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Courtesy of Roc Nation
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In 2008, when Washington Wizards guard Deshawn Stevenson called LeBron James overrated, Jay-Z intervened on LeBron’s behalf with “Blow the Whistle,” a loose, low-stakes freestyle over Bay Area legend Too Short’s instant classic of the same name. The track is all about being too big to respond to petty swipes. The most enduring line goes: “We let the money do the talkin—as you can see, we be talkin rather often.”
Fitting, then, that Jay opened his concert on Saturday night—the second of back-to-back shows at Los Angeles’ SoFi Stadium—with “Blow the Whistle.” In the midst of similar noise, he let the music do the talking.
The pair of shows marked the finale of Jay’s year-long Jay-Z30 project, celebrating the 30th anniversary of his debut album with a trio of sold-out concerts at Yankee Stadium this past summer and subsequent dates across London and Paris. Incidentally, the grand finale arrived at a moment when Jay is at the center of not one but two divisive debates. The first, currently raging on Rap Twitter and recently aggravated by 50 Cent, concerns his place in the rap canon (was he ever truly the undisputed “dominant” rapper in the game?) And then, with the announcement that he’s chosen himself to be the 2027 Super Bowl Halftime Show headliner, some are calling his relevance into question, or snidely remarking that he’ll need to lean heavily on his Rolodex to actually pull it off.
Both debates are ridiculous and reductive. So Jay used the occasion of two (more) sold-out stadium shows to prove why, running through a roughly 30-song setlist deftly curated with crowd-pleasers, B-Side gems(“The Watcher 2”!!), and hit singles—just him, a 10-piece band, and the occasional light show. Across both shows, there were only four guest moments: the aforementioned Short Dawg, John Legend & DJ Khaled for “God Did,” Scarface for what may have been the first-ever performance of their heralded collab “This Can’t Be Life,” and an extended medley from Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg. All were sparing, intentional and worked in service of the overarching theme celebrating Jay’s lore. (After all, he did write “Still D.R.E.” Imagine if he came out with them to essentially perform his reference track.)
Jay’s fixation on his naysayers felt especially pointed, sometimes to a fault. While “God Did” is great, it made for an awkward encore on night one, though the stamina flex to do a three-minute verse right after doing a two-hour set was admirable. The obsession with tour cameos in general has gotten a little out of hand. Sure, it’s fun as hell when performers show off how deep their collaborative bag is and how influential their reach is—like, say, night two of Kanye’s Chicago homecoming or night three of Jay in Yankee Stadium. But reinforcing that you can move the crowd by yourself—without even the help of a backing track—is a flex of equal, if not greater, import. Having hits is paramount, but at what point is the effect diluted if you’re just having the track play and letting the audience do most of the work? Exhibiting athletic breath control, Jay tore through one anthem after another, from the lyrical gymnastics of “Hovi Baby” to a track that invites audience participation like “Beach Is Better”—or a song that requires both, like “N-gga What, N-gga Who,” breaking occasionally just to change fits.
On one hand it would’ve been even better if Jay was back on home turf instead of playing to an audience that inevitably consisted of some casuals. But in some regards, winning those folks over is an even more impressive display of endurance and reach. The “was Jay ever the guy?” discourse is amusing because even some of the people coming to his defense kind of get it wrong, relying too heavily on the idea that longevity trounces a few years of white-hot flash. That’s true, but it doesn’t tell the full story. I saw tweets that compared him to the turtle that beat the hare, or a reliable Honda Accord, both misguided, backhanded compliments that don’t really account for the magnitude of Hov’s imperial phase, with “Hard Knock Life,” “Jigga My N-gga,” “Big Pimpin,” “I Just Wanna Love You,” “Izzo,” “Excuse Me Miss,” “Dirt Off Your Shoulder,” and “99 Problems” being released in successive summers.
The Super Bowl thing is especially weird. Jay could’ve anointed himself the first rapper to do the Halftime Show, but instead he happily ceded that honor to Kendrick Lamar. In fact, he could’ve pegged himself for the gig at any time in the eight years he’s presided over the show. If Jay’s music just isn’t your thing, that’s your prerogative (and a skill issue). But the narratives feel forced. The notion that he has no appeal beyond New Yorkers and hip-hop fans of a certain age is a bizarre stance to take on the guy who headlined Coachella and Glastonbury, becoming the first rapper to do both. Moreover, the notion that he isn’t relevant or that his hits are “old” is coming from the same people who were excited to see Usher perform classics from 20-plus-year-old albums. Picking an artist who appeals to Gen-Z or Gen-Alpha has hardly been a major concern in years past. On their podcast, Joe Budden and his co-host Ice said they couldn’t get excited at the prospect of Jay having to perform some of his most pop and broadly appealing hits. But didn’t they chastise Lamar for a Halftime Show setlist mostly comprised of then-three-month-old GNX tracks? Is it “Oochie-wally” or is it “One Mic?”
To that last point, I’d argue that Jay’s recent shows—even going back to his Roots Picnic one-off in May—have been more thoughtfully and intentionally sequenced (backed by his longtime engineer, Young Guru, and longtime band, 1500 or Nothin) than even his classic tours of yore, weaving in a little something for everyone (like the way he mixes “N-ggas in Paris” with “Big Pimpin,” serving two different generations of fan at once). He didn’t just play the hits; he played the cool hits. Quieter songs got beefed up with string quartets, or an assist from Jay’s daughter on the keys. He used Watch the Throne beats to get off classic radio freestyle verses. Each tour stop had a moment designed to amp up the locals, like rhyming over a Giggs staple in “London” or mixing in “Last Time That I Checc’d” in L.A. He has a showman’s knack for routine and on-the-fly innovation.
There’s no way he makes a Halftime Show full of concessions to the masses and zero nods to the fans. I’d argue he’s brazen enough to do something like kicking things off with “Young, Gifted and Black”—“I’m America’s worst nightmare/I’m young, Black and holding my nuts like chea”—which would be a fair trade-off should he include something poppier, like “Young Forever.” As for the staples: does anybody truly think “Hard Knock Life” or “I Just Wanna Love You” are too old to have crossover appeal with a Super Bowl audience? Do you really have to be able to go bar-for-bar on “U Don’t Know” to appreciate Adam Blackstone absolutely shredding that bass outro? I don’t know how anyone looks at the list of tracks from either LA show and doesn’t think Jay’s only problem will be whittling his Super Bowl set down to a tight 13 minutes. (For what it’s worth, he described Kendrick’s decision to highlight mostly new songs as “brave” when I interviewed him earlier this year.)
Jay indirectly addressed some of the narratives in his closing remarks on Saturday night, alluding to bot accounts and smear campaigns that alleged half-empty crowds, lackluster audience engagement, and middling reception. He urged the audience, instead, to look around, use their own eyes, and preach the truth. A fine sentiment, but it was the last line that got me: “They’ll tell you Jigga ain’t Jigga… Hov is motherfucking Hov!”
All this talk on his legacy has Jay referring to himself in the third person, and once again sporting an offensively ostentatious new chain. It makes me wonder if the smoke, doubt, and disparagement has woken up the shit-talking flexer who made “So Ghetto” or “It’s Hot”—Jigga Man, as it were. As everyone anticipates all of this activity building to a new solo album, most (including the man himself) have wondered what he might have to say, what themes could span 10 or so tracks the same way he did on 4:44. Despite being outside this year, he hasn’t rapped much—the only official new verse we got was a remix he did with his wife that sounded more like someone playing around in the studio and clearing the cobwebs.
Before that though, there was Roots Picnic, the comeback show that set the tone for this year, where he paused the celebration to heat check all of his enemies and detractors with a lacerating new freestyle. He ended that verse with a warning: “Not too much on my name/Don’t forget who I am.” At the Halftime Show in February, he’s got a chance to make them remember.
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