Black Boy Fly: An Essay About Kendrick Lamar
The possibility of a review of "good kid, m.A.A.d. city," by Kendrick Lamar.
I am working on that essay about Kendrick Lamar, who put out my favorite record released this year. Perhaps it's because I find his music so inspiring and game-changing in the world of hip-hop - well the world of music in general really - that it is causing my already heavy procrastinating/perfectionist tendencies to kick into high gear.
However, I have the next 3 days off of work. I plan on doing very little other than listening to his record on repeat, getting heavy with hibernation, and write write writing.
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In many ways it’s the most unlikely record to transcend the snobbery of the musical intelligentsia that insists on giving a cursory nod to hip hop in their year-end lists. Perhaps it’s partly out of guilt for dick-riding overly sensitive white males all year long. For whatever reason, the who’s who of the music bloggers/Pitchfork generation, have always given a nod to hip hop in their own way. They are approaching condescension, being well-intentioned enough, when compiling their obligatory (why?) year-end lists. In the early oughts it was all about shout outs to cocaine rap (Ghostface, Fishscale, Clipse, Every Damn Record They Ever Released), while later years have found a shift towards an artier arc, as evidenced by Sub Pop signing the murky spacey subterranean art-hop outfit Shabazz Palaces to its historied roster.
This brings us to the present. Preamble aside, good kid, m.A.A.d city by Kendrick Lamar is not only the best record of 2012, but it is also the most cinematic hip hop record my ears have heard since GZA dropped Liquid Swords in 1995. Which is to say, while it never denies the chance to bounce a good hook or revel in pop production, it ultimately dismisses the hot single in order to strengthen the narrative arc of the album as a whole. Let me explain....
It starts with a prayer.
How crazy is that?
Answer: very.
Ultimately, it's not about preaching. It's about a celebration. It is a celebration of both good and evil, and realizing that framing it in those terms is a false dichotomy. It's about what it means to be human; that the black and white fiction of good and evil makes for great stories, while the reality of living life is much more nuanced. That to be a human being trying to get by and survive with your dignity intact is a struggle that is both noble and disenchanting. Were it not for our cumbersome burdens we would never be able to soar to great heights.
The dichotomy of pain and pleasure has never been more profound than on these tracks where the personal struggles and triumphs of young Kendrick Lamar transcend the visceral audio experience, transforming him into a new arena of manhood and music entirely. He has created a pantheon that recognizes martyrs of violence without celebrating the ugliness that led to their demise. This music is an altar, where the pure of heart are celebrated despite the failure of the flesh. It is a place where we can all be baptized by the beat, and still relish in the joy of earthly pleasures. Essentially, good kid, m.A.A.d city creates a space where we can all get down and celebrate the joy of being alive. Imperfections be damned. Sing, sirens, sing. Fly!
Black boy fly.
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It's becoming more and more clear to me that I don't have an open-ended essay in me. Not about Kendrick. At least not yet.
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Ryan Feigh covers hip-hop for Portland Mercury.
Originally from St. Cloud, MN, he currently spilts his time between
Portland, OR and the Internet.
[Photo Via: Stolen Records Crew]