Kendrick Lamar is the first to admit he comes on too strong. His 2011 album Section.80 was presented as a manifesto, and its visionary follow-up, good kid, m.A.A.d. city, is subtitled "A Short Film By Kendrick Lamar," and it's variously been described in even loftier terms West Coast hip-hop incarnate, a morality play guided equally by Jeezy and Jesus, the most important major-label rap album in nearly a decade (DK: haha ok. that's saying a whole lot). It's all of those things, and after selling more than 500,000 copies in its first two months, it's safe to call it something more simple: a hit record.
Don't underestimate the importance of this last fact. Section.80 was an auspicious and promising album but it was hardly flawless (DK: individually the s80 songs stand better on their own than GKMC). To improve Lamar needed investments of talent, trust, and money. Without a broader belief in his vision, Kendrick doesn't repurpose his thrilling lyrical technique to vividly embody the characters who occupy these self-contained and heartfelt parables. Nor does he unify them through linear and non-linear narrative devices that turn good kid into an open-ended soundworld as vast as Compton itself but as detailed and intimate as a journal entry. And you don't assemble this roster of production and guest rappers without expecting a return on said investment: Just Blaze, Pharrell, Noah "40" Shebib, Dr. Dre, and Hit-Boy create beats that serve as living environments, lush and warm when expressing joy in the experience of music and young lust, sinister and hard when penetrated by the gang violence and abuse of South Central L.A. that remains a constant in Kendrick's life.
The merger of multifaceted storytelling and exquisite music results in a tremendous payoff on "The Art of Peer Pressure", the 12-minute stunner "Sing About Me, I'm Dying Of Thirst", and "Real," ambitious numbers that likened good kid to similar art-rap opuses like Aquemini, Black On Both Sides, and, yes, Illmatic. But the overwhelming response assures its legend is still being crafted outside the controlled environment of critical opinion. Everything that made you second-guess its "classic" attribution is the result of earned ubiquity-- overuse of "ya bish," Lady Gaga demanding "her" version of "Bitch, Don't Kill My Vibe" be heard, dozens of Soundcloud rappers butchering the "Backseat Freestyle" beat, frat parties misconstruing the entire point of "Swimming Pools (Drank)" (DK: glad the writers are admitting this. seen a lot of folks around the net in denial of this.), the debates about whether "Compton" was even necessary as a closer. Those are the cost of doing business when you ascend to this level of The Slim Shady LP, Doggystyle, or Ready to Die (DK: hyperbole through the fucking roof), records that are eternal for both their artistic achievements and their constant presence in cars, radio playlists, parties, and discussions among people who may never set eyes upon a year-end list. (DK: i honestly dont feel like it was that BIG of an album. no disputes with the quality. but i think they're vastly overestimating the ubiquity of it. it's not on that level.)
Towards the end of good kid, Kendrick's mother pleads with him to "tell your story to these black and brown kids of Compton...give back with your words of encouragement." The scope of this album goes far beyond Compton, but her words serve as a fitting coda for a song where Kendrick meditates on what makes him matter. good kid gives of itself. So while the achievement is Kendrick's, the music belongs to everyone: Whether it's other rappers, industry heads, or listeners hoping for redemption after being let down by the former two, everyone can leave good kid, m.A.A.d. city dreaming of something bigger. --Ian Cohen