introduced the [commercial] world to an artist who had frustratingly watched his career remain stagnant from the periphery of a major label. It was not an awful debut, but compared to his previous projects, especially Friday Night Lights,  Sideline Story was characterized by some very frustrating internal tensions. While J was supposed to be recounting how he made it into the game from the sidelines, he too frequently looked back at the bench, nearly convincing the listener that that was where he actually belonged. In fact, at the album’s lowest points, he would rap as if he actually was on that bench (See: “Can’t Get Enough”). Born Sinner bring us a J. Cole who has exorcised that specific self-doubt and is now playing the game, skills on full display.

This new found confidence should propel Cole to dizzying heights, but he rarely soars, even when his home-brewed instrumentals give him quite the lift. For instance, on “Trouble,” he dwells on his problems with the ladies while a choir and anxious synths triumphantly blare in the background. It’s a powerful instrumental, but Cole seems scared to match its demands; he languidly alludes to “Set it Off” on the chorus and he raps with clear hesitation in the verses. Why is he holding back? The answer is unclear, but it almost seems as if he doesn’t believe he can do better.

On “Let Nas Down,” one of the most self-deprecating rap songs of the past decade, Cole laments over Nas’ negative reaction to his song “Workout.” Rapping, “Long live the idols, may they never be your rivals,” he works himself up over having disappointed Nas. It’s a strange song, not only because Cole seems genuinely distraught, but because he alludes to Kanye‘s relationship with Jay-Z in the chorus. It’s well-known that Kanye earnestly tried to impress Jay-Z for years, but Kanye used Jay-Z’s indifference as fuel; for Cole, Nas‘ reaction is a solid defeat. Of course, Kanye has a bigger ego than J. Cole, but at one point Cole endorses the adage, “Play the game to change the game.” If that’s the case, letting Nas down is something he should have always been ready for: since it comes with playing the game it should result in overtime, not forfeit.

Cole‘s battle with confidence isn’t always a setback. On “Rich Niggaz” and “Mo Money,” he uses his self-doubts to contextualize his wealth relative to “old money.” This contrast  isn’t new for rap or even rich blacks (Chris Rock has a funny bit on the racial dynamics of his neighborhood), but Cole occupies new ground when he is even willing to contextualize the dizzying wealth of Jay-Z, his label overlord. Cole is a millionaire and Jay-Z is a multi-millionaire, but there are people with even more money than Jay-Z! It’s an obvious point, but Jay-Z is the rap elite, so Cole‘s attention to the elite above the rap elite is refreshing. In the words of Saul Williams, “It’s bigger than rap.”

Interestingly, Cole is at his best when he reaches out beyond rap. On “She Knows,” which features Amber Coffman of Dirty Projectors, Cole transforms her soft voice into an ectoplasmic yet soulful whimper. Similar wonders are worked on “Forbidden Fruit,” which features Kendrick Lamar. On paper, this collaboration looks like either a rap blogger’s wet dream or a label’s obvious attempt to make a radio song, but the prodigious pair elects to swim in uncharted waters. Drinking from the same “Mystic Brew” that fueled A Tribe Called Quest‘s “Electric Relaxation,” they produced a whisper of a track that features Kendrick  “lyrically humming.” It’s a brave choice that is only bested by “Power Trip,” an airy track that reunites Cole and Miguel for another reflection on love and its whims.

In the end, Born Sinner is an album that beats the sophomore slump, but it still showcases a J. Cole who is haunted by his own doubts, albeit new ones. Without a doubt, self-doubt can be a useful muse: Joe Budden‘s Mood Muzik series is all about transforming his self-doubt into music that expresses his demons in ways that his actions can’t. J. Cole’s wrestles with his doubts just aren’t quite as productive, at least not lyrically. His production work is top tier, but his lyrics and even the earnestness with which he delivers them, frequently fall short, almost as if he’s giving into his doubts. Given his progression since Sideline Story, for his next go-round, he should be able to either overcome or undermine his doubts. In other words, a three-peat is doubtful.

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