I've been thinking a lot recently.
My anxiety has its own timetable and today must be Monday, because he is working overtime.
Let's cut to the chase. I like J. Cole because he isn't the best. I like that specifically because of what it means for me. You see, there is a gap between talent and skill that hard work legitimately can't close. Not because hard work isn't real, but because talent is sporadic and your talented opponent is also working. No one has absolutely no talent at something they are good at, and vice versa. It's a dual spectrum of talent and skill. The issue is, we live in a world built around quantifying spectrums. Someone, no matter how much work they put in, is going to lose. The Grammys will snub Noah Kahan and J. Cole for years no matter how technical J. Cole gets or how soulful Noah gets. It's not their fault, they are just not the type of people who win things.
What is talent to me?
I said I think talent isn't a real thing, but actually, what I meant was, it is a bunch of things put together — where you grew up, who nurtured you, genetics, exposure, whether your art is just the right thing. More proximate to the style people want to see.
(I've always wondered why DAMN won a Pulitzer and not TPAB.)
J. Cole can't make the art Earl, Noname, and Kendrick make because he just didn't have the same experiences and life. It is all determinism — the lottery of birth — and after a certain age, all attempts to get a new worldview are diminishing returns.
NOTE: This is not a defense of conservatism, but an analysis of the reasons people can't be the best. I can learn Jazz today, but without the "right" talent for the art, no matter how hard I work, I will not be the best Japanese Jazz musician. In a simpler way, society has hierarchies and hierarchies create losers, but losing doesn't prove inferiority — it is more often just an indicator of institutional neglect or disregard.
What does this mean for art?
I believe somewhere in the life of Noah Kahan, he wrote music solely for the purpose of relating better with his emotions and the people around him — his ex, the death of a friend, etc. He would have been fine if his music never went viral and he didn't get popular. He would have still written, maybe as poetry.
For people like J. Cole (and Wanlov), it is more apparent what I mean, probably because I know a bit more about their lives. They both did computer science and quit to make music. Wanlov came back to Ghana, a place where his brand and philosophy of Vagabondism wouldn't be gentrified as a niche, more exotic, earthy aesthetic rooted in African culture — or at best, a mere anarchism that would drown under America's political climate — but as a rebellion against societal structure based on who we Ghanaians were in the past. (Buzzword. Buzzword.) (TLDR: He wanted to make art, so he left school and came to a place his art could at least be understood, even if not appreciated.) He loved the music that much, and he is a brilliant artist. His philosophy is lived thoroughly and he stands for what he believes. His voice will however not be the prettiest, and even though he and M.anifest are the children of wealthy families who schooled in America before coming to Ghana to pursue rap, they can't make the same music.
For J. Cole, his birthday present was a mixing machine. He went to school in New York to chase his rap dreams (and basketball). He wanted to play basketball and he failed at that — he just didn't have the talent, no matter how hard he worked (crazy foreshadowing, if you ask me). He worked really hard on his rap dreams and made it to the summit of the sport. And even then. Even then, he was not the best. I genuinely think he isn't a better artist than Kendrick — better rapper, maybe. And that is the difference between art and skill, to me. Hard work can make you paint better pictures, more realistic pictures. Talent allows you to move the frame in the most unique ways.
I believe that somewhere along the line, these artists did what they did solely because they liked the art. But society told them — and us — that they had to win something. That their worth was determined by a trophy, a Grammy, a BET, a TGMA. We learn they just aren't good enough, whatever "enough" even means. Why only one person a year's art is good enough is beyond me, really.
J. Cole and Noah Kahan's stories are sufficient.
Even if "QuickStop" isn't as good as "How Much a Dollar Cost," even if 4 Your Eyez Only isn't as good as TPAB, it is enough. The Dreamville projects are phenomenal. J. Cole's features are phenomenal, and after only being a fan for five years, his growth as an artist and person is phenomenal. So what if his art is derivative of the greats? It's all he's ever known or wanted. It is their world, their story, and they built the skills to tell the story they want — the story that matters to them. Noah doesn't have to change his sound; you need to pay attention to the message. J. Cole doesn't need 17 shocking metaphors or an extended metaphor. He needs to tell his story — about his friend who got shot, about his fan who met him at a filling station, about his art. And you? You need to feel the art, hear his pain, and stop academizing it.
Conclusion:
I say this all the time, but your favorite doesn't have to be the best — it just has to be who you relate with more, who makes you feel something more consistently. I've always been a sucker for pathetic weaklings who fight regardless. I am saying that people should fight not because they think they are insufficient and need to chase the concept of "the best," but because it is something they believe in. That is why Kubolor is winning — no popularity, he is doing it because that is what it means to be human. It means to create, to sharpen yourself for yourself.
I wish I fought too. (Deku, lol.) I need to learn this myself. Hm.
Maybe this should be a thought?