Guys, we need to talk about Kendrick Lamar's performance at the Grammys last Sunday, hip hop music, and the elephant in the room. His live act, which consisted of him and his background dancers solemnly entering the stage for him to slowly wrap his enchained hands around the microphone before starting in on his single, "The Blacker the Berry," and then subtly transition into "Alright," was among the most profoundly provocative, powerful performances of its time. A performance like this was especially bold coming merely a week after Beyonce was publicly attacked for her own social statement at the Super Bowl halftime show, and it was obvious that something special was about to happen in front of us from the moment that his handcuffed hands held the microphone. Mr. Lamar's performance did not disappoint, but maybe that's just what we ought to expect from him at this point.
Lamar's first album, "Good Kid, m.A.A.d. city," was just the tip of the iceberg in his exploration of deep moral dilemmas set to the background of the drugs and gang violence that surrounded him in Compton, California. While other artists use their albums as a platform of self-aggrandization, clever catch phrases, and boisterous boasts, Lamar's album really examines what it's like to attempt to love, respect and revere where you come from while simultaneously attempting to overcome the entrapments of gang violence, drugs and aimlessness that seems to come with coming up in Compton. Even the album's cover, an old photo of Lamar and his family, makes a statement: only Lamar's eyes are revealed, as the man holding him flashes a Crip sign, signifying that this journey is being articulated through Lamar's eyes alone.
This display of Lamar's lyrical genius, mastery of cadence, and use of old school beats covers all of his bases, with its title song, "m.A.A.d. city," discussing drugs, gang violence and "dreams of being a lawyer or a doctor" for the next generation to someday leave the slums that captivated their forefathers. "Swimming Pools (Drank)," a popular party song for many people, is actually an analysis and condemnation of the effects of alcohol in poor neighborhoods and on Kendrick himself, and even "Backseat Freestyle," a song that seems to be nothing more than a boisterous boast upon first glance, uses itself as a platform to simultaneously drop intense one-liners while continually stating that "Martin had a dream," as if to remind us of Martin Luther King's dreams of the African-American community leaving it impoverished. Kendrick tells us "Kendrick had a dream" as the song draws to a close, leaving us wondering if Mr. Lamar's happy with his own accomplishments and if he wonders how Dr. King would view them. The entire album revolves around themes of overcoming circumstances and hoping for heroics, but it doesn't show anybody, including Lamar himself, in an overly generous light. The album is a work of art from top to bottom, but Mr. Lamar's best had yet to come with the release of "To Pimp a Butterfly."
Lamar's sophomore sequel to "Good Kid, m.A.A.d. city" was anything but a sophomore slump. Lamar incorporated old funk, jazz, spirituals, and soul to further cement his reputation as the childhood poverty-stricken street poet, using this album to further discuss moral dilemmas like poverty, race, and systemic injustice. "To Pimp a Butterfly" received more accolades than any other album released in 2015, including being named the best album of the year by Rolling Stone, Complex, Vice, and the New York Times, and ranking no lower than third on any list released by a major news publication. The album and its various songs were nominated for seven Grammys, including album of the year, song of the year, and best rap album, and it went on to win four of them.
Lamar was nominated for another four Grammys for songs that weren't on "To Pimp a Butterfly," winning one more for his work with Taylor Swift on "Bad Blood." His thoughtful, deliberate discourse on some of the most severe social issues of our time was so highly thought of that the president of the United States, Barrack Obama, named his "How Much A Dollar Cost" as his favorite song of 2015, earning Mr. Lamar a trip to the White House to speak to President Obama about urban issues like poverty, inequality, drugs, and Lamar's stark advocacy of charities and programs like MENTOR and My Brother's Keeper, made to mentor young men from disadvantaged backgrounds to make something of themselves. The president's favorite tune talks about the value of money and what you could do for others, centering itself around a conversation Mr. Lamar had with a homeless man begging him for a dollar with the dark allusions to Christianity that he makes in many of his songs. "The Blacker the Berry," the opening song to his performance at the Grammys, is Lamar's formal condemnation of racial injustice in America, but Lamar uses the same song to convict himself and others of hypocrisy, calling himself "the biggest hypocrite of 2015" throughout the song for daring to discuss these injustices while abiding by the deaths of thousands of black men at the hands of other black men. The piece is a bold, honest piece that questions why Lamar was so upset about the death of Trayvon Martin when "gang banging made me kill a man blacker than me!" Lamar's album is an exciting extension of his questions on American society, race, and poverty wrapped in old school music, honoring the heritage of American music that stems almost entirely from black culture.
These questions about American society inevitably lead us back to the message Mr. Lamar made at the Grammy's. His arrival to the stage in chains was a powerful reflection on a legal system that enshrines systemic injustice. Choosing to arrive on stage in bondage was outrageously offensive to many, but it shouldn't be when one reflects on the issue of black incarceration in the United States. Lamar was outraged that one third of black men born today can expect to spend some time in prison, and we all ought to be outraged that, despite there being five times as many whites using drugs as African-Americans, blacks are sent to prison for drug offenses at ten times the rate of whites. Lamar's protest wasn't provocative for its own sake; Lamar's message was meant to make us examine the reality that there is a serious, systemic injustice being done to our marginalized communities that ought to frighten us all. His performance was frightening to many people, but it's simply an artistic statement about what is happening in our society around us. He was given a platform, which he utilized to propagate his message.
Despite delivering a powerful performance the likes of which we may not see for another 50 years and delivering an album that eclipsed the work of so many others, Lamar's contributions to music still weren't fully appreciated. It's disappointing to see that a revolutionary album like his could lose to Taylor Swift's "1989." Sure, "1989" had some catchy hooks that played well on mainstream radio, but Lamar's album was an artistic masterpiece from top to bottom. Lamar is a poetic prophet of the streets who reflects the situation of millions of American people. We are watching a rapper, a man who came from nothing, change American music, society, and challenge the status quo, but Taylor Swift still walked away with Album of the Year for an album drawing on 1980s pop to a fault. We're watching Kendrick Lamar produce the poetic music of a wise man while we wait for Taylor Swift to grow up and quit writing the same songs we heard at our middle school dances. It's a sad reflection on our society that an intellectual, lyrical masterpiece that draws on themes anyone else is afraid to approach like Lamar's was eschewed in favor of an artist whose biggest hits from five different albums discuss shallow middle school breakups and her inability to dance.
