Ten years since the release of his third studio album, 2014 Forest Hills Drive, North Carolina rapper and singer-songwriter Jermaine “J. Cole” Coleman has dropped a slew of more number-one and platinum-selling LPs, an undertaking whose glory was further immortalised by his legendary killer guest verse streak straight after exiting his no-features era. Keeping true to his words about no longer wanting to let his music rot in the vault, the Big Three’s most conflict-averse member let loose eight never-heard-before songs which didn’t make the cut for the final record of his Grammy-nominated 2014 project.
With this new yet old cache of songs lasting half an hour, it’s not difficult to understand why this collection of tunes didn’t quite fit the final lineup which went to the shelves. Little has to do with the production, which vacillates between pseudo-hardcore hip-hop tailored for pretentious bravado-inflamed performances (“Black Man in Hollywood” and “Winter Wonderland”) and beats which are either threadbare or altogether stripped down to imbue the extension of the album with subtle hues of soul and R&B, as on “Die Together” and “Obviously”.
J. Cole | SUPPLIED
On a melodic level, the FHD‘s anniversary pack lilts with fledgling harmonies. The double Grammy winner flexes his singing wings, a consistency evident in singles such as “Apparently” and “Love Yourz”, where his vocals were polished and their capabilities extruded just enough to crank out emotionally resonant hit records. And, brazenly enough, he pretty much takes flight on “Obviously”; however, this is without getting too much air before the gravity of reality sends him plummeting: the reality that his pipes, back then, could neither match the par set by the album nor maintain the quality of his songs by adding euphonic value to the strength of his rapped verses. With these castaways, Cole is just as ambitious as on the songs which ended up becoming constituents of the original FHD.
Lyrically, Jermaine’s octet is written anthology-style with painterly storytelling. With detailed verbal vignettes, Coleman narrates unrelated tales with obscure characters ranging from a drug-dealing father with lofty dreams for his daughter before the story’s tragic ending (“Die Together”) to a young man living with his mother and on her prayers before he is caught by the cops after getting on the wrong side of the law (“Home Soon”).
J. Cole | SUPPLIED
Woven from internal and poly-syllabic rhyme patterns, simplistic songwriting without too many technical frills, and dynamic flow switches, the anniversary collection may be an unfocused bundle of tracks, but they aren’t without any writerly and substantial merit. Moreover, the narratives on this one are heavier, exploring existentialism, fatherhood, being and becoming, as well as the inescapable fate of loss that befalls everyone. The standard FHD was a serious record in its moments but there were musical farts of silly games here and there for comic relief. Relative to it, this collection is more sober and certainly less jestful. If the humour’s there, its best shot isn’t enough to elicit even a chuckle.
Having evolved over the years into one of the game’s finest pens, there’s little to be gleaned from this bunch of previously unreleased songs. Like a trip down the street where one grew up before relocating after getting older, this edition of FHD is for nostalgia. Nothing new here. After all, the Fayetteville superstar has done it all and then some. However, there are relics of intimacy and soul even in these fragments of the past which are reminders that the Dreamville head honcho was always destined to be one of the modern greats after enough time had passed for the qualification.
