It was sometime during the summer before college when I heard a song by Kendrick Lamar for the first time. "Swimming Pools" had just made its way to the airwaves and invited us millennials to give our trivial two cents about it. For me, all I needed was 10 seconds to develop an unsettling fondness for Mr. Lamar. The alluring cadence and instrumentation of the song impeded any intention to explore the depth of the lyrics. My ears were only fixated on the bridge while his verses were nothing but white noise with the accompaniment of occasional nods to the beat.
"Pour up (drank), head shot (drank), sit down (drank), stand up (drank)..."
In my height of ignorance, I strongly believed this song was one of those that play at parties where everyone is chanting the name of a poor soul who just downed his or her 16th shot. But this was never Lamar's intent. As a matter of fact, the full intent of his song was to ultimately acknowledge the bane of drinking. While being interviewed by Complex for his critically acclaimed album, "good kid m.A.A.d. city," Lamar spoke out about the content of the misinterpreted song. “I don’t really say this much, but that record I feel like has a lot of integrity. People never address [alcoholism]. A lot of people, when they first hear it, they think it’s just about drinking and the positive effects of getting drunk. But this record talks about the negative effects as well. Which is really dope because not a lot of people want to touch on all the other things.” Lamar takes no time in the song to dive into his hereditary influence of alcohol and the inevitable peer pressure that comes with it. He later entails an internal struggle in which he faces the duality of the angel and the devil on his shoulder, ultimately answering all doubts if this is just one of those "let's drink and forget the night away" anthems.
Lamar subtly plays the unsung conscious rapper, which becomes more apparent in his other songs. I say unsung because many folks these days, like myself three years ago, will disregard expressive substance and rather pay an ear to any song that has a staple vibe that promptly fits our “turn down for what summer 2016” playlist. We blindly gravitate to any tune that is broadcast on the radio, unconsciously trusting that the content will produce feel-good music of some sort. But the problem here isn't us.
The problem is the group of rappers that bring their makeshift notoriety and facade to the mainstream. This is not to downplay their talents or whatever excursion they experienced before stardom. This is to question why transparency and substance have ceased to exist in many mainstream hip-hop mediums. I don't entirely denounce this behavior, however. I mean, what's the radio without a few giddy hits about how the club is going up on a Tuesday night? But I digress.
Lamar has galvanized controversial matters left and right, and rightfully so. His songs are not just personal anecdotes or convivial anthems for us to apathetically listen to, but a compelling rhetoric for us to place even just a toe into his shoes to see the harsh and incredible realities he has lived through. Although "To Pimp a Butterfly" is a more blatant testament to the current internal struggle of Lamar, "good kid m.A.A.d. city" takes us by the hand to witness just how the good kid carried himself through the mad city. In the album, Lamar touches on nostalgia and adolescence. He offers no hesitation to welcome us into his dark youth such as witnessing his first murder at the age of five and being involved in multiple gang activities. Despite having a resume and upbringing that lacks the common prevalence others have, Lamar still manages to resonate with us on multiple accounts like his song "Art of Peer Pressure."
As the song title implicates, peer pressure is an art that is practiced in so many measures. Lamar raps about doing things he would never do unless he was with his friends, such as robbing a house. He prompts the listeners to understand the immense gravity that peer pressure holds no matter the severity of the transgression. It's once again a story that allows us to get a genuine glimpse of the opportunities and decisions Lamar flirted with in Compton.
Maybe calling him a conscious rapper is inaccurate. Maybe attaching any label on him is just outright preposterous. But if I am to attach a label on him, if I may, he is an individual that stays true to himself no matter the glory or fame. No gimmicks, no baloney. He's just a man that boldly carries his heart on his sleeve.
