SONG OF THE DAY: The Cut Off

I am no J Cole apologist as is seen upon these internet lands, who assumes the contrarian position that J Cole is the supreme rapper of his time. But I also ain’t gonna lie, I don’t mind J Cole at all, and actively enjoy him if I’m being honest. Also, there is no doubting he is likely the most prominent rapper of this Piedmont Virginia/North Carolina land I’ve always felt was home. Often I look at old indigenous tribal maps (roughly drawn by western scholars) to see how those non-existent delineations of tribal lands often seem to coincide with the metaphysical feel places have. Although even in the context of indigenous history, the entire swath of Virginia and the Carolinas which was many other things will be marked as Powhatan lands, likely because the Powhatan worked with the colonists to an extent. And also, back to J Cole, is there nothing more perfectly Piedmont than a bi-racial kid coming up with dreams that straddle cultural worlds? And I guess there’s nothing more American than kid born on military base in Germany who grew up in Fayetteville which itself is off-shoot or supported by major military base itself. Culture is such a complex, layered thing, anywhere really but very much so in these strange and terrible times of the United States experience. Escape feels necessary, except there are limited means for those who desire escape the most to actually achieve it. We are stuck. So there are two sedentary routes of escape – through the arts, or the substances. Both essentially work to solve the immediate issue of I AM DOOMED. Currently I am of the belief that the substances treat the symptoms (standards western cultural practices tbh) while art attempts to untangle the source. But that’s also likely a self-supporting mentality not really based in reality. Life’s fucking hard. So I can’t fault anyone for self-medicating (unless they’re stealing shit out my house to support their habits, should they develop them), but I’d also enjoy your art more (I hope). And I enjoy J Cole’s music art, without having to get caught up in the superlative argumentative-laden mindset of the internet, where everything and body has to either be a greatest of all time, or its trash. (Also, I will always refuse the acronym for greatest of all time, because real goats are way better, in every instance.)