Review Summary: 1,855 days, I been goin thru somethin
The opening 20 seconds of any Kendrick album will tell you everything you need to know. Whether it’s the resigned desperation of the Sinner’s Prayer or a triumphantly proud Boris Gardiner sample, K.Dot has never been one to obscure his thematic intention.
DAMN introduced itself with a haunting series of existential questions; “Is it wickedness? Is it weakness? You decide, are we gonna live or die?” In the five years of (mostly) radio silence since then, we’ve all carried on living, but it’s only become more burdensome; we’ve all spent our time in the darkness and we all need a miracle.
“
I hope you find some peace of mind in this lifetime / I hope you find some paradise”
It was always a given that paradise, some form of blissful escape, was real and promised. Fantasies of lighting a joint in the Oval Office, becoming the hometown hero, ascending to the top of the game, declaring victory over the past. It’s all for nothing. The ghosts continue to haunt and the wounds continue to fester. He just grieves different now. The vicious echoes of trauma possess
Mr. Morale and the Big Steppers from the moment the curtain lifts, and it plays how trauma feels; visceral, occasionally unfocused, and unmoored to any sort of time. “Worldwide Steppers” sees us dragged across time and space to different instances of Kendrick’s addiction and infidelity, creating a dizzying feeling of being watched by some all-seeing eye. The two childhood-themed cuts, “Father Time” and “Mother I Sober”, are immediate standouts not only due to their immaculate production, but their daring and brazen examinations of mental health, psychological dependence, and generational pain. He truly holds nothing back here and the results speak for themselves.
While this creative ethos is what gives
Mr. Morale most of its positive qualities, it is also what erodes at its foundation and causes a handful of bumps in the road. Much will be said about the puzzling “Auntie Diaries”, and very little of it will be constructive; I appreciate Kendrick’s willingness to be vulnerable as an artist, but the decision to release this one is a rare instance in which his finger is nowhere near the cultural pulse. “We Cry Together” takes a wonderful sketch for a 2-minute interlude and stretches it out to about 6, while “Silent Hill” observes Kendrick’s incomparable flows and layered production and utilizes neither of them, culminating in Kodak Black somehow walking away with the superior verse. It’s an imperfect album with notable and glaring missteps, and this will not go unnoticed, given the 5-year waiting period and Kendrick’s eagerness to crown himself.
In spite of these imperfections, I believe
Mr. Morale remains an improvement over the solid, yet stagnant
DAMN, and it marks the return of our most important MC into a world none of us would have recognized the last time he released music. It’s a wounded, disoriented record, leaving all of its baggage at your front doorstep, indifferent to your reaction. Anything for some peace of mind.
