This is the second consecutive album of Nasir Jones with a single producer, and it’s wonderful. Again brief, minimalist in sound, without an overdose of guests and gangster chic as it used to be about 20 years ago. This is a very correct trajectory for the development of his endless career, which is pleasing and intriguing. And, of course, it makes you listen with the lyrics in front of your eyes, because you won’t argue that Nas says every word for some reason and with some purpose. I’ve decided to document my thoughts again in writing while listening. Well, what can I say, I started pausing the songs from the very first seconds, so densely Nas supplies his texts with meaningful content.

At first, he scared me. To use the overused word “King” in the album title and in the first lines to throw out the phrase “I’m aging beautifully” — a too presumptuous way to start an album. But then Nas stopped being confusing. The first track grabs you in two minutes. It’s a concise, vivid statement, an appeal to young guys to know their way and have their opinion, to understand their roots, and to be a king within themselves.

“You’re not a king if you can’t get out of a problem you created yourself, claiming no one is helping.” Essentially, all alcoholics, addicts, “unfortunate” and simply people who haven’t found themselves should always remember this thought when they once again demand support from those around them. And I like that Nas as a lyricist is not shy about discovering and killing off the whiner in a listener.

One quality that allows you to continue your career into the third decade without shame is the ability to beautifully weave street movements into your texts when you haven’t been on the streets for a quarter-century. Nas knows how to do this. For example, Blue Benz is a lively manifesto about achieving material freedom by young black guys against the backdrop of tax and supervisory authorities. The second example follows with Car 85 — a brilliant recollection of growing up amidst criminal movements, which will certainly bring tears to the eyes of all the aging men there who were also the junior members of a small hustler street team in their time.

Ultra-Black is undoubtedly the highlight of the album, a great application of internal rhymes and a natural sense of rhythm and cadence, an unrestrained burst of positive energy supported by a simple and sunny beat from Hit-Boy. This song will definitely outlive the general impression of the album and enter the collection of Nas’ timeless hits along with all his Ether, One Mic, and Made You Look.

Unfortunately, in the middle of almost any Nas album, there are always two overly sweet or just bad songs, and here they are too. However, the author then finds excellent words of support for single-parent families (track 7), and I think such topics are a much more beneficial application for the words of experienced artists than the hundredth articulation of ideas of black supremacy, which, for example, could easily be limited to the track Ultra-Black on this album, and it would be enough. But single-parent families, a clear scourge of the African-American community (even if judged only by their song texts and routine generalizations in movies!) — this is a topic that experienced lyricists need to discuss more and more. Until young black couples at least start trying to build strong families and seek compromises.

The song with Anderson .Paak All Bad (10/10) sees the beats becoming flawless again, and any of his participation in someone else’s album only adorns it; this has been proven by Paak’s features over the past few years and it never happens otherwise. In this case, it’s a true story about the times when the once vivid relationships with his wife become dull and unnecessary, and Nas has a lot to say about this. Well, Andy beautifully supports with a verse and, of course, a delightful chorus.

As in his previous release, when Nas ranted nonsense about the influence of vaccines on the mental development of black kids, he here also drops a couple of dubious conclusions. For example, that the teachers of ancient Greek and Roman sages were supposedly their African mentors, or that Russian oligarchs are watching his people. We will leave these cosmic conclusions to the poet’s conscience himself, apparently, possessing large amounts of information is not always beneficial with a developed imagination, well, let him be.

Keeping in mind the overall overload of black music-2020 with self-awareness and the struggle for the rights of countless disadvantaged individuals, you somewhat tire of minority problems by the track The Definition, and it’s good that generally it’s not about that. It’s one verse summarizing the overall idea of the album and explaining the nature of the “king’s disease,” as Nasir sees it — a heavy burden of excesses and a stream of desires that current civilization allows to realize, not always beneficially. At the reunion of The Firm collective suddenly appears Dr.Dre, clearly in the mode of his album “Compton.” And frankly, this is the most striking moment of the track. Because the beat here is routine for all songs where Nas and AZ reunite, I’ve never been interested in listening to Foxy Brown, and Cormega is altogether a mystery to me — why an emcee with such an ordinary lexicon and such crumpled diction is still surrounded by some aura of fame.

Therefore, the high class of musical material that would match the high class of Nas’ rap verses is again entrenched only on the final tracks of the album — 10 Points and The Cure. These are powerfully produced, multi-layered compositions that give Nasir the space to express himself extensively and pack enough memorable finished thoughts. Listening to them, a young (and not so young) man simply has to get up, solve his stagnant problems in a couple of days, and move forward to new horizons. Simple, understandable, well-processed plots from personal pasts, memories, and lessons drawn, which Nas generously shares with the public, providing them tools to make themselves and their lives better. “Every man goes through the same Mondays and Fridays. The same sun, moon, and stars. It’s just about whether you can stand firm as a man.” And this is almost the whole album, simple and to the point. Maybe it is in such a manifestation that that talent of Nas is revealed, for which he is called a poet all over the world. Oh, and also in such golden lines as found here “McCartney outlived Lennon, but Lennon was the most powerful.”

Spicy — a pleasant bonus track in the style of the 2000s. Like in the endings of albums back then, it’s a lively conclusion to the serious tracks of the main part of the release, with lively guests who are given time to shine (Ferg — beast!), and a lively enough beat. Perhaps here Nas-the-poet should be put aside to talk about the beats. Nasir has two albums where there’s nothing to criticize in the music, and another two or three where the omissions are minimal. This album could well fit into the top three or five best because Hit-Boy is a champ. His production on King’s Disease is active, inventive, but as it should be in the post-luxurious era of any genre’s development, comparatively stingy on excess. Moreover, the overall musical result is far from ideal. Now it’s a personal opinion, but to get a perfect release, albeit a small one, Nas needed just a little. For instance, to keep only tracks 1–2–3–4–8–11–12 and cut everything else. But he left all that and released it. Well, the flag in hand. But you know what’s completely absent in this Nas album that he used to give us before? Luxury, full-blooded beats, and powerful excesses that hip-hop could boast of during its beat-making “architectural Stalinism” era — in the late ’90s and 2000s. When the percussion hit like a tsunami, with strings and keys thundered alongside, and the producer felt like an orchestra owner. For the second consecutive album, Nas raps to a dry, modest, non-luxury production. And this is the natural progression of the musical genre because all luxurious drumbeats have already been used, all thunderous melodies have already been written or sampled. But try playing these two songs from different ends of his classic repertoire right after listening to King’s Disease: Cherry Wine and The World Is Yours. And you’ll understand that Nasir hasn’t released music like this for at least eight years.

Considering that Nas as a poet quite lived up to all the expectations assigned to him on this album but did not evoke astonishment, I was ready to give him an eight. Well, because his 5th and 6th tracks are the territory of beats completely mastered by Schoolboy, for example, on his last long play, why are they on a veteran illmatic loaded with meaning? But the songs numbered 11 and 12 are so good in terms of lyrics, so comprehensive for the revived American urban community, so poetically strong, that after thinking for a couple of days, I give Nasir a 9/10. For such songs, any rubbish has to be forgiven.