Fuck, dudes, I don’t fucking know.
I’m always wary of reacting to a Kendrick Lamar release. I’m far more scared of sharing my views on Mr Lamar than I am doing so with Taylor Swift (and even Pusha T), as I’m far more anxious about the Kendrickers than I am of the Swifties. And definitely more scared of them than I am of the Pushas, as that fangroup ain’t shit! Your hero calls me out (by, cough, ahem, misunderstanding the article and proving my point) and I don’t get one death threat or doxxing attempt?? We have a word for you around the Necessary Evil household: S… A… W… F… T… SAWFT! You casuals’ arms ain’t long enough to box with God. Hell, your arms ain’t long enough to wash my balls.
But the Kendrickers are often people I respect the views of, consider my peers or are even (oh lordy-loo) friends with. Kendrick’s main calling card is the incisiveness and cerebral majesty of his lyrics (although his actual talent as one of the greatest rappers in the world is often overlooked – few living beings could summon the electrified turmoil with his skills like Kendrick does on a track like DNA) and I have no issue with his general standing and importance within culture. It’s just that, generally, I don’t fucking care.
OK, so maybe it’s not that I don’t care, more that I simply don’t have the energy. The fact is that I simply too often find Kendrick not musically interesting enough to delve too deep into. I love so many of his tracks, I think he’s definitely been responsible for some of the most important music of the 21st century, and I’m not arguing that he doesn’t deserve any of the plaudits he’s received. I just think that often his music and his songs aren’t interesting enough, not memorable enough, to inspire the close inspection that his lyrics so obviously deserve. And if you attempt to interpret of analyse those lyrics?? A fucking hornets’ nest, mate! Suddenly you’re opening yourself up to neckbeard attacks and scoffs from Genius connoisseurs. I don’t. Have time. For that.
‘Mr Morale…’ is extraordinarily good. It’s too long. There’s probably a 45 minute album of the year contender somewhere within these 73 minutes. If I just discovered this album from an unknown artist on Soundcloud it might become my own personal love, and I’d be waxing lyrical on the lyrical genius (without help from Genius). But, I dunno, dude, the cultural weight we’ve all decided to attach to Kendrick can so easily be suffocating.
‘To Pimp a Butterfly’ the fourteenth best album of 2015!? One place below ‘Glass Riffer’ by Dan Deacon (a better album, I’m sorry. You mad, bro?). That’s why Metacritic doesn’t count my scores. Oh, speaking of Metacritic: