KENDRICK LAMAR with EARL SWEATSHIRT and TRE MISSION at Sound Academy (11 Polson), Friday (August 2), doors 6:30 pm, all ages. $79.50-$99.50. TM.
An L.A. screenwriter couldn’t have scripted it better: young emcee emerges from humble beginnings, eschews possible life of crime and skyrockets to fame and fortune, carrying the expectations of an entire coast on his back. A true Hollywood story, so to speak.
Except that the Kendrick Lamar story wasn’t made in Hollywood – it was made in Compton.
And as Lamar alludes to in Backseat Freestyle, the third single on his major-label debut, it all started with a dream.
His good kid, m.A.A.d city was named the number-one album of 2012 by Complex and New York magazines, BBC and Pitchfork. It was on virtually everyone’s top 10 list. It’s being called the best record of its kind since Nas’s seminal 1994 debut.
“If they call it the Illmatic of the West Coast, I’ll take that,” says Lamar. “But in my mind, I’m just tryna make a storyline that actually represents the West Coast as far as the lifestyle we live and my generation.”
The hype hinges largely on his impeccable rapping and storytelling skills. But the utterly unique Kendrick Lamar sound is equally worthy.
The album put California back on the rap map, yet only one song, Dr. Dre-featured lead single The Recipe, sounds much like the 90s Cali-rap glory days. There are no juicy piano hooks that suck in the casual listener or make it particularly suited to radio. You can never get comfortable with m.A.A.d city’s sound – there’s something like a pea beneath a mattress that has you alert and agitated at all times.
There are moody synths, quiet hi-hats and chilled-out piano-drum combos. No trap bangers, no dub mashups. Swimming Pools is the closest thing the album has to a party anthem, but the lyrics spilling around the “Pour up, drank / head shot, drank” chorus are actually quite sobering.
The cinematic concept album documents a day in the Compton life of a 10th-grade Kendrick, and co-stars a crew of endearing troublemakers, a would-be religious saviour and a dubious love interest named Sherane.
The record is framed around messages left in Kendrick’s voicemail box. At first they’re funny: Kenny’s mom and dad want their van and dominoes back respectively. By the end, they’re thoughtful and sad, as Kendrick’s day takes a grave if not unexpected turn.
“That was my vision, for sure – something I had on my mind for a while,” he says of the concept.
“I just want to make sure that I put both sides out. I didn’t want to make it as serious as the gangster movies portray. I actually want to show that these are regular kids with senses of humour. They like to have fun, but in the midst of that they’re caught inside the gang culture, and that drives them to act irrationally at some points.”
I catch up with Lamar, 26, in the middle of a summer of heavy touring. He’s the hottest thing in rap, playing shows and headlining major festivals across North America, Europe and Japan. He’s on the road between Atlanta, Georgia, and Simpsonville, South Carolina, when he tells me how he became a success story instead of a victim of the circumstances m.A.A.d city illustrates.
“I had some good guidance behind me, and the fact that I was a dreamer, just a little bit more than my friends, knowing that there was something bigger than Compton eventually. I just knew there was something else, so I took that positive light and put that energy toward something, and that something became music.”
When he raps, Lamar’s voice burns like a lit cigarette. It’s unique and seductive, at times clipped and robotic, at others ragged and raw. Over the phone, that recognizable sizzle immediately comes through, and he’s got an unplaceable accent that he’s explained is a mixture of his parents’ native Chicago and his downtown L.A. upbringing.
Kendrick Lamar Duckworth was a straight-A student who attended the same high school, Centennial, as Orlando Magic shooting guard Arron Afflalo. (On m.A.A.d city bonus track Black Boy Fly, he delves into the admiration and jealousy he felt for Afflalo – the self-doubt that two people could emerge successful from one Compton school.)
He released his first mixtape at 16, and rapped for years under the name K-Dot.
“That will always be me. Everybody in L.A. still calls me that. K-Dot could rap a bunch of bars and freestyle all day, but that connection with the crowd wasn’t there. That takes a gift from god, and I recognized that gift. I changed to my actual name and everything started coming in. K-Dot is a rapper, Kendrick Lamar is an artist.”
As Kendrick Lamar, he released the mixtape Overly Dedicated in 2010, which caught the attention of legendary West Coast producer Dr. Dre. In 2011, he independently released his album Section.80 through iTunes. The same year, he was on hip-hop magazine XXL’s highly anticipated annual Freshman Class cover. Of the other prominent names on that year’s list (Meek Mill, Mac Miller, Big K.R.I.T.), he is by far the most successful.
Among Lamar’s peers – A$AP Rocky, Drake, Danny Brown, 2 Chainz – he is not the most famous, but widely acknowledged as the best.
Rocky has called him “our generation’s Nas.” OGs, too, are giving props. Nas said his album “gives you hope.” Talib Kweli said Lamar is both the hottest emcee in the game and the most talented.
Throughout our interview, Lamar repeats one sentence often: “It’s all love.” That sentiment applies to the current rap landscape, which, on the outside, seems like a relatively happy family. If there are beefs among the new school, Lamar isn’t about them.
“We all still have that competitive nature, but when we see another young cat doin’ the same thing, it’s like, ‘You know what I feel, and you know what I go through, what it feels like when we was that nine-year-old little boy watching Jay Z on video.’ That’s what really makes that connection, cause we all come from that same passion…. It’s a relatability thing.”
Remarkably, Lamar’s also succeeded in being relatable to his fan base, even though few have experienced a life shift comparable to his: Compton kid to international superstar.
“I always find some type of common ground. I go anywhere in the UK and I meet these kids and they tell me straight up they’ve never been to Compton, but they can relate to that album.
“Some of these kids go from being depressed and on pills to cutting the drugs and doing something positive with themselves.”
M.A.A.d city has put Lamar in a tricky position. Anything more lighthearted he does now – say, his 50 Cent collab We Up, about the spoils of fame – risks seeming lesser-than.
And like any classic debut, it puts pressure on a follow-up. Will the next record stay true to his roots, or tip over to rap’s ubiquitous trappings: money, fame, girls?
“I can make an album about anything I want. I write all the time, and there’s so much that I’ve never said or shared,” says Lamar.
He doesn’t divulge much more about a follow-up, except that he wants to work with the legendary Compton rapper and producer DJ Quik to “bring that original sound that people have been missing from the West Coast for a while,” and that he’s not stressed about expectations.
“The word ‘pressure’ has been put on my career a billion times. Before I put the album out, that question came up: ‘Do you feel how much pressure it is to have one of the most looked-at albums from the West Coast?’ And I guess the talk-up now is, can I do it again? And the answer is: I’m just gonna do what I do. And you can like it, you can love it or you can leave it alone, but it’s gon be me at the end of the day.”
True to himself – Duckworth, K-Dot or Kendrick Lamar – soaking in this scene before acting out the next.
“To even be in the industry and, you know, goin’ back and forth across states and getting that love, it’s still like a dream come true.”
julial@nowtoronto.com | @julialeconte
