Martin had a dream
Martin had a dream
Kendrick have a dream
- Backseat Freestyle
Though his major label debut album, good
kid, m.A.A.d. city, only dropped in October of 2012, Kendrick Lamar is already
being hailed as the "savior of hip-hop," reinventing West Coast rap. In an era of
commercialization that allows the success of the likes of Nicki Minaj, 2 Chainz, Waka Flocka, and Soulja Boy, Lamar is a unique and welcome change. In an intricate,
self-aware, and deeply personal narrative that spans his experience as an
adolescent growing up in Compton, California. Kendrick, who tells his story
through the eyes of his younger self, K-Dot, depicts a stunning account of his
struggle against and ultimate escape from the “m.A.A.d. city” that he tried so
hard not to let shape him. In fact, the album, the music itself, serves as
Kendrick’s instrument for freedom, a fact that is not lost on the rapper. At
its most powerful moments, this concept album, this hip-hop take on the rock opera, this “hip-hop-era,”
if you will, is willing to not only embrace the dichotomies it presents, but to
utilize them in creating a beautiful and rather elegant search for closure and
some sort of truth.
Chronologically, “Backseat Freestyle” drops us off at the beginning of
K-Dot’s story. He’s in the back of the car with his friends, who ask him to
freestyle at the end of “Bitch Don’t Kill My Vibe” (in a fluid skit that
furthers the “hip-hopera” idea). Lamar has stated that “’Backseat Freestyle’
is being in the mind state of being 16 years old, and not having no cares in
the world. Not giving a damn about nothing, but life and money and what you see
in front of you. It’s not me talking now, it’s me talking then.” So young
Kendrick tells us he has a dream, one that somehow warrants a mention alongside
that of Martin Luther King, which is a boisterous claim by any account.
However, in a supposedly post-Civil Rights era, Lamar, along with many young
adolescents growing up in ghettos like Compton, is still struggling with
problems fundamentally based in his racial identity. We don’t yet know exactly
what his dream is, but in his reappropriation, Kendrick brazenly suggests that
young African-Americans have yet to attain complete equality. Though poignant here, this
confidence is carried throughout the song in lines like, “I pray my dick get
big as the Eiffel Tower/ So I could fuck the world for 72 hours,” surprising
lyrics from the self-proclaimed “good kid.” However, the bravado is out-of-place
when compared to rest of Lamar’s record and seems rather forced, which only
serves to prove how K-Dot is easily influenced by his environment, his friends,
and his society to put on the “I’m doper than you” gangsta rap ego that is expected
of him. Lamar is innovative because he goes on to reveal the complex character underneath. Yet many elements of this song still exhibit Kendrick’s vocal prowess and unique style. His flow is actually quite idiosyncratic. The music video is
shot with a 2:39:1 aspect ratio, which has a highly cinematic connotation, and
has the effects of flickering old film texture. Not coincidentally, GKMC is in fact subtitled "A Short Film by Kendrick Lamar," so these references are absolutely intentional. Like Nas' Illmatic does for Queensbridge, Kendrick's GKMC immerses us in a cross-section of the tangled world of Compton through the array of panoramic shots and blunt cuts that are his cinematic lyrics.
With "The Art of Peer Pressure," K-Dot's formerly carefree narrative takes a turn for the worse. In a harrowing transition, the song's sonic elements create an atmosphere of unease as Kendrick layers on detailed images of a robbery sequence "with the homies." His whole personality changes as the drug-free and nonviolent K-Dot transforms into a boy who almost easily embraces the darker side of the thug image he feels obligated to uphold in front of the people he considers his closest friends. The strangest and most disturbing part is Kendrick's acknowledgement that he's doing something he considers morally wrong ("I'm usually a true firm believer of bad karma/ Consequences of evil will make your past haunt you"), yet his inability to stop himself from being swept up into the peer pressure. Thus we begin to see the beginnings a pervading argument throughout the album for a refined version "environmental determinism," an anthropological phenomenon which assert that human behavior is primarily influenced by physical geography, that contains elements of "social determinism," a theory that social constructs and interactions alone shape people's behavior. See, the "m.A.A.d." city has the power to corrupt Kendrick in a way he never thought possible.
If I told you that a flower bloomed in a dark room, would you trust it?
After consciously chronicling his adventures with the homies and his romantic interest Sherane for the first half of GKMC, Kendrick turns to re-examine his role within in his city in the two-part centerpiece of the album. "Good Kid" begins with
hazy, transient instrumentals and vocals saying, “Mass hallucination baby/ Ill
education baby/ Want to reconnect with your elations/ This is your station
baby.”Already, Lamar addresses two problems with the city he grew up in: the lack of education as well as the silent consensus to either ignore the problems that plague the city or be pressured into being part of them. Throughout the track, employs a "red and blue" motif to further his argument of environmental determinism. In the first verse, red and blue represent the colors of the ever-active gang rivalry between the Crips (blue) and the Bloods (red) in Compton. Kendrick raps that despite his avoiding joining or taking part in either gang, he is still harassed "walking from Bible study," a fantastic juxtaposition that shows us how even the most innocent endeavors are tainted by the violent culture that surrounds them. In a clever double entendre, K-Dot tells us how "[living] in the street with rank" in fact makes the city "rank."
View Compton Gang Map in a larger map
In the second verse, "the blinking of red and blue" transform into police lights. Southern California has a long history of police brutality against African-Americans, notably Rodney King and the LA riots. And these manifestations of racial tensions permeates the lives of adolescents living in Compton even today, as Kendrick reveals as he raps, "Every time you clock in the morning, I feel you just want to kill/ All my innocence while ignoring my purpose to persevere as a better person/ I know you heard this and probably in fear/ But what am I supposed to do?" Despite Kendrick's own real convictions to be better than his situation, the police don't recognize him as an individual, but rather racially profile him as someone who couldn't possibly be "innocent," an assumption that, Kendrick points out, is based "in fear." In this brilliant comparison, Lamar is basically saying that the gangs and the police are one in the same for him, unjustly acting upon corrupt and vindictive motives. And Kendrick feels trapped, he doesn't know what to do, because "he know we'll never respect, the good kid, m.A.A.d. city." Lamar expands his argument to a universal level, pointing out how even in our post-civil rights era, it's hard for most people to get past racial stereotypes. He goes deeper, saying that these stereotypes then backfire, and end up molding even those who try to avoid them - a form of "social determinism." And though Kendrick keeps insisting that deep down he is that "good kid," we already know how easily he got caught up in the violence of his streets, even if he didn't plan or want to.
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| "And you ask, "Lift up your shirt" cause you wonder if a tattoo/ Of affiliation can make it a pleasure to put me through/ Gang files, but that don't matter because the matter is racial profile" - good kid |
Unlike his predecessors though, Lamar never explicitly says "Fuck tha Police," but he instead takes that old ethos of gangsta rap and re-examines and reappropriates it to suit his more introspective purpose. This is especially apparent in "m.A.A.d. city." The angry flow, the clever gun references ("IV's on top of IV's"), and the interrogation ("where you from my nigga?") are all there, but Kendrick doesn't absolve himself of blame just because he can easily hold his environment accountable for his situation. He asks, "If I told you I killed a nigga at 16, would you believe me?/ Or see me to be innocent Kendrick you seen in the street," foreshadowing events that are yet to come. Until now he's been giving us the impression that underneath the effects of the "m.A.A.d. city," he's still a boy with a heart of gold. However, this is not exactly true. Environmental determinism and peer pressure were definitely major factors in his corruption, as "Kendrick AKA Compton's human sacrifice" argues when he raps, "I live inside the belly of the rough/ Compton, U.S.A. made Me an Angel on Angel Dust." (He is referring to the first time he smoked marijuana, unwittingly dragging on a joint that was laced with cocaine. Also "m.A.A.d." stands for "my Angel's on Angel dust.) Yet in an epiphany that pulls the album together in "Sing About Me...", Kendrick still acknowledges that he must take some responsibility for the mistakes he made in order to ever escape the violent city culture he's trapped in. In fact, this is where Kendrick really shines on the album, in trying to reconcile his internal contradictions.
The track that follows is arguably lyrically the weakest, as well as the album's radio-friendly lead single. "Swimming Pools (Drank)" is a rather straightforward exploration and critique of the ubiquity of alcohol in ghetto culture. However this gives the song the opportunity to emphasize Kendrick's other strengths, namely his contemporary sound and slick production. Throughout the album, Lamar has the uncommon ability to approach heavy subject matter in a way that is undeniably fresh and listenable. He doesn't preach, but muses over skeletal, contemplative beats that could be considered boring if they didn't serve their purpose of focusing and supporting the lyrics so well. In this way, Kendrick truly represents a new generation of hip-hop artists; he is perhaps the only rapper in recent history who has successfully created fantastic party music with an anti-alcoholic message.
And though the narrative pauses for an alcohol-induced reprieve, in the skit that follows "Swimming Pools," one of Kendrick's homies, Dave, is killed in a shoot-out caused by Kendrick relationship with Sherane. It is in this awful moment that K-Dot truly understands the effects of the violent culture in which he is trapped as well as the feeling of blood on his hands.
I count lives all on these songs
Look at the weak and cry, pray one day you'll be strong
Fighting for your rights, even when you're wrong
And hope that at least one of you sing about me when I'm gone
The climax of the album is Kendrick's twelve minute (yes, twelves minutes, but it's worth it) reckoning, "Sing About Me, I'm Dying of Thirst." Earlier Kendrick hinted at being responsible for killing a man, and we now know he was probably figuratively talking about Dave. He also states he had a dream akin to MLK's because he feels racially repressed by the ghetto he had no choice but to grow up in. Both of these threads come together in this track. Kendrick's dream is made apparent: to tell his story in order to overcome "m.A.A.d. city," which proves to be only possible by getting out. The most interesting aspect of this song is the rather overtly spiritual lyrics that come into play full force after many earlier, yet subtler, allusions. In "Sing About Me," Kendrick's first two verses come from the points of view of ghosts that still haunt him, years later. The first is from Dave's brother who says he's "fortunate [Kendrick] believe[s] in a dream," instead of the "I ain't give a fuck" attitude of Dave's brother, "the same mentality that told my brother not to duck," the same mentality that cuts off his verse, and hopes, with gunshots, implying that Dave's brother was also killed before Kendrick's album dropped. The second is from the point of view of the sister of Keisha, a woman Kendrick dedicated a song to on his first album Section. 80. She angrily defends her sister's lifestyle, even though she was raped then killed, and talks about she herself also continues to prostitute on the streets. This woman doesn't feel fortunate, however, saying, "But fuck that 'Sorry for your loss' shit/ My sister died in vain, but what point are you trying to gain/ If you can't fit the pumps I walk in?" She doesn't want Kendrick to apologize for the life she was given, and comes at with a rather proud "it is what it is" attitude. She doesn't want Kendrick to sing about her, but he does anyway. The third verse extends the religious metaphor, comparing growing up in Compton to being "condemned." Kendrick raps, "If I'm doomed, may the wound/ Help my mother be blessed for many moons," subtly comparing himself to Christ. In a way, he is the "messiah" of his city. He tells Keisha's story because he feels "it need to be told." He counts lives, weeps for the weak and voiceless, and fights for their rights, even when the rest of the world considers them "wrong," or worthless because of the lives they're trapped in, and doesn't give them a second look.
And though, in this sense, Kendrick could be considered a "savior," he's really the one who needs saving. In "Dying of Thirst" (a thirst the "Swimming Pools" cannot quench), Kendrick admits to a metaphorical need for holy water, for God, to save him. He recognizes his own culpability in his actions: "How many sins? I'm running out/ How many sins? I lost count." He continues to liken his city to a "desert" where all its citizens are dying a slow and painful death. Then finally, "tired of tumbling," he recounts, "Back once my momma say/ 'See a pastor, give me a promise/ ...The truth will set you free.'" She is referring to the act of confession, which is one way of looking at this entire album. Rap is Kendrick's metaphorical savior, not the other way around. Rap gave Kendrick a way out of Compton, as well as a chance to tell the stories of the people without a voice of their own. In doing so, Kendrick is finally able to take responsibility for his own life, extract himself from the grasp of environmental determinism, while still recognizing the effect of these external sources. When Kendrick creates his album, in a way he is hoping to be reborn, baptizing himself. (Hip) "hop in that water," his mother tells him, "and pray that it works."
You love your hood, might even love it to death
But what love got to do with it when you don't love yourself?
- Real
GKMC ends with "Compton," an uncomfortable victory lap featuring Dr. Dre, yet exuding the same feigned machismo as "Backstreet Freestyle." In fact, it's quite a let down, because Kendrick very much falls into the rap stereotype he seemed to be avoiding throughout the entire ego, the rap ego. When Dre comes up, so does the wall that separates Kendrick's image and his conscious. Dre raps, "I pass the blunt then pass the torch" and Kendrick accepts, even though he doesn't smoke and most definitely isn't an N.W.A. sort of gansta rapper.
Even after all he's been through, part of Kendrick still celebrates Compton. Though he physically achieved his dream of getting out, it's as if his mind is stuck there. In fact, in an interview (above), Kendrick explains why made GKMC in the first place, stating:
It’s really just a self-portrait. I feel I need to make this this album in order to move on with my life, and I had negative vibes and demons haunting me. It’s that real. I had to come from somewhere, I had to come from a place — it could have been negative, it could have been positive but for the majority of it, it was negative place. I needed to vent and put this message out in order for me to grow as a person. I’m glad I did, because it was a venting process, you know, to tell these stories I never told.
However, on the album at least, Kendrick doesn't fully accomplish this dream; the skit at the end of the story depicts Kendrick borrowing his mama's car for fifteen minutes, which places us back at the beginning of his story (in the skit at the end of "Sherane aka Master Splinter's Daughter Kendrick's mama says Kendrick took the van and said he'd be back in fifteen minutes), creating in "good kid, m.A.A.d. city" an endless loop of Compton that we're not sure Kendrick can ever escape.
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