Image via Complex Original
This is part of Complex's The 1996 Project: Looking Back at the Year Hip-Hop Embraced Success.
In 1996, I was 5 going on 6 years old and playing a lot of Heavy D. The following two years would see an obsession with Master P and No Limit, before I finally heard “Can I Get A” and “Money Ain’t a Thang,” thus marking the beginning of my Jay Z obsession. To date, he is still my favorite rapper, ever. Of course, with Life and Times being the first Roc album I copped, I had to backtrack to fill in the blanks. But whether three years or 20 years removed, boy, does Reasonable Doubt hold up. Released in the early days of summer '96 on Jay Z's own Roc-A-Fella Records, the label he created with Dame Dash and Kareem "Biggs" Burke after he couldn't secure a label deal anywhere else, the album sold modestly. It did enough to get Jay in the door and into the spotlight, but his later commercial success would drive the masses (much as it did my adolescent self) back to his origins and to realize just how deftly Jigga knocked it out of the park his first time at bat. So, the album may have had some famous guest appearances, but he still entered the game a heavy contender for best lyricist. Or, to have him modestly tell it on his most recent album: "Your best shit ain't better than my first shit."
What a classic album, brazen in its casualness. This guy doesn’t even sound like he cares about rapping much, he’s just incidentally extremely good at it. “Jay Z who? The rapper?” Indeed. He’s become much more than the nigga on the boat since then, but in some ways he hasn’t changed at all. Twenty years is a long-ass time, and Jay himself even rapped (towards the tail end of that timespan), "People look at you strange, say 'you've changed'/As if you worked that hard to stay the same."
Twenty years is also a long time to sustain any career, let alone a rap career, let alone a scenario where 90 percent of those years you were considered the GOAT. There's a lot of room for change, both in status and personal life over two decades. Look at Jay Z deeply enough though, and you'll realize all of his considerable two-decade differences are mostly just surface changes. At his core, he's the same brash, disarmingly confident boss, only now he's fulfilled his own prophecy. Which makes listening to a young Shawn rap about all the things he would do that much more potent. Is the wannabe young Scarface of Reasonable Doubt the same person as the aging Vito Corleone who hasn’t even released new music in almost three years? Pretty much, to be honest.
He's Still Got the Same Casual Attitude Towards Rapping
The only time Jay Z’s ever been blatantly thirsty for the throne is when he more or less admitted to such on Vol. 1 in the wake of the power vacuum created by Biggie’s passing. Besides that bald blemish though, Hov has been more or less all walk and no talk. Despite certain obvious moments of posturing like rap beefs, his retirement, and inevitable return, he’s always displayed an air of casualty in his raps about being the best—he is, those are the facts, and that’s that. Currently he hasn’t even released a new verse in, like, 18 months. It mirrors the sensibility that he gives off on RD—that of a career criminal barely concerned with rap, only doing it because he can.
He Still Has No Problem Making a Bid for Radio Play
Jay would later get flack on pretty much every following album for at least one or two blatant bids for a crossover jam, but the genesis for that kind of behavior is right there on his beloved RD. Many legends who have observed his entire career and were even there for the making of this album are vocal about the importance of “Ain’t No Nigga.” As the most viable radio song on the album, it’s been said that there would be no Jay Z without that song’s inclusion.
He's Still Friends With Memphis Bleek and TyTy
Along with TyTy, this has got to be the longest-lasting relationship in Hova’s life, eclipsing Beyoncé by years. Ty’s mai-tai shout-out on “Dead Presidents” is the everlasting peak of BFF rap. Meanwhile the origin story of Bleek and Jay’s big-brother bro-ship gets a full song on “Coming of Age.” Among all the other relationships shouted out across the album, from partner Dame Dash to mentor Jaz-O, these are the two with whom Jay remains the strongest. TyTy has a high-ranking job at Roc Nation, and Bleek, despite trying to keep up his music grind on his own terms, is a staple guest at Jigga live shows.
He's Still Infatuated With the Mafia
Mannerisms of a young Bobby De Niro indeed. Scarface, Casino, Goodfellas, and more all get shout-outs on RD, hardly a surprise given the album cover. Over these last two decades, Jay would shed the literal representations of the mafioso image, while still very much touting them in his raps. He designated Roc-A-Fella as La Familia on the Dynasty album, a term he resurrected on his most recent LP, where he also refers to himself as el padrino.
He Still Has an Egotistical Hustler's Spirit
The story of Jay's debut is the stuff of legend: The man who would become one of the biggest rappers in the world couldn't get a record deal, for an album that's retroactively considered one of the 1990s' foremost gems. So, he and Dame created Roc-A-Fella and put it out themselves. Doing it himself if no one will meet his terms is an attitude he still lives by today, in choosing the extremely uphill battle of launching his own streaming service in lieu of doing business with Spotify or Apple Music. Considering how things turned out in 1996, it's not hard to imagine what's emboldening these risky moves.
Want more from The 1996 Project? Visit the links below.
"The 1996 Project: Looking Back at the Year Hip-Hop Embraced Success"
"Now Watch Mama: Lil’ Kim, Foxy Brown, and the Rise of the Female MC"
"The Best Rap Songs of 1996"