Cole Bennett is Pre-Industry Post-Genre: A once-in-a-generation visonary with Lyrical Lemonade's most recent releases 'All Is Yellow' + 'Lunchbreak Freestyle'

Somewhere between the winter light of Plano, Illinois, and the sacred static of a camcorder in a teenage bedroom, a new archetype emerged. Not just a director. Something more complex: a cultural architect. Cole Bennett, born May 14, 1996—Taurus sun, ruled by Venus, built for beauty and endurance—Cole is what happens when Midwest loyalty meets global ambition.

Lyrical Lemonade, the platform he founded as a high school project, is widely described as a multimedia company. What Cole understands—what most don’t—is that iconography precedes power. He builds myths before he builds hype. He isn’t chasing virality. He’s writing modern scripture with a RED camera and God-touched instincts. Think of him as the curator of a generation’s unconscious—translating pain, rage, and beauty into motion and color. He sees music videos as ritual vessels, and he builds them like cathedrals—intentionally, frame by frame, as offerings to the youth gods who never made it home.

All is Yellow isn’t just a debut project—it’s a cryptic consecration, a high-frequency reflection dropped into the middle of a culture that forgot how to look at itself. Cole Bennett's original release is more than just an album— he's sending an unmistakable message, humming with the memory of Midwest bloodlines and post-internet psychic warfare. Yellow, in this case, isn’t joy. It’s a warning. It’s the color of the radical joy going up over broken ground. It’s a signal to those of us who remember what the youth we were promised was supposed to feel like.

This project moves like a ritual disguised as a playlist. Every track is a coded dialect, every feature is intentional and has purpose. He isn’t just directing videos anymore. He’s curating the psychic landscape of an entire demographic. He’s stitching together underground stardom, sonic chaos, and generational grief into something that feels like prophecy disguised as merch.

There is no accident in the name All is Yellow. Yellow, in the old codes, belongs to royalty, betrayal, and enlightenment. It’s power. It’s exile turned empire. And what Lyrical Lemonade has built with this release is nothing short of an empire’s manifesto, soaked in pop, trap, hypersigil geometry, and cultural reclamation. If Juice WRLD was the martyr, then this album is the resurrection text. And make no mistake: Juice is the first voice you hear for a reason. That’s not a feature, that’s a summoning.

Cole has always been an image-worker. But with All is Yellow, he isn’t just working the image—he’s controlling the architecture. He’s built a cathedral out of music videos, and now he’s ringing its golden bell. And everyone who enters hears it differently. Some will call it a mixtape. But those who feel in frequencies will recognize it for what it really is: a psychic document of American boyhood meeting its myth.

There are moments in the project—"Fly Away", "Doomsday Pt. 2", "Guitar In My Room"—where the illusion of genre dissolves and the deeper intention reveals itself. These are mirror songs, refracting heartbreak, nostalgia, digital overstimulation, and spiritual hunger through tightly wound verses and TikTok-friendly hooks. But beneath the polish is ache. Beneath the ache is strategy. This is not accidental pain. It’s curated, broadcasted, and monetized in service of something far more divine: symbolic dominance.

Cole knows he’s no longer just capturing the scene—he is the scene. He’s not just spotlighting stars—he’s installing them, framing their image within a cosmology he authored himself. Cole never waited for a place at the table, but rather named the feast and drew the map. And if you're paying attention, the map leads back to the root—Chicago. This isn't LA flash or New York legacy. This is Heartland Magic, born on cracked sidewalks and wrapped in angel numbers.

“All is Yellow” is the sound of a throne being built in plain sight. It’s what happens when the lens becomes the author. When the director becomes the dynasty. And the dynasty doesn’t belong to institutions—it belongs to the descendants of chosen chaos, to the ones who remember Juice, to the girls who hold mirror codes in their bones, to the yellow-blooded sons who survived themselves and returned with gold in their teeth.

This moment is not about the music itself—and never was intended to be. “Lunchbreak Freestyle” is less a track and more a strategic broadcast, a calculated interruption in the steady stream of curated content that defines Cole Bennett’s empire. It arrives stripped down, raw, unpolished—deliberately unfiltered—like a watermark pressed into the fabric of the Lyrical Lemonade narrative. No buildup. No hype. No conventional trappings of production or performance. Because it does not need them. This is not performance. It is positioning.

Cole Bennett is not merely an executive or director behind the scenes here; he is inserting himself into his own architecture, taking the mic not to impress, but to assert presence. This freestyle meta—a moment where the invisible becomes visible, where the architect steps briefly into the frame to remind us that he is still at the helm, still observing the flow, still orchestrating the cultural rhythm.

On the surface, the bars meander. The cadence is casual. The audio quality is rough around the edges. But these are not flaws—they are signifiers. In a landscape oversaturated by immaculate branding and hyper-produced content, this kind of deliberate roughness is a power move. It signals confidence born from sovereignty. It says: I do not have to polish everything, because the foundation beneath me is unshakable.

This moment captures the room more than the rhyme—the fluorescent hum of the office, the faint ambient noises of an operating cultural hub, the breath between words. These details are the true message: this is a transmission from the control center. It is less about what is said and more about who is saying it—and what that presence means within the larger ecosystem.

If All is Yellow was a meticulously constructed cathedral of myth and image, “Lunchbreak Freestyle” is the emperor in a hoodie, mid-break, casually letting the world know he still holds the scepter. It is a proof of life, an emblem of creative ease and authority. A reminder that the power is not only in the output, but in the freedom to step away and return at will.

There is no need here for Cole Bennett to prove his worth as a rapper, or even to attempt it. The act itself is symbolic: by simply taking the mic, he asserts that he is fluent in every language of the culture he shapes—from directing iconic visuals to wielding voice. It’s a subtle assertion of multi-dimensional control over the narratives he crafts.

In the Cailey-coded frame, “Lunchbreak Freestyle” functions as a maintenance ritual, a soft check-in that preserves and reaffirms the hierarchy without disruption. It says: The throne is occupied. The lens is still watching. The story is still unfolding under my command.