After contributing beats to some of NYC’s hottest rappers (Bodega Bamz, Tekashi69, Pro Era), producer Jordan Granados has released one of his own with, “Good Morning.” The track is Granados’ take on his favorite Kanye West Graduation cut, which holds the same title.

Listen to Jordan Granados’ track “Good Morning” below:

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Kanye West’s cryptic tweet from earlier in the week is still being debated. The date could be the arrival of baby KimYe, his new single, or anything in between. Regardless, a new Yeezy album is definitely on the way, if not this summer then certainly by the end of the year. Therefore, it’s only fitting to take some time to put Kanye’s previous efforts in perspective. You’d be hard-pressed to find many rappers who have amassed a stronger five-album catalogue than Mr. West, but even in a sea of great music, there are varying degrees of GOOD.

5) 808s & Heartbreak

Kanye’s genre-bending fourth album is undoubtedly his most polarizing. The loss of his mother put him in a place where he could not simply go in the booth and rap. He had other emotions he needed to convey, be it through singing, tribal drums, or arctic-cold soundscapes. The album’s most telling point comes on “Coldest Winter.” In contrast to the heart-warming “Hey Mama,” this record finds Kanye distraught and angry over the loss of his rock. Though not the album’s highlight, the song encapsulates 808s & Heartbreak perfectly: Kanye was attempting to work through his grief, regardless if it resulted in successful records.

4) Graduation

Graduation was the turning point for Kanye. Following two skit-heavy albums, he delivered a succinct 13 tracks. His rhymes were more polished and he was clearly more focused as an MC. The album was also the start of the more experimental Kanye we know today. However, he had a few misses on this album, and on a smaller tracklist, those misses are more noticeable. “Barry Bonds” was nowhere near the lyrical monster one might have thought it would be, as we were clearly on the way out of the Mixtape Weezy era. “Drunk and Hot Girls” not only sounded like the 2am ride-along music for all date rapists, it also broke up the flow of an otherwise very coherent project.

3) College Dropout

You don’t get a second chance at a first impression and Kanye certainly didn’t need one. At the time of College Dropout, he was a producer trying to make a name for himself as a rapper, crafting hit after hit to back up his bravado. College Dropout boasts several iconic Yeezy records, including “Jesus Walks” and “Workout Plan.” The most special thing, however, is the brief glimpses of vulnerability exhibited, like on “Through the Wire.” Kanye proved that he not only had the hit-making ability to get in the door, but that he also had the substance to stay.

2) Late Registration

While most people were quick to predict a sophomore slump for Kanye following a classic debut, he was once again prepared to prove everyone wrong. He showed up as a hungrier, more polished MC and still delivered radio hits, perhaps none bigger than “Gold Digger.” In retrospect, the tracklist is still bloated, especially with 4 skits, an intro, and an interlude. Not to mention Kanye was still getting lapped by big brother’s on the “Diamonds” remix. Nevertheless, Late Registration would prove to be the statement that Kanye West wasn’t going anywhere.

1) My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

By 2010, if Kanye West wasn’t public enemy #1 he was living right next door. He had incurred the wrath of every late night talk show, skit show and internet show following Swift-Gate. He was still grieving over losing his mother and he had ended a long relationship with Amber Rose. But, as is true with most artists, his best work comes out of suffering and tribulations: Kanye flew to Hawaii and crafted a masterpiece. With the help of an ensemble cast, we were privy to a darker, hyper-experimental Kanye West. He came across at once lost and right where he wanted to be. MBDTF is far from Yeezy’s biggest success on radio or the charts, but it connected with fans and critics alike. While some supporters still clamored for the return of the sample-loving, backpack-wearing Ye, the realists knew that version was long gone. “Power” was years of packed aggression in 5 minutes of venting. “Runaway” and “Blame Game” showcased that the vulnerability still lived in the man, yet he was growing as a person. “Monster,” “So Appalled” and “Gorgeous” proved that Kanye could rap his ass off in case anyone had forgotten. While MBDTF certainly lacked the radio hits and soul everyone came to expect from a Kanye West album, it replaced those with pain and triumph balled up into a frantic, maniacal opus.

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On his latest single, “Nobody’s Perfect,” J. Cole raps to an undergraduate biddie, “Take the weekend off and come home soon; I graduated way too long ago to be sneakin all in your dorm room…But baby where your roommates? Did you make sure the door’s locked?” Against the backdrop of abrasive dance beats and constant chatter surrounding hoes and money—or hoes looking like a bag of money—any Billboard Hot 100 single that offers something remotely different feels refreshing and worthy of some admiration. J. Cole’s ease spitting collegiate culture, writing on tropes that appeal to neither the rage of America’s most deprived nor the excesses of America’s most privileged, alludes to something American hip-hop music and its critics have often overlooked: the bourgeois rapper’s voice.

Attending college—the proverbial entrée into the middle-class—has never really been foreign to American hip-hop music. From Public Enemy’s Chuck D & Flavor Flav, who met while at Adelphi University, to Talib Kweli, who studied experimental theatre at New York University, to David Banner, who acted as the student government president at Southern University, countless rappers have sent Frisbees across the quad. But Public Enemy’s raps were more or less focused on mobilizing the downtrodden residents of America’s slums. Talib Kweli’s sorts of intellectual hip-hop certainly give a nod to the Black bourgie sensibility, but don’t really speak to the Black middle-class experience itself. As for David Banner, his half-naked, “work them hips” ladies can speak for themselves. The main point being that although rappers have come from that diploma-totting class, it wasn’t too audible in their raps.

Of course, Kanye West’s scholastic trilogy—College Dropout, Late Registration, Graduation—was probably the most obvious display of collegiate culture in the history of American hip-hop music. And it deserves recognition for boldly confronting the complex economic, social and cultural issues facing Black, university-aspiring youth, while warping the empty promises (read: employment) of a college education. But as much as the album titles may suggest a neat narrative, honestly the trilogy was only sprinkled with these moments, in songs here and there, mostly in skits. West largely mocked the University institution, as well as the Black adolescents who, as he seems to suggest, make a misguided choice to participate in it. College, for all intents and purposes, was the butt of West’s joke.

But in “Nobody’s Perfect,” J. Cole, who graduated magna cum laude from St. John’s University, willfully demonstrates his easy navigation of the coed life—the playful avoidance of dorm security, the open-door policy of on-campus undergrads—without any further comment. Nurtured by the college experience, J. Cole’s verse articulates it in earnest. Drake less directly displays his exceedingly middle-class upbringing on “Crew Love.” Rejecting the college route, he blithely raps, “I guess we’ll never know what Harvard gets us. But seeing my family have it all took the place of that desire for diplomas on the wall.” Drake basically trades his middle-class upbringing for the rises-from-the-ashes-of-the-ghetto story all too familiar to American hip-hop music, ironically putting a spotlight on his supremely bourgeois experience.

It is enticing to conclude that we are witnessing a more honest hip-hop milieu, one in which rappers need not bottle up their identities in order to fit the industry’s mold. But such censure would not be so fair to those who, like Chuck D, may not have bottled up anything at all, artists who chose simply to rap from more of a soapbox than a diary. Instead, the quad’s renewed presence in hip-hop verse may indicate a shift towards a more confessional hip-hop, one in which the artist him or herself becomes more visible. As dorms across the country are once-again trampled by hoards of the young, the horny, and the cerebral—all hopeful contenders for that coveted membership in the bourgeoisie—the day-to-day realities of American college life, and middle-class life at large, are finding a somewhat unexpected home in the rhymes of American hip-hop music. Who knows, we may even soon hear the woes of the young, the graduated, and the debt-ridden unemployed.

Benjamin Ratskoff is a contributing writer for respect-mag.com

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