The myth of Jay Electronica has long outweighed the music—in part because there was so little of it. He’s been: touched by Erykah Badu juju; cozy with a Rothschild; a Nas ghostwriter. He got a thousand beats from J Dilla, was anointed by JAY-Z, and was the last man left standing after Kendrick Lamar put the rap world on notice during “Control.” He is a homeless drifter turned enigmatic spiritual guru who accepted a co-sign from notorious Nation of Islam leader Louis Farrakhan, met super-Christian Chance the Rapper halfway on Coloring Book’s “How Great,” and worshipped at Hindu and Buddhist temples in Nepal during personal pilgrimages. But he’s only officially put out one mixtape, two singles, and a handful of other songs since 2007, occasionally appearing out of thin air to guest on songs seemingly at random.
And so with time, the myth grew. What was real and what was fiction began to blur, and what was real mattered less than what was interesting. The ghostwriting claims were disputed, he has never released a song with an original Dilla beat, and many count him as a footnote left in Kendrick’s wake, but he did actually end up between two of the wealthiest families in England. The selection of songs Jay Electronica has released over his career has drawn from all of this, only he’s put out as many of them in 13 years as some prolific rappers put out in a few months. The wait for his debut album has been so long that it became more of an ancient prophecy than a movable release date.
But the album, A Written Testimony, has finally materialized. It is a mystical, distinctive work that nearly lives up to all the lore surrounding the rapper. First and foremost, it is a prayerful offering that expresses the many spiritual and communal virtues he has internalized. But it’s also a record about the scrutiny of an insatiable public, one that leans on higher powers amid self-doubt. In just under 40 minutes, Jay Electronica erects monuments to Allah, NOI founder Elijah Muhammad, and Roc Nation overseer JAY-Z, who is at his side for nearly the entire album serving as sergeant-at-arms. “From a hard place and a rock to the Roc Nation of Islam/I emerged on the wave that Tidal made to drop bombs,” he raps on “Ghost of Soulja Slim.” From this well of deep faith, he summons rap performances that seem to defy space-time.