Jenkins’s first three albums all duly dealt with an array of feelings. 2016’s The Healing Component turned love into fresh ideas; 2018’s Pieces of a Man paid homage to Gil Scott-Heron’s album of the same name; 2021’s Elephant in the Room wrestled with the largest of all – societies unspoken truths.
Doing away with the heft of these previous efforts, Jenkins is now tackling something a bit closer to home. The Patience finds the Southside Chicago rapper reckoning and contending with the reality of control – or lack thereof – across a systematic collage of jazz and minimalist beats. Also joined by Freddie Gibbs ("Show Them"), Benny The Butcher ("Sitting Ducks"), JID ("Smoke Break-Dance, and Vic Mensa ("Farm To Table") each feature maximisies Jenkins's potential without cluttering his vision.
Jenkins comes parrying volleys of tracks that are unified under one condition – frustration. As deft in delivery, as they are in unfurling his rancour and acceptance of the big It All, The Patience is Jenkins losing the last of his. This is evident by the ferocity he spits his spite, interspersed are moments of the eventual hands-off reality in these scenarios – as well as the artwork featuring a tired looking Jenkins.
"Michelin Star" into "Show Them" (featuring a fervent Gibbs) quickly set the tone with their syncopated instrumentals providing a soothing armament for Jenkins’s flow, before the end of the latter where his bravado turns into defeated pleading. This heart, the kind beating for understanding, is Jenkins’s speciality.
The various cuts all come cocked and loaded with moments of braggadocio and self-examination. And the overwhelming sense is that Jenkins has earned this right. The understanding of his journey so far is that his previous efforts – all under Cinematic Music Group – resulted from literal diminishing investment (his last two albums each cost $60,000 to make). The wonders of his skills in spinning the thinnest yarn into hefty, storied ropes are unparalleled, and The Patience feels like the uncorking of Jenkins’ future.
As proceedings unfold, Jenkins begins to re-ravel. His diatribes become focused, more geared towards righting the wrongs of the world. “ROY G BIV” wonderfully examines colour theory on a societal level, while he also targets the state of others’ convictions on “Pasta” – featuring some gloriously fun wordplay – and “Guapanese”.
His resolution comes in “Mop”. Its closing monologue is where the frustrations and pent-up aggression peter away leaving a focused and reasoned introduction to the next chapter of Jenkins’s life. The air becomes still as a heavy sigh leaves things feeling lighter.
While The Patience is less conceptually rounded, and instead, a directive of bottled emotion and frustrations inevitably concluding with an artistic clarity, Mick Jenkins proves his worth goes beyond a label deal. Even firing loose cannons he’s a lethal voice with plenty to say.
