J. Cole’s “What If” Invokes Rap’s Greatest Beef to (Maybe) Address His Own
There’s no shame in admitting it: You pressed play on J. Cole’s new album anticipating some bars, a verse, maybe even a full song about The Beef That Almost Was. In addition to being a new release from one of the few hip-hop stars who still exerts a monocultural gravitational pull on the game, in addition to about seven years of hype wherein he eventually billed it as his “last album,” the third layer of intrigue surrounding J. Cole’s long-awaited project The Fall-Off was if and how he would address what happened in 2024, when he engaged in a war of words with Kendrick Lamar only to wave a white flag before the missiles started flying, and the ways in which that decision has dominated the conversation about his career and persona since.
Cole himself lightly stoked these flames, first on an appetizer mixtape last week where he acknowledged the change in perception around him several times. Then, in a note explaining The Fall-Off’s concept, he revealed that Disc 2 of the double-disc album is written from the perspective of and events during the year he turned 39… the year 2024. (Disc 1 is written from the perspective of 2014 Cole, the year he made the album that cemented him in rap’s A-list.)
Inevitably—perhaps refreshingly, I can’t decide yet on one listen—Cole zigzagged on us. Despite a stray line here and there (like “Never in my life did I think I’d see the day where n-ggas wanna play with my name” on “39 Intro”), Cole doesn’t dwell on The Beef. But he does dedicate a full track on Disc 2, “What If”, to the most infamous feud the genre has ever seen—and in the process, maybe makes a commentary on his own situation.
Never one to shy away from a concept, “What If” goes full Marvel Cinematic Universe and imagines an alternate history where Biggie and 2Pac defuse their tension before it escalates and ends with both of their untimely deaths. As even a casual rap historian knows, BIG and Pac were friends in the early years before outside forces, influences and events ratcheted up Pac’s paranoia and led him to view BIG as an enemy. In Cole’s universe, Pac releases his scorching diss track “Hit Em Up,” but in its wake Biggie reaches out to try to clear the air; verse one is a letter to Pac written from Biggie’s perspective. On verse 2, Cole goes full Makaveli-flow and imagines a hot-headed Pac cooling down and accepting BIG’s olive branch, against his own impulses.
It’s a concept that could be conceived of and exist on its own merit. But it’s not exactly a reach to see this narrative, where two of the greatest rappers and once-friends rise above the sensationalism and put their brotherhood above bloodsport, as Cole’s roundabout way of explaining the mindset that led to an apology a good portion of rap fans still grimace at. Lines like “Biggie” telling Pac “At a time when n-ggas say “Big, let’s decimate ’em”/I’m tellin’ em chill ’cause although he violatin’/In my heart I could never hate him” pretty much line up with the sentiment behind the on-stage retraction Cole made to the rapper who fashions himself as Pac’s heir apparent.
It’s a tad melodramatic, of course—Biggie and Pac’s issues transcended raps (BIG never even formally responded on wax) and had real mortal consequences. Nothing in the Kendrick and J. Cole side of 2024’s Great Rap War suggested anything remotely close to that outcome. But it likely would’ve gotten ugly, and surely would’ve compromised what Cole, for his part at least, viewed as a genuine and enduring friendship, not unlike Big and Pac in ‘94.
