words: Eric Miller
swagrporters guest commentary
In 1994’s ‘Illmatic,’ Nas’ stories replicate feelings of being trapped in the hood. From one line to the next, he moves seamlessly from character to character, giving voice to the forgotten. Nas’ story is about surviving and finding a way out: “Each block is like a maze full of black rats trapped, the island is packed.”
Twenty years later, Kendrick Lamar has opened a window into Compton life on ‘good kid, m.A.A.d city, a short film by Kendrick Lamar.’ His parents, originally from Chicago, sought Compton for a better life. Imagine that. Kendrick’s parents were hopeful they had found a way out of the maze. That plan proves ill conceived.
The album centers on Kendrick’s pursuit of a young lady named Sherane. She’s an elusive temptress from a town adjacent to Compton; both an erotic lure and, seemingly, a stand in for ultimately unattainable upward mobility. Kendrick’s association with Sherane ignites the arc of the album, as she’s the initial reason for borrowing his mother’s van at the album’s start – the same van that leads him to Sherane’s home and facilitates him and his friends in robbing a neighbor.
Getting too close to Sherane bites back at Kendrick time and time again, as we remember when Sherane leaves Kendrick with gonorrhea. On another night when Kendrick tries to meet up with her, the gang-banging relatives are awaiting his arrival. The kid can’t catch a break. Trying to escape is a dangerous proposition and one that has changed from what we experienced on ‘Illmatic,’ as Kendrick’s story extends from Chicago to Compton. One maze, it turns out, opens on another.
On the song ‘good kid,’ Kendrick juxtaposes his relationships with both familiar and new forces: the gangs and the cops, respectively, extending this metaphor to an American institution that promises us equality and fairness. In the first verse, he discusses the dangers of having no gang affiliation in his community: “Me jumping off of the roof is me just playing it safe.” In the second verse, he reimagines this same dilemma, dealing with abusive police officers who couldn’t care either way: “That don’t matter because the matter is racial profile,” one of them explains as he steps on K Dot's neck. There’s no place for the kid. There’s no relief either; institutions that are supposed to protect simply fail. There’s no faith in anything that ought to help him overcome these obstacles.
That is unless you look to the family. The love and advice of Kendrick’s parents save him. When Kendrick is about to be jumped by Sherane’s cousin, a phone call from his parents arrives just in time. As he reaches a tipping point, his parents’ words guide him. His father says, “Any n@#$a can kill a man. That don’t make you real…Real is responsibility. Real is taking care of your motherf*cking family. Real is God.” His mother continues, “But look, you take that music business serious…You know we from Chicago. You know that’s what we do.” Kendrick’s mother here implies that perhaps she didn’t really expect Compton to save her family. Chicago is their birthplace and a symbol of their family, the only force strong enough to overcome the robbers, the cops and other failing public institutions.
It’s at this moment in the album when Kendrick essentially ends his story before announcing his ‘new faith’ on the closing track ‘Compton.’ Because of this turning point, Kendrick is an influencer and not simply another statistic. In a time where it seems that childhood gun violence remains frustratingly prevalent, The tale of “Compton’s human sacrifice” is more than just a mere story. Ta-Nehisi Coates, in a New York Times Op-Ed, writes: “[The album] should enjoy heavy rotation in the White House.” The album offers true dickensian insight into the pitfalls that line the path of those born on the wrong side of the tracks who still dare to believe in that most pernicious of all aspirations: the American Dream.
Kendrick warns us to not read too much into his accomplishments. He cautions on ‘m.A.A.d city,’ “Would you say my intelligence is now great relief? And it’s safe to say that our next generation maybe can sleep with dreams of being a lawyer or doctor, instead of a boy with a chopper?” From here, his voice devolves in into low and high pitches that sound like a mixture between the devil and Alvin (of Chipmunks fame) as he details the drinking, drug use and violence ensnaring his community. One kid’s success doesn’t change the makeup of the ghetto or of how the odds are stacked.
Like many other artists, Kendrick is capable of telling his story in many forms. His verses are as detailed as any great piece of poetry. He is even considering turning his album into a short film – no surprise given the album’s subtitle. However, perhaps music is the perfect medium for this story. On an earlier song in his career, ‘A.D.H.D.’ Kendrick wrote, “We never do listen ‘less it comes with an 808.” This album is a message to young Americans in similar situations and also a red flare in a moonless night to anyone who happens to be looking...or listening in this case. “Tell your story to these black and brown kids in Compton. Let ‘em know you were just like them, but you rose from that dark place of violence, becoming a positive person,” his mother intones.
Are you listening?