Review Summary: Kendrick Lamar crafts an unruly and challenging masterpiece that encourages us to be better.
What does the ‘greatest rapper of all time’ have to rap about? In the weeks leading up to this album’s release, a friend and I were debating the direction Kung-fu Kenny would take on Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers, and we narrowed it down to two possibilities. Option 1: Kendrick will come out of his five-year hiatus and tackle the state of the world head-on. He’ll talk about the pandemic, political correctness, government corruption, wars overseas and any of the seemingly limitless reasons for us to be depressed. The Heart Pt. 5 did this exceptionally well. The single directly went after Culture, making insightful points with the venom and humour we’ve come to expect from Kendrick, with the brilliantly used ‘I Want You’ sample preventing the track from losing any of the accessibility and replay-ability such conscious tracks tend to do. When midnight came, and I saw the second track was called “N95”, I immediately texted my friend: “if this man raps about the vaccine for 3 minutes over a trap beat, I’m going to be so pissed.” Thankfully, the title of that track was a red herring because Kendrick decided to go with option 2: focusing on himself.
Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers is a fascinating example of depicting the universal through the personal. United in Grief begins with a demand, apparently from Kendrick’s wife, to tell ‘them’, or rather ‘us’, what he’s been going through. And then he lets us know. “I’ve been going through something” he begins. Repeated listens of the album reveal how this one line serves as a perfect thesis statement for the project. Because yes, while Kendrick has been going through something – a something which he admits he grieves differently about – we’ve all been going through something these past 1855 days; and while we may not grieve like Kendrick, we’re united in the fact that we’ve been dealing with ‘something’ our own way. On my first listen, I felt a bit underwhelmed. Looking back, I think it’s because when I heard Kendrick say ‘Be afraid’, I thought: ‘Here comes K.Dot, telling us to be afraid as he takes the world to task’, when in reality, I should’ve been afraid because I was about to go through 73 minutes of scattered therapy notes, uncomfortable self-reflections and cyclical ruminations about what it means to be an icon who is also a man.
Disc 1: The Big Steppers
Okay, so what does the album sound like? Reddit will tell you it’s a ‘theatre play’, and in this regard perhaps that overly-analytical part of the fanbase who even suggested that the radiator in the background of the album cover represents an increasing heat in the room, has a point. Mr. Morale sure is theatrical. We begin with the sound of a lone piano (that also highlights what high production can do, because I’ll be damned if that’s not the clearest piano chord I’ve heard in a while), and we can almost picture Kendrick, alone on a stage, with the spotlight on him. Each jarring noise as the track slowly climbs (that are a pleasure to listen to with headphones on) ups the tension as we imagine some destabilizing force in the background coming for him. What is a house with a better view? A family broken in variables? What is a rapper with jewelry? A way that I show my maturity? Kendrick’s therapy begins with these simple questions and explodes into a drum loop riddled with anxiety. Anyone who’s been to therapy has experienced that quickening of the heart-rate as you realize what you’re actually about to do. “I can debate on my theories and sharing it, consolidate all my comparisons…I’m starting to feel like it’s only one answer to everything, I don’t know where it is.” But who’s thinking these thoughts? “Is it my head or my arrogance?” Kendrick taps into that meta layer of questioning that is so common when we self-reflect and doubt the authenticity of our own ruminations. Perhaps we can overcome that self-doubt if we just accept that everyone works through their grief differently, and in that idea we can be united.
N95 comes next, and as I briefly said above, I’m incredibly grateful that Kendrick focuses more on the masks we wear that hide our true selves than a tiresome discourse on the efficacy of cloth. This is one of the few tracks that you can actually nod your head to. It’s a slight return to form, with a ‘Baby Keem’ spin on it, that’s welcomed. But N95 also highlights a far worse direction Mr. Morale could have gone – and thankfully didn’t – because even I, a fan who is always ready to ride the Kendrick hype-train, found lines like “What the f**k is cancel culture dawg? Say what I want about you n*****, I’m like Oprah, dawg” cringe-inducing.
Fortunately, Worldwide Steppers comes next (featuring a brief word from Kodak Black – more on that later), bringing back a hypnotic, trance-like instrumental. Kendrick has never been afraid to tackle uncomfortable topics, but rather than providing insights on a broader racial or political subject, we’re getting an unfiltered glimpse into his head as he reflects on the few times he’s slept with white women and how it made him feel. It was at this moment on my first listen that I realized we may be getting Kendrick’s darkest project yet. While past albums may have tackled a variety of somber subjects, there’s a directness with which Lamar speaks that we’ve only glimpsed before in brief moments. It’s dark in the way that watching hours of unimaginable violence on the news can pale in comparison to a single friend confiding their traumatic history to you. The emotions provoked are visceral, and while it is an unfortunate indictment of our ability to wrap our head around more systemic issues around us (e.g. ‘genocide as a statistic’), it makes Mr. Morale an exceptionally compelling and moving piece of art.
Die Hard gives us a much needed reprieve, but a part of me can’t help feeling like its raw honesty over such a poppy instrumental undermines a bit of the ‘bite’ from lines like: “Can I open up? Is it safe or not? I’m afraid a little, you relate or not? Have faith a little, I might take my time.” This almost feels like Kendrick tries out Kanye. Regardless, the song simply bangs, Blxst and Amanda Reiffer are great, and I’m glad it was included.
Father Time, on the other hand, is a perfect mix of these elements and is perhaps one of my favourite songs on the album. Kendrick raps over reversed vocals that sound incredible, followed by a seemingly ever-changing interplay of drums, sharp piano chords and gorgeous backing vocals. On Father Time, Kendrick’s story-telling is in top form, with Sampha’s hook complimenting these musings on fatherly love and emotional vulnerability perfectly. “ I’m chargin’ baskets and falling backwards, tryna keep balance. Oh this the part where mental stability meets talent”. This is the kind of lyricism I waited five years for.
Again, we have Kodak on Rich (Interlude), an interesting choice given his criminal history (again, more on that later), who delivers some surprisingly arresting and poetic bars over some chaotic piano. Then we have Rich Spirit which is, to me, a weaker track, that sees Kendrick try out a sound we haven’t heard from him before. The results of this experiment are mixed, as Rich Spirit tries to be both catchy and introspective but does only a serviceable job at both. However, just today I found myself already beginning to warm up to the track, mouthing “Bitch I’m attractive” in the car without realizing it.
I’m not surprised “We Cry Together” is getting the buzz it is. It’s a disturbing look at an argument between a man and a woman that is so specific we can’t help but feel it is familiar too. We are told ‘this is what the world looks like’, as if to suggest that these arguments, between ourselves and the ones we love, in some form or another, are happening in all our houses. The ‘*** you’ hook is genuinely shocking and makes its point well. In a fascinating turn, the track ends with the couple deciding to just push their fighting aside and have sex, suggesting that these arguments are part of a cycle that begins and ends with us choosing to ‘hold on to each other.’ However, I could feel myself becoming desensitized to the emotional intensity of the track by the end, which leads me to believe maybe half a minute could’ve been shaved off (EDIT 05/17/22: I take this back, every second is worth it). Regardless, this is a raw and unrelenting track. I find it fascinating how we hear an argument between two people trying to hurt each other, yet the title let’s us know: “We cry together.” There’s a unity in grief and pain that tracks like this drives home. I can’t see this album existing without it.
And then…“stop tap dancing around the conversation” contextualizes all the intermittent tapping we’ve heard thus far, and carries us into the final track of the Big Steppers. If the path to becoming a better person isn’t straight, then Purple Heart is the pretty sunset before the dark. Lyrically, there’s a lot to digest in this track as it touches on themes of love, self-sacrifice, and following a righteous path. Ghostface gives a solid performance and is a welcome addition – his legacy and years of experience makes him one of the only rappers who could’ve pulled off that verse without it sounding too preachy or cringe. Initially, I found this track a bit underwhelming. Perhaps I was looking for a bit more diversity in the instrumental. However, I’m happy to report that Purple Hearts definitely passes the ‘blast through your car speakers with the windows down’ test.
Disc 2: Mr. Morale
If The Big Steppers was Kendrick grappling with important questions, Mr. Morale is the breakthrough – the epiphany that is both scary but promises that change is around the corner. Count Me Out, a highlight (that opening flow over that guitar and backing choir!), really benefits from having a lyric sheet pulled up while you listen. Kendrick tells us that none of his strong points matter if he can’t love himself because at his lowest you have no one but yourself – you have just the mirror looking for you to fall off. Suddenly ‘*** it up’ becomes less of something to shout in the club, and more of an admission of a self-destructive tendency to say *** it and be counted out when things get hard. Kendrick has regrets, he’s a wreck, but in his own words he’s digressing…‘let him loose’ so he can just continue to ‘*** it up’. In this context, Crown, on the surface a straight-forward and blander track, becomes a surprisingly poignant confrontation of what it means to be looked up to by so many. Kendrick talks first about ‘love’ as those close to you being unable to say they need time; then he talks about ‘love’ as keeping his fans happy, and ultimately concludes that these sorts of love are unsustainable. After repeating the line “I can’t please everybody”, Kendrick delivers one of the most haunting lines on the album during an understatedly gorgeous climax: “I can’t even please myself.”
Silent Hill ranks near the bottom of the album for me, but it is by no means a bad song. Like Die Hard, it’s a much-needed change-up in a heavy album. So yes, Kendrick saying “push these n***** off like me like huuuuuh” is a true ear-worm, but I still don’t love it. Fortunately, Silent Hill also shines during the ‘blast through your car speakers with the windows down’ test. Oh, and we also have Kodak’s third appearance!
Savior Interlude shines a spotlight on Baby Keem who delivers some surprisingly powerful lines that highlight his potential. I still struggle to be a fan when he devolves into his whole “Baby Keem is too wild” energy towards the end, but I still think this interlude brought out his better qualities. Even on first listen, Savior was fantastic. That unnerving climb of warbled sound near the beginning of the track leading into Kendrick’s “C’est la vie” bars is a highlight. This experiment, a resounding success, is a clear moment where Kendrick’s therapy dovetails perfectly with a high energy and, for lack of a better word, fire instrumental. Here we get an acknowledgement too of Kodak’s involvement, when he says “Like it when they pro-black, but I’m more Kodak Black.” Kendrick seems to view Kodak as an exemplar of a ‘work in progress.’ While his inclusion is still a bit iffy, I see what he’s getting at – if anything, this idea is more fleshed out during the climax of Mother I Sober, when Kendrick attempts to garner empathy for generations of those who have done wrong in the face of inherited trauma.
I have mixed feelings about Auntie Diaries. Tackling the subject of transphobia through a highly personal story was a good choice as telling an individual’s story has always been Kendrick’s strong suit. The song does seem to unnecessarily drag around the middle – I don’t know how necessary lines like “changed his gender before Bruce Jenner was certain” are, but at least it finishes in a cathartic climax that ties the topic up well. And when I say ties up, I mean Kendrick suddenly throws in a direct reference to the audience member he brought on stage who got booed for saying the ‘n’ word and attempts to draw a thematic parallel. I still can’t figure out where I stand on that hard left turn: whether it’s an interesting subversion or an unfortunate undermining of the ideas presented. Maybe both? Let’s move on.
Mr. Morale goes hard, with female choir vocals that are as unnerving as they are beautiful. It’s a necessary break between two ~6 minute tracks of ‘deep sharing’, and gives us the side of Kendrick that, if I had one main complaint about the album, I wish we got more of. Also, I’ve yet to mention Eckhart Tolle’s inclusion on prior tracks, but I’m happy with them generally – it’s his inclusion at the end of this track, where he talks about unhappiness feeding our pain body, that I think best serves the ideas presented in the project.
My jaw dropped when I saw Beth Gibbons was featured on Mother I Sober. Not only does she have a perfect voice for the track, but her ingenious inclusion (whether intentional or not) reminded me of the feelings I associate with Portishead classics like ‘Mysterons’ and ‘The Road’ – feelings that I believe complement Kendrick’s final deep dive into his psyche. Kendrick’s admission that “you’ve never felt grief/guilt” until you’ve felt it sober brutally reflects his drunk self-reflections in ‘u’ on To Pimp a Butterfly. It’s a powerful point I haven’t seen expressed in such a compelling way before. Despite the self-flagellation of ‘u’ remaining a truly powerful and uncomfortable listen, there is a frightening clarity with which a sober Kendrick reflects on his own mistakes as a man. The sudden climb towards a climax where Kendrick proclaims “this is transformation” is one of the greatest moments of his career. What follows is a congratulations for breaking a generational curse of trauma, a moment on the track that fills us with hope but also a little bit of dread. Did he really? Can anyone? I felt unsettled listening to the child say ‘thank you’, as I couldn’t help but feel that at any moment the other shoe was about to drop. It felt too good to be true. The child’s last words, “Mr. Morale” perhaps suggest that this moment reflects the imaginary character of Mr. Morale, an ideal we can at least strive for.
How we can strive to embody such an ideal is addressed on the finale of a harrowing album and potentially one of the greatest careers in music history. I see Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers as Kendrick making a conscious decision to stop leaning into the messianic role his fans have put him in and choosing to rather relay an important truth: your heroes are people too, and they often have just as much trouble loving their neighbour. Kendrick was gone 1,885 days and, as he says, waiting on him for all these years was never going to be a path to our growth. Faith in one man is a sinking ship. There is no album that could have been released that would solve our problems; but perhaps the album that could come closest is one that shows an icon doing the ‘hard work’, an implicit encouragement for us to do the same. Kendrick says our gain off his pain is nonsense, as is the way his demons have inspired mosh-pits. He tells us to do ourselves a favour and find a mirror that mirrors our own grievances, shine it at him, and see freedom. In other words, ‘Mirror’ is a plea for us to use his music as a tool for change rather than more fuel for a fire – a fire that, in Eckhart’s words, is a pain-body fed by more unhappiness. Kendrick trusts that we’ll find our independence as he did when he chose himself. And while he’s ‘sorry’ about that decision, the emotional truth of ‘Mirror’ is unambiguous: it is a song of triumph and celebration.
Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers is an unruly and challenging masterpiece that only Kendrick Lamar could have made. Over 18 tracks, we bear witness to the deconstruction of an icon by that very icon – an unprecedented feat worthy of praise in and of itself. Through Kendrick’s personal revelations, we are given an opportunity to re-evaluate the role artists play in our own lives and, by extension, better understand ourselves. And while I do have some mixed feelings on a few tracks, Kendrick still accomplishes the goal every artist should strive for: to create art that motivates us to continue building a better world for ourselves and our loved ones.
