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- J. Cole regretted releasing “7 Minute Drill,” dissing Kendrick Lamar.
- Hip-hop is built on competition, tracing back to Black oral traditions and New York street gangs.
- Some rap media pundits have surprisingly sided with Cole’s apology, shifting the conversation to self-care.
In 2013, J. Cole released a tribute to his favorite rapper, “Let Nas Down.” This weekend, he made another confession: He let Kendrick Lamar down.
While onstage for his annual Dreamville Festival in his native North Carolina last weekend, Cole expressed regret for releasing “7 Minute Drill,” in what was widely interpreted as a diss record to his former friend, two days before. Despite the song’s nomenclature, it was a three-minute and 30-second response to Kendrick’s terse verse on “Like That,” where he aimed at Cole and Drake.
On his song, Cole harangued Kendrick for having a lackluster catalog and claimed that he had bested him with his recent impressive run/
“Your first shit was classic, your last shit was tragic/Your second shit put niggas to sleep, but they gassed it/ Your third shit was massive, and that was your prime/ I was trailin’ right behind, and I just now hit mine.”
The diss more about how Kendrick’s albums — the polarizing “To Pimp A Butterfly” and “Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers” — were received by critics and fans was more of a light jab than a total knockout.
Fans expected, and almost wished, that Cole would up the ante in front of thousands in his home state just like Jay-Z aired out his adversaries in 2001 at Hot 97’s Summer Jam with “Takeover.”
Instead, Cole went on a remorseful monologue about being pressured to release “7 Minute Drill” and confessed he was already ready to wave the white flag despite throwing out the first shots, with his verse on the aptly-named “First Person Shooter.”
“It’s one part of that shit that makes me feel like, man, that’s the lamest shit I did in my fuckin’ life, right? And I know this is not what a lot of people want to hear,” the 39-year-old lamented.
Actually, the apology and the aftermath were the lamest shit, Cole.
The hip-hop class Cole skipped: Fight night
Getty/Tim Mosenfelder
Hip-hop is built on competition, harkening back to its origins in Black oral traditions—such as “playing the dozens”—to New York City, where rival street gangs gave way to breakdancers, DJs, and emcees.
“Competition fueled the whole thing,” DJ Kool Herc, hip-hop’s godfather, said in Jeff Chang’s 2005 history chronicle, “Can’t Stop Won’t Stop.”
Hip-hop, unlike other musical genres, has fight in its DNA. Throughout its 50-year history, rappers have barked, battled, and knocked their way up to the crown, leading to ferocious battles between heavyweights, neophytes, record labels, and regions. It’s been so rife with conflict that even friends, like Jay-Z and The Notorious BIG, would spar (in a brotherly way) on tracks.
Every era has its match-ups: Biggie v. Tupac in the East Coast-West Coast rivalry; Jay v. Nas for the King of New York throne; and Jeezy v. Gucci Mane for trap superiority. Cole, Kendrick, and Drake grew up bopping their heads to these battles and ostensibly studying and admiring them.
Kendrick superiority
Taylor Hill/Getty Images
Kendrick has long drawn a line between himself and his closest rap peers.
“Motherfuck the big three, n—, it’s just big me,” he barked on “Like That,” a collaboration with Future and producer Metro Boomin, released last month.
With his ferocious delivery and one of the strongest discographies in hip-hop, despite what Cole intimated, Kendrick has been the one to beat for a long time.
Kendrick released a haymaker verse on 2013’s “Control” and boasted he was the best in class. “I got love for you all, but I’m tryna murder you n—s,” he rapped, “What is competition? I’m tryna raise the bar high.”
Since that feature on Big Sean’s record, there have been subliminals from all sides but no direct shots, which is unfortunate, given how well-matched Cole, Kendrick, and Drake are as contemporaries. For whatever reason, Kendrick is rap’s boogeyman, and everyone is afraid to say his name.
Until now, but look how that played out.
Rap media pundits have weighed in and, some surprisingly, sided
with Cole forfeiting. The discussion has gone from an exciting rap battle and respect for sportsmanship to male therapy and self-care.
“My timeline is full of people not understanding what Cole did,” Hot 97’s Peter Rosenberg wrote on X, formerly known as Twitter. “Cole’s energy didn’t feel right on that song and he knew it. He’s a good man.”
Even Charlamagne Tha God, the consummate celebrity needler, gave the rapper grace. “The rap fan in me understands the disappointment many of you feeling, but the man in me who understands the spiritual being living a human existence has nothing but respect for J. Cole,” he said on “The Breakfast Club.”
Funny: J. Cole had no problems going up against female rapper No Name on “Snow on Tha Bluff” in 2020 (and he doubled down on his song by writing on X, “Morning. I stand behind every word of the song that dropped last night”) or against Kanye West on “False Prophets” in 2016, back when he had something to prove.
Surrendering sets a precedent for rewarding participation with trophies. Rappers have become so consumed with being bros, worried about offending their political connections, and cozying up for selfies on Instagram that the lifeblood has been drained from hip-hop in recent years (the notable exception is female rappers, who have remained doggedly competitive).
Hot 97’s Ebro Darden agrees, writing in part on X, “You can’t EVER be considered THE BEST of a generation in rap after playing your cards this way.”
If fans want the next 50 years of hip-hop to be great, the greatest artists need to step up. Don’t let hip-hop down.
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