Jack Harlow - 'Jackman.' Review

On his third studio album, Jack Harlow yearns for any type of respect.

On the cover of his third studio album, Jack Harlow poses as Jackman., a title that will soon be adopted by his fan base as they arrive to his concerts in white tank tops and silver chains, conservatively trying to imitate the Jackman. He stands shirtless in front of an unpaved street in his hometown of Louisville, flexing amidst a withered away shed and rows of homes; tear away the Parental Advisory sticker and you might be left with a leftover film photo from Jack’s White Men Can’t Jump press tour as a muddied basketball hoop looms above his shoulders.

Beginning with his first breakout hit, “Sundown,” and finding its true form in “WHATS POPPIN,” Jack Harlow developed a signature cadence. By mixing whimsically uptempo samples with half-time 808s and snares and double-time hi-hats, the beat and flow pops and locks into place, Harlow brought TikTok’s depiction of Southern debonair to popular rap music. Aligned with songs like “Too Sexy” from Certified Lover Boy, Jack Harlow hops on the trend of sampling Y2K-era hits with a misplaced lust for nostalgia. Sitting at double-platinum, “First Class” flips Fergie’s 2006 classic, “Glamorous,” Harlow whispers the side-effect of his pineapple juice (“sweet semen”) amongst convoluted lyrics involving his sexual prowess and the bravado within his own masculinity.

Jackman. is an exploration of Jack Harlow’s insecurities paired with a rich collection of samples, including a Bill Withers writing credit on “It Can’t Be” and Chiacgo’s style of chipmunk soul on “Ambitious.” The production quality of Jackman. is undeniable. Harlow acts as a Young Sinatra-era Logic, pulling samples from the Golden Age of pop music, infusing wistfulness with the replayability of lo-fi drum kits and fleeting loops on an MPC.

Even when surrounded by the most well-curated beat selection of his career thus far, Jack Harlow’s lyricism fails to live up to anything more than surface-level sentimentalism. As Harlow faces imposter syndrome on songs such as the opening track, “Common Ground,” he falls into the same clichés that made Logic lose his credibility within hip-hop, painting his festival appearances as crowds full of Larry Bird jerseys, while diluting culture through the lens of suburbia: “second-hand BAPE, Supreme and Gallery Department.”

Clocking in at a little over 24 minutes, told in a mere ten songs, Jackman. sees Harlow on the defensive about his race and his legitimacy as a rapper. The album’s third track, “Ambitious” is set up as a derivative Graduation loosie from Kanye’s days as a “College Dropout,” but lacking the grit of the Chicago rapper who locked himself in a room and made “five beats a day for three summers.” Jack Harlow morphs the beat’s fanfare into a vessel for his own ambitions as a twelve year old rapping into his Guitar Hero microphone in sixth grade. But tell-alls are supposed to feel sincere, and Harlow immediately raises an eyebrow in the credits, surrounding his name with six other writers in a genre where your story and your come-up is synonymous with being an MC.

Spitting over what could easily be an Alchemist-redux, Jack Harlow admits his own accomplishments are jaded from his own success, a privilege allotted to few. His difficulties include avoiding the limelight, as he raps on “Is That Ight?”: “No airports and no flights is how I want to live my life, is that ight?” This is influencer rap, background music for internet celebrities and socialites and Kardashians who dream of a utopia devoid of selfies and private jets, luxuries that only A-listers can relate to.

“It Can’t Be” toys with the idea of imposter syndrome, rattling off his accomplishments to prove that Jack Harlow is more than a white rapper. “It must be my skin, I can’t think of any other reason I win,” Harlow scoffs, before going on to shut down “industry plant allegations.” Jack Harlow yearns to be hip-hop’s self-starter, overcoming the odds in his Louisville suburb to become rap’s poster child for teenage white girls who believe that rap stardom involves the same set of conditions and beauty standards as their favorite boy band. Harlow refuses to accept the plain-and-simple fact that although he’s not an industry plant per se, he is still promoted as the industry’s most accessible rapper, with a flow that has been assured to transition into a TikTok sound bite by the time of its release. Harlow’s arrogance, cut with an inability to accept his own privilege shapes “It Can’t Be” into a fight song for anti-affirmative action rallies, for Americans who cannot fathom the mere existence of white entitlement.

Jackman. is performative, with the exception of “Gang Gang Gang,” a lazy imitation of Kendrick Lamar’s controversial “Auntie Diaries” aimed to condemn men who maintain friendly relationships with rapists and pedophiles within their social circles. The song preaches a strong message and lauds an applaudable use of Harlow’s platform in a rare moment of self-awareness. Jack Harlow recognizes the plight of men who stand with men in regards to sexual assault and Harlow stands adamantly against abusers, making an honest effort to rhyme about a topic he actually seems to care about.

Although “Gang Gang Gang” stands out like a sore thumb — a rare moment of variable intimacy — Jack Harlow sounds hollow on the majority of Jackman.. Harlow does not abide by the five pillars of hip-hop, he’s a slick-talking womanizer with an intent to become the next LL Cool J. However, unlike Cool J, Harlow does not want to rap. In his own version of Lil Dicky’s existential “Truman,” Harlow’s “Questions” echoes an unspoken truth: Jack Harlow is not a rapper, he is a pop star that happens to rap. He uses his skin color as a scapegoat for his shortcomings, instead of appreciating and acknowledging the significance of his movie deals, commercials, and Grammy nominations. As he walks the streets of Louisville, Kentucky, the 25 year-old still dreams of street cred, longing for more than the crowds of paparazzi that follow.