In May, hip-hop’s long-absent guiding conscience returned. Though our decaying world expected salvation, the messianic MC rose bearing an evasive, eremitic double LP that offered no overarching political comment, no rap-along anthems, no solutions to our societal woes, but, instead … lyrics about therapeutic water fasts and the hollow comfort of luxury cars? Had Kendrick’s poetic eye finally shifted downward from America’s streets to his millionaire’s naval? Oh god … is he rapping about cancel culture?
How short-sighted we were. Kendrick Lamar understands the stakes perfectly. He won acclaim with a series of albums that vividly rendered the reality of his surroundings, but the empathetic acuity of his reportage quickly became mistaken for the faultlessness of his personhood. Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers is the turning away, the Yeezus, the In Utero – the standoffish swerve that emphasizes Kendrick’s fragile, difficult humanity to save his unparalleled artistry. Sure, it’s upsetting to hear the voice of a generation echoing around in his own head – fixated on his trauma rather than ours – but it’s also unmistakably honest, and isn’t that what we all come to Kendrick for?
Well, maybe not. Recent festival set lists suggest that the Big Steppers tour will go heavy on old favorites. Taken at face value, you could read this as a musician cowing to public opinion, quickly moving past his “flop” era. But I disagree; this is confidence. He knows Mr. Morale has done its job and recontextualized his music forever. Kendrick Lamar is not, has not been, will not be “your savior.”
—2859246— Julian Towers