I’ve skimmed through 90% of American History avoiding selective stories in high school, only for me to copy notes from slide to slide presentations to finally understand the principles of a country, the rare character of its people. And honestly, it’s probably because I’m slow.
Either that or Kendrick Lamar is one of the greatest rappers of all time though I’m pretty sure it’s a bit of both. Only you have to understand that the subject at hand, before the viral views of Black culture, ultimately changed the narrative of hip-hop.
But that, of course you already knew.
On March 31, 2019 Nipsey Hussle was gunned down in front of his store in Los Angeles, California—just ten months before an aircraft flew into the ground, burning on the hillsides of Calabasas confirming 9 deaths in total.
Except, TMZ later identified Kobe Bryant as one of the bodies.
And so in the recent years of grief settled on the face of the West Coast, it was not news that the countenance of its people were carried away into the hearts of prayers for redemption.
Though I wonder if maybe Kendrick was the answer: an infinite grief redeemed beyond the veil.
And meanwhile, I’m beginning to think there’s something very moving about this. And none of which has anything to do with Kendrick himself but the essence of who he is and what it stands for.
Except, you have to understand.
Over 16,000 people stood as he rose from the bottom of the stage: a full lit arena loomed in a vision of pearls as pure souls echoed through the shadows before he could even deliver a single word.
“Kendrick!” They shouted.
Threaded through the fabric of hip-hop, molded over the ways and works of manifested destiny—the sequence of revolution, in the end muffled through the fingers of its own enemy.
“Kendrick!” They shouted.
Their flesh renewed of sacrificial blood from colonial roots, they insisted on freedom. And yet the paradox of one’s soul to realize more deeply the feelings of the grieved, you must understand that this is beyond beef.
A sort of dream assembled; a symbol where words of song grew more as the crowd gave in a transcendence of inflections, cadences unquestioned the courage it took to rewrite history.
And at last it came.
Wop wop, wop, wop, wop, Dot fuck ‘em up
Wop, wop, wop, wop, wop, I’ma do my stuff
Why you trollin like a b#tch? Ain’t you tired?
Tryna strike a chord and it’s probably A-minorrrrr
And yet, a minute came and went.
Amazed as flushed faces fell with intolerable grief before adoration too great of a moment to capture through carbon copies of borrowed history.
“Kendrick!” They shouted.
Except in that very moment, I had never felt so liberated.
Until next time.
“Sometimes you gotta pop out and show n#ggas.” —- Kendrick Lamar
