It’s personal: On the title track, a response to Beyonce’s Lemonade of sorts, he admits to cheating and apologizes with lines like, “You mature faster than me / I wasn’t ready,” and, “It took too long for this song / I don’t deserve you.” On the heartwarming “Smile,” which features his mother, Gloria Carter, he raps, “Mama had four kids, but she’s a lesbian / Had to pretend so long that she’s a thespian / Had to hide in the closet, so she medicate / Society shame and the pain was too much to take / Cried tears of joy when you fell in love / Don’t matter to me if it’s a him or her / I just wanna see you smile through all the hate / Marie Antoinette, baby, let ‘em eat cake.” But here’s the thing: 4:44 is a great record.
Art and commerce go hand-in-hand, but when lines get blurred and one becomes the other, we get skeptical. It’s easy to get hung up on JAY-Z’s material flash and corporate interest, particularly with this, an album that you’ll only be able to hear-for the time being, at least-if you joined Tidal prior to its release or if you’re a Sprint customer. Maybe the visuals would’ve drawn more people in, but as the house lights stayed up and the new song “Kill Jay Z” blared, it was a bit jarring to see how many people who had waited so long to get inside and hear this record were now talking over it or distractedly taking selfies in front of the bar’s gold bottles. Instead, we briefly got this, before it was replaced with the 4:44 artwork: Eventually, they got the songs up and running, but the visuals the crowd were promised would accompany the music on large screens mounted to the walls never got straightened out. After about 15 or 20 minutes of frantic effort, someone on the mic-invisible to me through the sea of people-joked that he’d log into his personal account.
#Jay z 444 album list full#
I’m not sure the exact nature of the technical difficulties that left me certain I was going to suffocate in the 40/40 Club without ever hearing Jay’s brand-new album, but there’s surely a joke to be made about how not even a room full of Tidal executives could get the new record to play on Tidal. Reaching the bar was physically impossible, so I posted up, tried to ignore the limbs being pressed against my own because they had no where else to go, and directed my attention toward the big screens that read “JAY Z: 4:44.” Getting inside offered no relief from the throng. Art and commerce go hand-in-hand, but when one becomes the other, we get skeptical. It’s easy to get hung up on JAY-Z’s corporate interests-particularly with an album that you’ll only be able to hear (for the time being) if you joined Tidal prior to its release or if you’re a Sprint customer. I politely declined and tried to figure out the best way to climb past a barricade in a dress. One guy, having noticed I was media, told me to name my price to get him and his friend in with me. The long line to get in to JAY-Z’s 4:44 premiere event at Manhattan’s 40/40 Club (also owned by Hov) fed into a giant cluster of humanity trying to talk their way past the security-guarded barricades and into the at-capacity venue. It happens more often than it should at festivals and sold-out shows, but Thursday night in New York City was the first time I felt it at an album listening party. Whatever the circumstances, when they happen you know, and the thought runs through your mind, more resignation than panic: Welp, hopefully I don’t die here. Maybe you’re being crushed against a barricade. It usually comes when you find yourself stuck in a crowd at a festival or a club, packed in so tight you can’t move or really breathe-that feeling in your gut that things are about to go bad. I am going to die in this club without even hearing this record, and it’s all JAY-Z’s fault.
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