★★★★⯪
For years, ‘The Fall-Off’ existed more as an idea than an album. The title carried weight long before any music arrived, framed as a possible closing chapter or at least a moment of reckoning for an artist who has spent his career balancing mainstream success with introspection. First teased back in 2018 with ‘1985 (Intro to "The Fall Off)’ on ‘KOD’, the project slowly came to life through years of hints, a handwritten “The Fall Off Era” roadmap shared in 2020, and a series of releases positioned as steps towards the final statement.
Now, after a long build-up and a significant gap between his major projects, J. Cole’s long-awaited ‘The Fall-Off’ has finally arrived, shifting the conversation from anticipation to interpretation. Rather than presenting a dramatic decline or farewell, the album reads like a conversation between two versions of Cole, each reflecting different stages of identity, ambition and acceptance.
Structured across two discs, ‘The Fall-Off’ explores contrasting perspectives. The first is urgent and competitive, with Cole focused on technical skills and lyrical precision. The second slows the place, leaning into reflection, family and philosophical themes. Across both, the overarching concern is not about providing dominance in the rap game but about reconciling past ambitions with current realities, with the dual-disc structure allowing listeners to experience that evolution in real time.
Disc 29
The album opens with ‘29 Intro’, a concise track lasting less than a minute. It features the friendly chatter and laughs of loved ones over a sample of James Taylor’s country classic ‘Carolina in My Mind’, connecting J. Cole to his North Carolina upbringing. Listening to the backing lyrics and calm guitar riffs, Taylor is singing about his longing to return to his childhood home in the same state, hinting at a nostalgic theme to Cole’s album. Yet, three gunshots and distressing yells interrupts the peaceful introduction, giving fans a false sense of hope, whilst indicating that the "old" J. Cole is about to be heard once more.
‘Two Six’ shifts the mood straight away, moving from the peaceful intro into something more familiar and rhythm-driven. Cole sounds more locked in here, like he’s reminding you he can still rap with precision, but there’s a reflective edge running underneath the confidence. It doesn’t stay in one place; by the end, the energy softens and warms, which changes how the earlier verses feel when they're looked back on.
‘SAFETY’ hits next, and immediately pulls you back home. You can picture Cole walking through the streets he grew up on, slipping into voices of old friends talking around him. The jazzy notes and ‘90s-inspired vibe drifts under his lines, and for a moment it feels warm, like catching up after years apart, until you notice the weight behind some of the lyrics - loss, absence, the passage of time.
‘Run A Train’ brings Future into Cole’s world. His voice comes in on the hook, a little loose against Cole’s sharper lines. Cole’s verses land with punchlines and references that make you smirk, while the beat bounces like a familiar '90's underground track. There’s nostalgia here again, but also a reminder that Cole has grown past some of the streets and stories that he's revisiting.
‘Poor Thang’ hits harder. Cole is aggressive, calling out rivals and critics in a way that feels personal. The three verses let him build tension, and by the last stretch he’s close to venting, every word clipped and deliberate. The sample of Boosie Badazz’s Southern rap anthem ‘Set It Off’ adds flavour: although a little out of place, it works oddly well with the mood.
‘Legacy’ slows down and softens. Cole’s voice carries more melody than before. You can feel him thinking about the past, relationships and decisions he can’t take back. There’s melancholy in the way he lingers on certain lines, as though he's whispering thoughts to himself while looking out a window at memories passing by.
‘Bunce Road Blues’ comes next and features a lot of voices at once. Future starts with his usual swagger, with Tems joining; her vocals warm and smooth, pulling the song towards something spiritual. Twisting between jazzy sections (courtesy of The Alchemist’s production feature) and harder edges, Cole moves from reflection to energy effortlessly.
‘WHO TF IZ U’ is darker and Cole’s words are sharper, like he’s testing the limits of how he can move above the sound. The chants stick in your head, and he sounds serious about proving he still has it, not bragging but reminding. The lines “While they was masterin’ scales like they learnin’ jazz || I was makin’ sure they refer to my first and last || Name, Jermaine Cole, with Hall of Fame flows” highlights the reputation he has built for himself, making it land as a flex. Whilst others in his hometown were “masterin’ scales” - in other words, dealing drugs - he was busy perfecting his rap and flow so that his name would be known all over the world. You can feel the intensity in every line.
‘Drum n Bass’ feels steady but deliberate. Its rhythm flows like water, and Cole slips in tiny details that make you listen closer. Nothing explodes suddenly; everything grows from the beat with precision: the way he counts syllables and pauses for just long enough. It’s smooth but demanding, in a quiet way.
‘The Let Out’ drops you into a late-night scene.You hear people leaving a spot, the air thick with tension and chatter. Cole narrates it like he’s walking behind the crowd, noticing things others miss, wondering if he’ll get out okay. The sense of unease is allowed breathe through the track.
‘Bombs in the Ville/Hit the Gas’ switches gears. A familiar sample gives it a playful edge, and the beat flips halfway. Cole’s delivery loosens and tunes creep in, almost teasing. There’s a balance of fun and reflection, a conversation with himself about who he was and who he’s become.
‘Lonely at the Top’ closes Disc 29 quietly and honestly. Cole raps, “Their greatest hits fill up my playlist”, showing he's fondly thinking about the past and as music clears, leaving room for him to muse in isolation, watching peers lose fire while he continues moving. It’s confessional, the kind of track you sit with, letting the words sink in without rush.
Disc 39
‘39 Intro’ opens the second disc gently, then builds tension. Cole’s voice comes in measured, older, but still sharp. The contrast with the first intro is immediately obvious - you can feel the years in his tone, the experience that shapes the way he shifts across the music. It’s familiar yet different.
‘The Fall-Off is Inevitable’ plays like a backwards glance at life. He moves from imagining his end to early beginnings, and you catch little details that make the story vivid: funerals, deals, mentors. The pace holds him firm, never rushing, letting you follow along as he folds past and present into one line of thought. It’s technical but feels personal, like a story he’s telling aloud.
‘The Villest’ has Erykah Badu’s voice floating in and out softly and sentimentally. Cole’s verses reference old-school artists he grew up with without feeling like a history lesson. The rhythm carries it, Badu’s presence warms it, and it somehow connects the music he loved with the music he’s making now.
‘Old Dog’ brings Petey Pablo, and it’s high-spirited right away. Cole raps about home, old friends, and North Carolina pride, while Petey Pablo matches him with ease. Driving forward, the track feels like a celebration; a little messy, alive, and real.
‘Life Sentence’ leans reflectively. You hear the weight in Cole’s voice as he talks about choices, consequences, and relationships. The tempo is calm, letting his thoughts come through without needing anything flashy. It feels lived-in, thoughtful, and mature.
‘Only You’, featuring Burna Boy, hits delicately as Cole is honest and tender, and Burna Boy’s vocals add a global, emotional shimmer. It’s one of the tracks that sticks with you, for the intimacy and the feeling that Cole is letting himself open up more than usual.
‘Man Up Above’ drifts into a lighter, thoughtful space. “He even threw some gospel on his playlist” is likely appreciation for Marvin Sapp, the gospel singer who features on this track. The airy production leaves space for Cole to think out loud, to question, and to pause. It’s quiet but heavy in meaning, like catching someone mid-thought.
‘I Love Her Again’ has a composed, storytelling pace. Cole’s words feel like a rhythmic letter. You hear his affection for hip hop, his growth, and his small regrets.
‘What If’ imagines roads not taken. Cole plays with scenarios, people, and choices in a way that feels lax but attentive. The track's pulse is simple, letting the words land. You can hear him smiling, considering what could have been.
‘Quik Stop’ picks up the tempo briefly with short bursts of lines and snapshots of life. It doesn’t overstay its welcome, just lasting long enough to break the reminiscent state before the end of the album.
‘and the whole world is the Ville’ circles back to home: steady, melodic, and grounded, Cole’s voice carries the feeling of place, roots, and identity. You hear him tie the album together without saying it outright.
‘Ocean Way’ closes tacitly. The music fades slowly, and Cole’s words feel calm and accepting. There’s no grand finale, no dramatic exit - just a settling in, a sense that the album is a story that continues past the speakers.
By the end, the album feels like a long conversation with itself. The first half is ambitious, while the second is reflective and warm, showing growth without losing the skill and confidence that defines J. Cole as an artist. The features from other artists and producers add dimension without taking the spotlight, letting the story remain entirely his. Both discs, although presenting contrasting emotions and moods, exist side by side, creating a sense of evolution and continuity.
‘The Fall-Off’ is not a farewell - it’s a recap of J. Cole's life and career whilst he’s trying to find who he is in real time.
Top five tracks: ‘Legacy’, ‘Bunce Road Blues’, ‘Drum n Bass’, ‘Only You’, ‘I Love Her Again’
Lily Howard
Image: ‘The Fall-Off’ Album Cover