Jermaine Cole has spent years teasing his album “The Fall-Off,” and the North Carolina rapper, lyricist and producer finally released the sprawling, 24-track double album he said was “made with intentions to be my last” in a Dreamville social media post announcing the tracklist.

Released Feb. 6, the 101-minute project splits into “Disc 29” and “Disc 39,” representing two returns to Fayetteville: the hunger of a 29-year-old and the introspection of a veteran at 39. The structure is more than aesthetic. It turns the title itself into a double meaning. “Fall-off” can refer to what fans say when an artist loses momentum — but here, it also suggests shedding ego, chaos and expectations. In that framing, falling off is less about decline and more about release.

The opener “29 Intro” sets the tone, sampling James Taylor’s “Carolina in My Mind” before Cole pivots into sharper personal storytelling. On Disc 29, the urgency shines on tracks like “Two Six and “Poor Thang.” “Two Six” operates as a layered identity stamp — a reference to Fayetteville Cumberland County’s 026 code, a set banner and a subtle continuation of the album’s age-and-numbers motif. It’s geographic pride and timekeeping in one move.

Elsewhere, Cole’s wordplay works in doubles. On “Run A Train,” he contrasts “legal dollars” with street logic, landing on a punchline about guarding Wembanyama - one of basketball’s nearly impossible defensive assignments. The lyric becomes a metaphor: doing things “the right way” can feel harder than any matchup, especially in a system that rewards shortcuts.

Disc 39 is more reflective and conceptual. “The Fall-Off s Inevitable” functions as both a technical flex and emotional confession, structured as a rewind narrative reminiscent of his idol Nas — telling a story backward while implicitly grappling with regret and fate. “I Love Her Again,” plays on the classic metaphor of how a rapper’s relation with hip-hop is similar to one with woman, suggesting reconciliation, not just with a person, but with the genre itself.

Not every swing lands. Some critics have argued that parts of the album feel overly dense or self-serious, but that the rhythm and lyrics remain sharp, and the production referential without feeling dated, and the writing packed with layered meaning. Popular music critic Anthony Fantano, who gave the album a seven out of 10, said Cole is “going out on a high note.”

If this truly is his final album, it feels less like a fade out of relevance and more like a recalibration to what he feels is right for him. Cole still sounds capable, perceptive and technically formidable compared to others that use stale repetitive lyrics.

In an era crowded with viral moments and disposable hits, he remains one of the few mainstream rappers still invested in sending a positive message, with insightful personal narrative and genuine self-examination. That makes the idea of him stepping away feel less like a fall-off and more like a choice.

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