“03’ Adolescence” flips the classic rags-to-riches narrative inside out as Cole starts to reminisce about how hard he had it growing up only to get a chin check from a friend whose future isn’t half as bright. Still, ceding an entire hour to a rapper who works best in short bursts works better here than anyone could’ve expected. “No Role Modelz” parlays a suspicion about a hookup being a golddigger into a tirade about black women lacking respectable public figures, crudely suggesting that “she’s shallow but the pussy deep.” (For all the talk of Cole’s enlightenment he’s a perfect brute when it comes to women, and “No Role Modelz” is something of a tacit admission.) 2014 Forest Hills Drive often plays at a depth it never delivers. It’s relatable but hardly the kind of story you want to hear more than once. “Wet Dreamz” recounts his first time having sex in lurid detail, from lying to a girl about his prowess to looking at porn for pointers to finding out the girl’s been lying, too. The laughable wordplay fails of mixtapes albums past (“My money like a senior, watch it graduate,” “Cole heating up like that leftover lasagna”) are thankfully absent, but Cole isn’t yet sharp enough of a storyteller to carry a full album on his own. Bold move, and where it floats, it soars, but it flops gloriously when it doesn’t.

It’s a block of Cole raps and Cole hooks served mostly over Cole beats. In its quest to canonize Cole, 2014 Forest Hills Drive eschews both singles and guests. He works well with guests his collaborations with Drake, Missy Elliott, and TLC are highlights in his growing body of work, and he gets along so well with Kendrick Lamar that the duo is rumored to have clandestinely recorded an EP together.

He’s great at synthesizing everyman relationship woes into terse pop nuggets. He makes passable albums with memorable singles.

Cole is a workmanlike MC, a good-natured populist grappling with the ridiculousness of sudden celebrity.

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