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Arts
Tuesday, April 18, 2017 — 5
INTERSCOPE RECORDS
Kendrick Lamar’s “DAMN.” came out last Friday
Cyclical black conscious is
embodied on LP ‘DAMN.’
Although
scholars
contest
the dates, Pablo Picasso’s Blue
Period is set between 1901 and
1904. Reeling from a close friend’s
suicide, Picasso descended into a
deep depression, blue tones soon
coming to dominate his canvases.
As bright hues darkened, so too
did subject matter, his artwork
devolving into bleak narratives of
prostitutes, beggars and drunks.
Struggling through poverty as
consequence, this period marks
his first shift away from classicism
into what ultimately solidified into
Cubism.
DAMN.
opens
with
an
arrangement of mellow strings
reminiscent of Hans Zimmer.
Kendrick’s tone is gentle, reserved,
tranquil. Reminiscing, he recalls
a woman – a blind woman –
who is frustrated because she’s
dropped
something
precious.
Lady Justice has misplaced her
balance scales. In prototypical
hyperconscious fashion, Lamar
alludes to the eroding integrity of
American political life. Watching
Lady Liberty struggle, Kendrick
approaches, kindly offering to
help. He points out that she’s lost
something. She responds, “Oh, yes.
You have lost something. You’ve
lost… your life.”
Lamar is shot. Is it wickedness?
Spiraling out of a Fox News
segment,
the
album
abruptly
transitions into the most colossal
braggadocio banger of Lamar’s
career: “I got, I got, I got, I got /
Loyalty, I got royalty, inside my
DNA / Cocaine quarter piece, got
war and peace, inside my DNA
/ I got power, poison, pain and
joy, inside my DNA / I got hustle
though, ambition, flow, inside my
DNA.” In trademark Mike WiLL
Made-It fashion, a dark, groaning
baseline oozes against a guitar
modulated down into the twang
of a holy sitar. Towards the back
half of “DNA.,” a vocal proclaiming
“gimme some ganja” is abrasively
mixed into the track. Alongside
Kendrick’s ruthless rhythm, the
song
masterfully
reflects
our
modern, oversaturated, GIMME-
GIMME-GIMME-GIMME-
GIMME-GIMME-post-internet
multiracial consciousness.
From Section.80 through to
last year’s untitled unmastered.,
Kendrick has been continually
fusing West Coast gangsta with
jazz, funk, soul and spoken word,
bridging the avant-garde with
the accessible. It’s easy to forget
that the man who did “Backseat
Freestyle” is the same one who did
“i.”
What marks DAMN. as an
inflection
point
in
Kendrick
Lamar’s evolution is its stripped-
down,
Spartan
sound;
it’s
surprising that Rick Rubin doesn’t
have
any
production
credits.
Although there is a curious
departure into dance & electronic
in “LOYALTY.,” “LOVE.” and
through the synths of “GOD.,” the
album is largely centered around
inflected soul and hard-hitting,
classical hip hop. It’s telling
that
jazz-influenced,
frequent
collaborator Thundercat is only
credited on a single bassline.
Lamar’s interests have pivoted,
his focus tightened. In Jobsian
fashion, the album’s minimal
is its most mosaic. Between
the layers of sonic complexity,
BADBADNOTGOOD-assisted
“LUST.”
is
a
standout.
The
track opens with a waterlogged
psychedelic riff: a tune reminiscent
of
Hendrix’s
nasal
solos
on
Electric
Ladyland.
A
cyclical
filter sweep is tucked between
guitar and the vocals, its closest
cousin the spellbinding whoosh
of Radiohead’s “Like Spinning
Plates.” Make no mistake, this
is a rap track: one with bars
grafted
between
Atlanta-trap-
deriven-triplicate-Hi-Hats.
While Kendrick has long been
one to explore unconventional
percussion (See: “Momma”), here
we see the furthest he’s ever delved
into the experimental left-field.
For the first half of the track, kicks
and snares are noticeably absent.
When they do appear, they show
up for one, two, three beats and
then disappear for another four,
five, seven. The sound resembles
footwork’s surgical DNA splicing
much more than traditional snare-
driven hip hop. At very few points
of the track are all elements in play,
either: it’s usually just one or two
sounds. “LUST.” does not feature
Kendrick’s
most
complicated
drumkit
nor
his
most
dynamic
vocals. Rather, the
song’s intrigue is in
its sheer precision,
the
calculated
technicality through
which
its
sounds
morph.
“DUCKWORTH.”
is
some
of Kendrick’s most soul-heavy
work to date. Layered samples
compete for with his rhymes
for space, similar to his verse on
“No More Parties in LA,” track
17 of Kanye’s most recent effort,
The Life of Pablo. Yet, the album’s
slowed-down, soulful minimalism
isn’t without its contrast. In fact,
DAMN. is further proof that no
rapper alive has the aesthetic
versatility of Lamar. On “XXX.,”
Lamar ventures into the industrial,
rapping over police sirens mixed
down to sound exactly like they
were lifted from “Need for Speed:
Most Wanted.” On “FEAR.,” the
bridge is looped backwards, and
it sounds as if he’s been divinely
possessed by the Holy Spirit,
prophesying in ancient tongue.
Rising from the bleak depths
of depression, Picasso’s entered
a new era near the end of 1904:
The Rose Period. Although most
of
posthumous-Picasso-interest
is centered on the Blue Period,
it was only in the Rose period
that the technical foundations of
Picasso’s later abstraction would
begin to crystallize. Themes of
solitude and despair evolved into
pink and orange compositions that
articulated cheer and question.
Kendrick Lamar is an artist
first and rapper second. Although
his product is packaged as ‘music,’
his medium is language, and his
work strives to extend beyond
the bounds of lyrical form. His
rap stretches into poetry and
spoken word, and his albums are
cinematic. The cover of good kid,
m.A.A.d city has the words “A
Short Film by Kendrick Lamar’”
scribbled onto it. Beyond his bridge
between word and film, Kendrick
utilizes artwork to exhibit content
and give flesh to aesthetic. Greens,
blues, browns, greys and blacks
dominate all his past covers. While
the straight grey of 2015’s To
Pimp a Butterfly reflects its blunt,
detached, sociopolitical truth, the
fusion of color in his other work
reflects an earthly calmness: a
calmness under which deep, nested
tensions brew.
DAMN. is red — devilishly
so. Donning a plain-white tee,
Kendrick stares at the camera,
eyeballs lowered, his expression
one of possession, one in need of
exorcism. “In my DNA / In my
DNA / In my DNA.” Rhythmic
repetition stretches across the
LP. “Ain’t nobody praying for me
/ Ain’t nobody praying for me /
Ain’t nobody praying for me.”
The litany is cathartic, dogmatic,
Gregorian. “I’ll probably die / I’ll
probably die / I’ll probably die.”
Although Lamar is oft mistaken
for a preachy, middle school
substitute teacher, on DAMN., his
themes and his lyrics are tightly
wound, largely internal. Track by
track, he digs deeper into his own
black consciousness, distilling the
conflicting beliefs, influences, and
obligations into abstract values
— “PRIDE.,” “LUST.,” “LOVE.,”
“FEAR.” — never forgetting his
fleshly physicality — “BLOOD.,”
“DNA.,” “ELEMENT.” In effect,
DAMN. is more akin to Lamarian-
stream-of-consciousness
than
prototypical “bars.”
Between
1906
and
1907,
Picasso became spellbound by
African sculpture and artifact,
tugged between the refinement
of classicism and the open bounds
of
abstraction.
Although
his
work was not yet full fledged
cubist, the elements of structural
decomposition
and
reassembly
intensified.
Proportions
exaggerated,
subject
form
morphed;
the
palette
of
his
past
periods
harmonized.
Scholars refer to
this as the Negro Period.
On “Mortal Man,” 2Pac warns,
“I think that niggas is tired of
grabbin’ shit out of the stores and
next time it’s a riot there’s gonna
be bloodshed, for real. I don’t think
America know that.”
DAMN. opens with “BLOOD.”
Although we live in one of the
most animated periods of political
activism
in
recent
memory,
Kendrick still looks out and sees
stagnancy. On “FEEL.” Kendrick
rhymes “I feel like this gotta be
the feelin’ ‘Pac was [having] / The
feelin’ of an apocalypse happenin’ /
But nothin’ is awkward, the feeling
won’t prosper / The feelin’ is toxic,
I feel like I’m boxin’ demons,
monsters, false prophets, schemin’
sponsors,
industry
promises,
niggas, bitches, honkies, crackers,
Compton, Church, religion, token
black and bondage.”
Lamar is suffocated by what’s
around him. He is trapped, lost,
unsure of what more he can do,
unsure of what more he can change.
He’s said what needed to be said;
he’s done what needed to be done.
Yet, he stills looks out and sees the
same injustice that inspired him to
compose To Pimp a Butterfly.
On DAMN., Kendrick comes to
terms with the fact that he is just
one rapper, one man, one soul. It
takes more than one to solve our
entrenched social tensions, more
than one to achieve universal
equality. Lamar has known that
— all along, he has. Yet, through
the album’s nested anguish, he
continues to grapple with his role
as the face of the ever-evolving
Black Consciousness. To Pimp
a Butterfly made its importance
sufficiently clear, DAMN. marks its
furthest examination, its highest
magnification.
His deepest critique of our mass
social paralysis is on “FEAR.”
Kendrick’s cousin — Carl — opens
the track. A devoted Christian, he
is convicted to the belief that God
is punishing his family — alleged
true Israelites — for disobedience.
Lamar spends the majority of the
track reflecting on his own fears:
reminiscing of a home life where
the threat of domestic abuse
looms large, recalling the fear of
dying as a young teen in Compton,
acknowledging his present worries
over losing his newfound wealth
and success. Lamar makes it clear
that even after he’s left home, even
after he’s sold his records, even
after he’s ‘made it,’ he’s still driven
by fear — to the point that he would
even smoke it.
DAMN. concludes with a tale
of a seasoned gangbanger and an
innocent Kentucky Fried Chicken
employee. The narrative’s moral:
free chicken and extra biscuits.
The simplest of gestures can
AARURAN CHANDRESEKHAR
Daily Arts Writer
generate
the
most
significant
change. He concludes: “Whoever
thought the greatest rapper would
be from coincidence? Because if
Anthony killed Ducky, Top Dawg
could be servin’ for life, while I
grew up without a father and die
in a gunfight.” Just as we’re given
a penetrating glimpse into one of
Kendrick’s deepest held truths,
the final consonant ‘t’ blends into a
rewind, one that zips back through
the album, back to Lamar’s first line:
“So I was taking a walk the other
day.”
The
entirety
of
DAMN.
compresses into a snapshot: a single
snapshot beseeching relisten. So
we push play, again. Just like that,
Kendrick is shot, again. We dive into
his personal struggle, again. And
just like last the last listen, the album
ends with another restoration to
origin. It’s a manifestation of the
cyclical course of unjust African
American death. Few still talk
about Trayvon; few still talk about
Michael. But in the moment, we
obsess over the details, we delve into
the history, we join struggle. We say,
“this death, this murder, this will
be one that will change things.”
But then fear overtakes us. And we
forget. And the cycle continues.
DAMN
Kendrick Lamar
Interscope
Records
NETFLIX
Still from new series “13 Reasons Why”
‘13 Reasons Why’ drama
explores teenage suicide
Includes spoilers and mentions
of suicide and sexual violence
including rape.
In a pretty spot-on adaptation
of the YA bestseller “Thirteen
Reasons Why,” the new Netflix
series follows Clay Jensen as
he receives a box of cassette
tapes left on his doorstep and,
upon pushing play, is greeted
by the voice of Hannah Baker:
a classmate, coworker, friend,
crush and, recently, victim of
suicide. For the next 13 episodes,
she explains — “live and in
stereo” — why she is about to kill
herself, and we listen.
It’s hard to know where to
begin with this series, which
has sparked a lot of debate over
how this story should have
been told, or if it should have
been produced in this medium
at all. From a purely stylistic
standpoint, there are times
when it feels manipulative and
overly drawn out. Hannah’s
instructions for the tapes are
simple: listen to all of them,
then pass them on to the person
whose tape is after yours.
Instead of listening to all the
tapes at once, Clay takes breaks
after each one and talks to the
other students who have heard
them,
demanding
answers,
apologies or retribution — which
doesn’t quite make sense, as his
questions could be answered if
he just finished listening to the
tapes the way everyone tells
him to. This gimmick allows the
show to last for 13 episodes, and
leads to Clay seeming more self-
righteous than he does in the
book. On top of that, there are
several conversations between
some of the other kids about
how they’re going to deal with
the possibility of the whole
school learning about Hannah’s
tapes that feel almost sickening
in their self-interest, almost to
the point of feeling unreal.
But the further into the
season you get, the more these
aspects seem to somehow fade
into the background. The show
allows us to visualize things that
the book can’t, like how it feels
to see the parents of the dead
girl you bullied and know they
have no idea about the role you
played in her life, or how fake it
can seem to have posters about
suicide prevention plastered on
the walls of a high
school brimming
with
pain
and
oblivion.
Is “13 Reasons
Why” raw and
real,
or
is
it
romanticized?
This
seems
to
be the main determinant for
whether or not this show is
worth watching, but I don’t
think there’s a simple answer.
Some have voiced criticism
that
because
Hannah
gets
to tell us her story, the show
romanticizes suicide; some are
worried about copycat suicides
occurring among youth who
watch the show. Others feel
that it’s misleading to tell a
story about suicide without ever
really engaging with the role
that mental health plays in the
large majority of cases. Some
feel that certain scenes are
gratuitously graphic, especially
the rape scenes and, of course,
Hannah’s suicide itself.
Personally, I haven’t figured
out what I think or feel about
this show. When I read the
book in high school, I felt like
it got a lot right about how it
feels to be in Hannah’s or Clay’s
position, and showed just how
shitty high school and high
schoolers can be. It conveyed
just how disconnected adults
can be from the lives of their
children or students and, just as
importantly, how dangerous it is
to keep subtly blaming victims
of sexual assault for their own
assaults. It’s weird to watch the
show now, being in that strange
place between adolescence and
adulthood; I fully understand
the concern surrounding it.
But I also think it’s a story
worth telling. No, the show does
not discuss whether Hannah
has issues with her mental
health, but a lot of the criticism
I’ve seen of this show based
on that aspect seems to gloss
over how deeply painful and
isolating Hannah’s experience
of being bullied was. Some
articles
don’t
even
mention
the fact that she
was
raped
—
something I find
incredibly, deeply
disturbing.
Something
makes me want
to defend this show, despite
its faults, but I’m not sure
why, and I’m not sure to what
length or if I’m right to feel
that way. Maybe it’s all of the
comments I’ve read under
think pieces about it from
parents who are watching it
with their kids and using it as a
jumping off point to talk about
bullying,
sexual
violence
and male entitlement to the
bodies of girls and women
and suicide. Maybe it’s the
fact that it represents at least
soame kind of exposure to
stories that so often get buried
with their owners. Maybe it’s
the fact that by talking about
what this show does wrong,
we can get closer to talking
about how we — as friends,
as classmates, as parents, as
school
administrators
and
counselors — can do better.
Because like it or not, it
does nothing to talk about
how artistic portrayals of
suicide are incorrect without
discussing the problems of
how we talk about bullying,
sexual violence and mental
health
in
our
schools.
Perhaps one of the actual
most romanticized elements
of Hannah’s story is that she
points to 13 specific reasons. If
only it were actually that simple.
New Netflix Original series explores repercussions of bullying
SOPHIA KAUFMAN
Daily Book Review Editor
“13 Reasons
Why”
Netflix
TV REVIEW
ALBUM REVIEW