The Book of Nas: Chapter Renaissance

“The Book of Nas: Chapter Renaissance”

By someone who watched the King rise again — like it was written.

There’s a kind of black excellence that doesn’t beg for validation. It just is. It steps into a room like it built the room-and when it speaks, the echoes don’t fade for decades. That’s Nasir Jones in his forties. That's Nas in the last five years.

At a time when most rappers his age are either nostalgic ornaments or whispering about retirement, Nas was crafting the most prolific, poignant era of his career. Six albums. Three King’s Disease. Three Magic. All within the span of 2020 to 2023. And behind him, the unexpected co-pilot-Hit-Boy, a beat-maker two decades his junior who helped him bend time.

This wasn’t about reclaiming a crown. Nas never dropped it. But what he did in these five years was polish it. Remind you why he was always royalty, and why no other MC could quite see the skyline from his window.

King’s Disease (2020)

This is where the gospel of grown-man rap began. “Ultra Black” wasn’t just a single, it was a manifesto. A celebration. A war cry. Nas was regal, pensive, and comfortable in his skin. He wasn’t looking back in bitterness-he was looking forward with grace.

At a time when the world was burning and the culture was splintering, Nas walked in with wisdom. And then he won his first Grammy-not for Illmatic, not for It Was Written, but for this. As if the industry finally caught up to the man who never stopped being great.

King’s Disease II (2021)

What do you do after winning? You double down.

On KD2, Nas is masterful-weaving life lessons with street poetry. "Death Row East" is a history lesson disguised as a banger. “Rare” lives up to its name-rare energy, rare form. And then there’s Lauryn Hill on “Nobody.” Her voice cracked the sky like thunder. It wasn’t just a feature-it was a cultural reset. Two icons in one confessional booth.

Magic (2021)

Dropped without warning. No rollout. No ego. Just bars.

Magic was pure essence-stripped down, neck-snapping beats, Nas spitting like it was Stretch & Bobbito in ‘94. No frills. Just fire. This was the Nas that backpackers missed, the one that still could bark syllables like they owed him rent.

King’s Disease III (2022)

No features. Just Nas.

This wasn’t an album-this was a throne speech. “Michael & Quincy” is a bar clinic on legacy. He’s reflecting, rhyming, meditating sometimes all in one verse. He’s not chasing trends. He's not running from age. He's defining it.

This is the rare elder statesman era in hip-hop that doesn’t feel forced. It feels earned. It feels good.

Magic 2 + Magic 3 (2023)

By now, we knew what to expect-and still, he surprised us.

Magic 2 brought out 50 Cent for a reunion with edge and swagger. Magic 3-released on his 50th birthday -was a victory lap disguised as a soul diary. Tracks like “Superhero Status” and “Japanese Soul Bar” were poetry with a passport. This wasn’t just rapping-it was a man cataloging a life fully lived.

He ends the Hit-Boy run with a whisper and a bang. No drama. No gimmicks. Just six albums of quiet dominance.

What Did We Witness?

We saw a renaissance. Not a comeback-Nas never left. But for five years, he reminded us that hip-hop doesn’t have to grow old, it can grow wise. That you can rap about IPOs and failed friendships with the same fire as corner ciphers and champagne dreams.

This was a blueprint for longevity-not by adapting to the times, but by aging on your own terms. Nas turned 50 in 2023, but sounded like he just hit his prime.