It was with the following bars that the world started paying attention to the young rapper known as YBN Cordae.

“Lately, all my idols, they been failin’ me

Catchin’ sexual assaults and some felonies

Then, you want me to listen what you tellin’ me

And wanna hate when we sing our lil’ melodies

And other idols, they be broke, get your funds in order

And Kanye West is a Trump supporter”

Shot in a barbershop, the track — titled “Old N—” — was a response to J Cole’s “1985”; a poorly made, condescending put-down of Gen Z rappers. Cole was criticizing them for their materialism and empty lyrics, which spoke more about drinking lean than anything with substance — pardon the pun — and generally suggested that new, young rap wasn’t up to snuff. 

“Old N—” was Cordae’s slap-back, rapping over Cole’s own beat to undermine his condescending points and, in the process, proving that my generation can still produce talented wordsmiths. His delivery was lean and direct, and the lyrics were both clever and very clear in their meaning. 

His response was that older rap snobs like Cole just didn’t like or understand this new sound, and given their flawed idols, they had no leg to stand on.

This was Cordae’s breakout moment, and he would use it to full effect. In the year to follow, he released a series of tracks and features that established him as a new, original, interesting voice. Then, in 2020, he de-coupled from the YBN group, going simply as Cordae, to establish that independence.

Many music critics thought he could be the next big thing, and on his 2019 album, “The Lost Boy,” he created a summer hit with the ever groovy RNP, featuring Anderson .Paak [sic]. It’s catchy, fun, and written as an earworm, but with a distinct funk inflection that makes it stand out.

Yet that was it. From there, the quality of his work evaporated.

We’ve seen this before —  J.I.D. and IDK both burst onto the scene at the same time as two of the most promising young rappers only to drift away from their initial success — but the decline of Cordae is one of the steepest. 

He was commercially viable, highly talented, and even had a famous relationship when he started dating tennis star Naomi Osaka in 2019. Yet then his trajectory changed for the worse. 

In part, this was because of a branding change, a shift away from the fun, young star, towards something self-consciously more “empathetic” and “self reflective.” In the lead-up to his 2022 album, “From a Birds Eye View,” he deleted all the posts from his Instagram and began a publicity tour focussed on his self-growth. 

“As a person, I feel like I’m a lot more honest with myself,” he told HypeBeast — a publication not particularly renowned for its thoughtful, reflective coverage. “I’m very self-reflective, self-analytical,” he said. “I’m aware of being more empathetic as a human being, just having knowledge of oneself, ultimate self-confidence.”

This guru-esque focus on self-improvement extended to his new label, named Hi-Level. He told HypeBeast that it’s “more than just a record label, it’s a way of life.” If so, it’s not a way of life that produces good music.

Despite the heaped praise he received for his navel-gazing publicity, few were clapping for his new music. As a teen rapping with a chip on his shoulder, Cordae had something to prove and so performed far beyond the expectations of his generation. By contrast, when you’re constantly told that you’re very talented and now see yourself as a more “meaningful” artist, there’s a vicious incentive structure towards laziness. 

His debut 2019 album, “The Lost Boy,” lacked a consistent voice but had a lot of soul and laid the groundwork for a second album where he would really find his voice. Yet 2022’s “From A Birds Eye View” is nothing. It’s completely forgettable without a distinct sound or any great tracks. 

On its lead single, “Super,” he raps, “Last year, I made $7 million, didn’t have to do a single f– show.” In an industry where the best rappers continue to refine their craft decade after decade, always wanting to make a better album than the last, Cordae was young and rich, so didn’t bother. 

Machine Gun Kelly —  the rapper turned pop-punk rocker turned rapper again — started doing a series of backyard freestyles earlier this year. They’re fine — with a few great lines and a lot of duds —  but they’re essentially just practice and free advertising for his new music. Given that his latest single, “PRESSURE,” is already on my “best tracks of 2023” playlist, it’s working.

In April, he brought on Cordae for the “Doja Freestyle.” However unremarkable the lyrics, MGK delivers a fun series of bars with a constantly changing delivery, even dipping into a London accent at one point after referencing the British grime star, Skepta. 

Then it’s Cordae’s turn for the mic. The once great talent — who hip-hop heads would have said was on a completely different level to MGK — opens with, “How can I be misogynistic? I love all my b—.”

His flow is staid and stuck, and his lyrics are no better. At one point, he delivers an “I’m colder than Antarctica” line as though it were some lyrical slam-dunk and not among the most overused, unoriginal lines in hip-hop. 

The whole verse is empty and yet it still got almost five and a half million views on YouTube. Evidently, many people liked it. Yet as I listen, I can’t help but think back to that original track that launched his success and wonder if maybe J. Cole was right about Gen Z rappers after all.