Jay Electronica’s exceptional skill as a rapper has afforded him a level of favor that no one else in the hip-hop sphere—with the exception of André 3000—would have received within the same span of time. Between 2007 and 2020, he generally remained in the public’s good graces off the strength of one innovative introductory mixtape, impressive guest verses, and a handful of monumental loosies that featured existential musings, astronomical wonder, and clips from cult cinema. Purists loved how his work incorporated traces of Nas, Wu-Tang, and DOOM in a fast-changing rap landscape; nontraditionalists loved that he moved to the beat of his own drum, on wax and IRL.
But an indisputably well-rounded skillset is not really the New Orleanian’s most redeeming quality. Electronica’s defining trait as an artist is his commitment to personal narrative—his willingness to forfeit a spot on the hype train in order to move at a pace that feels purposeful and sincere. It’s why, when he does release new material, you feel compelled to retrace his steps and ask: How does this pick up where he left off? At what stage of his prophecies are we now? Does he actually believe any of this shit? This perch between conviction and ambiguity is where he wields his power. But as he continues to add chapters to his story, we’re left to decipher whether that position is his chosen station or a purgatory he can’t maneuver himself out of.
In late September, he reemerged with solo music for the first time in five years, offering three short projects within the span of a couple days. Titled A Written Testimony: Leaflets, A Written Testimony: Power at the Rate of My Dreams, and A Written Testimony: Mars, the Inhabited Planet, each—whether absorbed individually or collectively—feels like a return to the multifaceted world-building that distinguished Electronica in his early years. A Written Testimony, the album released in 2020, deviated from that trajectory, at least in form. Featuring Jay-Z as a co-star throughout, it served a dual purpose: For Electronica, it quieted impatient fans with a fresh demonstration of his talent. For Brother Carter, it acted as a much-needed reminder that he wasn’t just some out-of-touch corporate overlord who cut deals with NFL executives to douse the flames of a formidable sociopolitical reckoning.
To those ends, the album succeeded. Electronica rhymed beautifully on songs like “The Neverending Story” and “Fruit of the Spirit,” weaving criticisms of ICE, acknowledgement of the Palestinian struggle, and folkloric framings of his own journey over dreamscapes of production. Jay-Z evinced genuine excitement for the opportunity to lyrically spar with someone who could keep him artistically honest. But, for the Jay from New Orleans, it felt almost too conventional: An uncharacteristic lack of atmospheric space. A bare minimum of conspiracy theories. Hardly any soundbites from films and lectures. Contributions from The-Dream and Travis Scott more fitting for the Jay from Brooklyn.
For better and worse, all of the elements familiar to Electronica listeners over the past two decades are alive and well in the new music. Many of the song titles across the three mini-projects read like they come from the depths of a deep-fried YouTube algorithm—one specifically geared toward knowledge-seeking hotep types. There’s “Is It Possible That the Honorable Elijah Muhammad Is Still Physically Alive???,” “Japan Airline 1628,” “@RealCandaceO…Tell Us More!,” and “Remember That One Time Trump Tweaked on Zelenski in the White House,” just to name a few.
Across the records, there’s a recurring motif about the Nation of Islam’s Mother Plane theory (an interpretation of the Bible’s Book of Ezekiel) which holds that, in 1929, scientists from every corner of Earth—led by God—constructed a massive circular vessel that hovers over the planet. That vessel houses 1,500 smaller versions of itself that are piloted by Black men and deployed all around the world. Bastions of Satan and the uninformed refer to these as flying saucers or UFOs. And, at some point in the near or distant future, the Mother Plane will destroy the United States, casting fire that will burn this unholy place for 390 years. But before that happens, leaflets will fall from the sky urging Black people they have just a week’s time to return to their ancestral land before this one is destroyed. The idea being, UFO sightings suggest we’re closer to the end of days, and Mr. Electronica is hand-delivering the warning signs.
On the Evidence-produced “Is It Possible That the Honorable Elijah Muhammad Is Still Physically Alive???” from Leaflets, a downtempo piano loops while the Virginia singer DRAM delivers a buttery hook. Meanwhile, Electronica goes on about a highly contested incident from February 1942 in which U.S. naval officers in Los Angeles believed they were under attack by a Japanese aircraft, resulting in the deaths of five people. It was later deemed a false alarm fueled by post-Pearl Harbor paranoia, but, in the years following, skeptics raised the possibility of a UFO encounter. “Coming face-to-face with God absolutely terrified the government,” Electronica raps before doing the most barbershop conversation thing possible in song form, whispering: “Battle of Los Angeles, look it up.”
That’s immediately followed by “Japan Airline 1628,” a bouncy self-produced track that samples the guitars from Australian indie band Vacations’ 2016 song “Young.” The title references a 1986 flight during which Captain Kenji Terauchi believed he saw three strange objects while flying over Alaska. Instead of detailing the ordeal, Electronica imparts useful wisdom on how to navigate life and ensure brighter days on the docket: “You got to learn to take it in stride and let your light shine/You get what you strive for, in this transitory lifetime/The Devil ruled for thousands of years, now it’s the Christ time.” Power at the Rate of My Dreams ends with “BIG Baby Jesus,” another self-production. As eerie Christmas carol-sounding vocals loop in the background, he channels the spirit of Ol’ Dirty Bastard with melodic baritone ad-libs. When the dust settles, audio from a Louis Farrakhan speech comes to the fore and, in it, the NOI leader says, “I’d like to talk with you about the shadow government that hides the knowledge of this great wheel, even from the presidents of the United States.”
Conspiracies aside, Jay Electronica hasn’t missed a step when it comes to craft. “Ashes to Ashes,” from Power at the Rate of My Dreams, is arguably the most beautiful track out of the collection and hits on all the notes that make engaging the New Orleans native worth the frequent absences and head-scratching beliefs. He takes the Brazilian icon Jorge Ben Jor’s 1969 hit “Domingas,” slows it down, and delivers a mesmerizing stream-of-consciousness verse about his approach to life. “The long road to one’s own destiny ain’t paved/This treacherous path through the wilderness is only for the brave,” he starts, before honoring enslaved ancestors and leaning on that lineage to find peace in the fact that, when his time comes, he will be immortalized in his work. “Letter to Mars,” from Mars, The Inhabited Planet, is addressed to his daughter he shares with Erykah Badu. Originally released as an outtake from A Written Testimony in October 2020 on his own Discord channel, the song marks the beginning of the third and final installment of this new chapter. On it, he speaks of how long it’s taken him to resurface—a process that, by his estimation, was informed by a constant push-and-pull of dark and light forces within. Vocals from Thom Yorke’s “Bloom (Live From Electric Lady Studios)” add melancholic effect.
At his best, Electronica is painfully human. Throughout the duration of a project (and sometimes a single song), he goes from someone burdened by the weight of life, justifiably reclusive, to someone whose chest swells with spiritual belief, commitment to community, and trust in his artistic merit. He reveals these ebbs and flows lyrically, but is just as effective at communicating through voice recordings, selected film scenes, and knowing when to let a track breathe without his rapping present. Leaflets track “Four Billion, Four Hundred Million (4,400,000,000) / The Worst Is Yet to Come” begins with a clip of Stevie Wonder making an impromptu theme song for Soul Train in 1973. The rising New York singer Kelly Moonstone gets a chance to show her chops on Mars’ serene “... shine for me.” Electronica’s own crooning on the hook of “Japan Airline 1628” is so convincing that you may pause to try and find out who it is. And in using Michael Caine’s breakdown of a magic trick from The Prestige for “Dear Mr. Blain, I Won.,” he gives insight into why Act II: The Patents of Nobility (the turn) is always disappearing from streaming platforms.
For all the inspiration he offers with his forthcoming approach, he does plenty to generate frustration. On “Abracadabra,” the intro from Leaflets (the first of the three projects to be released), the first voice you hear is that of the now-incarcerated hip-hop mogul Sean “Diddy” Combs. The recording is recent enough to hear him talking to Electronica about the project’s title and how crucial its release is, due to the precariousness of modern-day rap. Endorsement of the disgraced legend doesn’t just stop there. On the otherwise stellar “Blood Libel. Who’s That Lying on God?,” Electronica raps, “Libel in the courts/They tried to hang my nigga/Love high up on the cross.” Footage published last year clearly depicted Combs punching, slamming, and kicking singer and ex-partner Cassie to the ground in 2016 after she tried escaping from a hotel room. Electronica takes it a step further on Leaflets’ “Four Billion, Four Hundred Million (4,400,000,000) / The Worst Is Yet to Come” when he raps, “I was living with Puff and Cass and never showed up in the affidavit,” to imply he never observed any abusive behavior from Combs, as if his personal accounts supersede evidence. It adds insult to injury that, just last week, Cassie’s victim impact statement was released to the public, and in it, she describes long-term grooming, forced sexual acts, and violence for not capitulating to Diddy’s orders.
There’s a tendency within certain sects of straight men to defend prominent members of their respective communities as a sign of solidarity, or just plain admiration. But, specific to Black male-centered circles, there are consistent attempts to shirk accountability by pointing the finger at others. The “white men do it all the time and get away with it” logic, even if it were true, is treated as if it absolves easily verifiable abuse at the hands of Black men. Throughout these new projects, Jay Electronica appears to harp on a perceived public crucifixion attempt on his friend—suggesting that Combs’ 50-month prison sentence doesn’t align with his transgressions fairly.
But if the foundation for continued Diddy support is a rejection of the carceral system, does he still deserve grace if he were to be freed? Would it then be an appropriate time to hold him to account? Would it then be necessary to feature him as the first voice anyone hears on the first solo songs you’ve released in a half-decade? At the end of the day, it’s an immature and cheap display of internet-brained contrarianism. Fawning over a convicted woman-beater, prominently featuring Dr. Wesley Muhammad, who said COVID-19 was caused by the sins of Jews, and giving airtime to Candace Owens’ vindictive push to falsely “expose” that French President Emmanuel Macron’s wife Brigitte was born a man, are all ways to say, “I won’t be controlled by the threat of public scrutiny.” But at what cost?
Kendrick Lamar did something comparable with 2022’s Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers when he featured Kodak Black as a sort of album narrator just a year after the Broward County rapper pleaded guilty to sexual assault. Lamar spent much of that album undressing himself to the world, revealing that he, too, possessed qualities that were less than honorable and stressing that all parties involved would be better off not trying to make a hero out of him. “Do not perceive me” is often how it felt. Jay Electronica navigates his career similarly, though he expands beyond the idea of being chosen as a figurehead by the masses. In 2020, when his fans were waiting on Act II: The Patents of Nobility (the turn), he presented an album with Jay-Z to make it known that only when he’s ready will they get what they’re asking for; Act II was subsequently leaked seven months later. And thanks to the narrative he’s been building for two decades—one that presents him as a mystic who’s either conducting an elongated magic trick in the image of The Prestige or firmly opposing how industry standards cheapen one’s art by releasing only when he feels moved by the spirit—he effectively exempts himself from adhering to the rules everyone else has to play by.
Jay Electronica has the mind of someone destined to be an artist, regardless of chosen medium. The way he’s able to pack reference material into condensed spaces places listeners firmly within his universe. And plainly spoken, he’s just a better rapper than most. We learn his taste in film, the music he samples often feels like a flex of his crate-digging prowess, and whether you agree with his spiritual beliefs or not, he isn’t just vomiting random theories; he belongs to a religious system that teaches these concepts. The clips of sermons and interviews from members of the Nation of Islam provide peeks into his source material. He demonstrates how the Black American condition is the result of a nearly insurmountable level of multigenerational subjugation. The way that some of us cope with those challenges are not neat, linear, or even logical.
Jay Electronica’s music personifies that reality but, at times, it feels like he hides behind his status as an enigma. Caught up in a perpetual disappearing act, he’s enjoyed the opportunity to do whatever he pleases, regardless of how people feel about it. But when he devotes considerable space to caping for a man who’s been dangling people’s fate in exchange for unthinkable levels of dehumanization, it’s time to question if his commitment to not caving to demands of the Satanic world is a cheap way of riling people up without explanation, shameless adulation for how powerful men wield their power, or a little bit of both.
