Review: Kendrick Lamar - To Pimp A Butterfly
By Xavier Veccia, Managing Editor
[Top Dawg Entertainment; 2015]
Rating: 4.5/5
Key Tracks: “Mortal Man,” “u,” “How Much A Dollar Cost”
As a fan, as a true fan of an artist, musician or just any person in general, the one thing you can absolutely, genuinely hope for over time is progress. In theory, it’s not that much to ask. As a species, we as humans should progress regardless. But it’s not so simple.
Although progress is one of the most natural endeavors a person can have, it is also one of the most terrifying. In order to improve, one must get past all the self-doubt and the pain that is forever ingrained in human nature before even getting close to improving themself.
No one realizes this more than Kendrick Lamar, who plays the role of both fan and artist throughout To Pimp A Butterfly. Lamar uses the idea of the metamorphosis that a caterpillar must undergo in order to become a butterfly to display this delicate balance of expectations and transformation within human culture, specifically black culture.
It’s a bit hard to wrap your head around at first, simply because it’s strange to hear one of the most influential artists in a genre typically defined by machismo and braggadocious bars compare himself to a delicate butterfly. It sounds more like a diss than a compliment. However, Lamar has never been one to follow typical hip-hop trends. And TPAB is probably his most rebellious effort to date in terms of bucking the stereotypes attached to rap.
Let’s delve into this metamorphosis metaphor and how it relates to Lamar on the grander scale before looking into the album itself.
The basics for his thought process are laid out on TPAB’s final track, “Mortal Man,” in the middle of Lamar's interview/heartfelt discussion with his idol Tupac Shakur. “The caterpillar is a prisoner to the streets that conceived it,” reads the first line of Lamar’s untitled poem. The idea here is that a caterpillar’s one job is to consume what is presented to him.
Lamar’s previous release, the “instant classic” good kid, m.A.A.d. city, seems like a retelling of his days as a caterpillar in Compton, one who survived the only way he knew how at the time: through gang association, drugs and music.
If we continue through the metaphor portrayed in “Mortal Man,” it seems the retelling of GKMC itself is taking place inside “the cocoon which institutionalizes him,” where Lamar “can no longer see past his own thoughts.”
That seems to bring us to where we are now on TPAB. Within that cocoon, the caterpillar begins thinking of how he got here and how he can improve the life of other caterpillars. GKMC clearly took place in the past; TPAB feels as if we’re experiencing Lamar’s transformation in real time.
For Lamar, the central thought for how he can help the caterpillars, or the people still stuck in negativity, violence and fear in the hood, is the idea that “Every n***** is a star,” which is repeated through a Boris Gardiner sample at the beginning of the opening track “Wesley’s Theory.”
“Wesley’s Theory” is itself the perfect introduction to the album as a whole. TPAB is far from a linear work. I am convinced it’s impossible to fully comprehend Lamar’s message before you hear the outro on “Mortal Man,” which makes the task of creating a solid intro a daunting one to say the least. But he enlists the help of funk icon George Clinton to perfectly set the stage before delving deeper into his cocoon, as Clinton narrates, “When the four corners of this cocoon collide / You’ll slip through the cracks hoping that you’ll survive / Gather your wind, take a deep look inside / Are you really who they idolize?”
Clinton’s foreshadowing sets in motion the emotional journey Lamar takes while in this cocoon. In it, he reflects on all of his faults as a human, the industry that attempts to “pimp”--or take advantage of black role models--and the negative mindset present within the “mad city” he grew up in.
Some of the highlights within the elongated existential state of mind are “King Kunta” and “These Walls.”
“King Kunta” is the funk-driven single released just hours before the album leaked; it portrays the idea of power and the industry breaking down promising artists. Lamar likens this idea to notable 18th century African slave Kunta Kinte getting his feet cut off in order to prevent him from escaping. This ties in heavily with the idea of pimping a butterfly, potentially more so than any other track.
“These Walls,” though, is more introspective and critical of Lamar and his decisions, reflecting on the time he spent having sex with the girlfriend of the man who killed his friend in GKMC. The walls he refers to are the walls of a human vagina along with the walls of the prison cell inhabited by his friend’s killer. On paper, it’s a strange connection, but the track’s progression from sensual R&B to slowed-down jazz highlights the parallels between the two sets of walls and how both could bring the worst out of even the strongest people and potentially ruin lives.
But the absolute peak--or valley, depending on how you want to define it--of this metamorphosis is “u,” the ying to the yang that is the positive lead single “i.” “u” takes place in a hotel room at the exact moment Lamar is at his darkest. Following “These Walls,” “u” shares similar saxophone-heavy production along with a melancholy spirit. What starts out as anger towards himself, “u” suddenly turns into a drunken, suicidal rant into the mirror as he is on the brink of tears and destruction. Featuring lines like, “Shoulda killed your ass a long time ago / You shoulda feeled that black revolver blast a long time ago,” it may be Lamar’s darkest song to date and is easily the most raw and emotional on TPAB.
At this point it’s important to remember this album is indeed a transformation, meaning that if Lamar were to stay in this cocoon forever, he would have failed as an artist and role model. At some point, he has to break free in order to reach his full potential.
This comes in the form of “How Much A Dollar Cost,” a recollection of a moment that Lamar experienced at a gas station in South Africa. Here, he runs into a homeless man asking for ten rand, roughly the equivalent to a U.S. dollar. Lamar refuses, assuming this man is a crack addict. However, something about this man keeps Lamar in his presence and forces him to try to rationalize his selfishness. In the end, it is revealed that the homeless man is God himself and it was all a test to see if Lamar had been corrupted by everything he had been worrying about to this point.
Granted, the premise of this song piece is a little cliché, but Lamar is the rare artist who can turn a tired concept into a refreshing parable.
It’s important to notice the spiritual nature of this last song, along with the devils considered within the first 11 cuts. It purposefully brings to mind turning points for biblical prophets, such as Moses and the burning bush or Jesus and his 40-day journey into the desert. This idea of prophets becomes a powerful image in the last act of TPAB, as this final third almost becomes the Gospel According to Kendrick.
“Finally free, the butterfly sheds light on situations that the caterpillar never considered, ending the internal struggle,” reads Lamar at the very end of “Mortal Man.” Now that he has been to his own personal hell and back, he can finally help those who he relates to most--the kids stuck in the hood that he used to inhabit himself. He’s finally home.
Suddenly, “i,” preceding “Mortal Man,” isn’t just a fun, poppy single, but a homily to the children to teach them that it’s possible to find inner beauty no matter the circumstance. (It helps, though, that the final mastered version of the single sounds less “Hey Ya” wannabe and more of a leader taking the soap box and megaphone to reach the masses.)
“Mortal Man” is more than just the underlying metaphor, though. It’s Lamar’s realization that he can change lives. He looks at inspirational black role models like Nelson Mandela and Malcolm X, realizing that he had to go through this transformation to become a butterfly.
However, there is only one person Lamar can truly relate to and that is Tupac. While Mandela and X reached enlightenment and helped change black culture for the better, Tupac was the first musician to have such a powerful reach within Lamar’s community of Compton and then some. Without Tupac, there is no Kendrick. So Lamar gets one last word of advice from his idol before ending his metamorphosis.
“Because the spirits, we ain’t even rapping,” said Tupac, “We just letting our dead homies tell stories for us.”
And Lamar, fan he is, being able to notice the progress of a role model and appreciate the trials and struggles that person had to go through in order to reach that point of final transformation, reacts the only way a fan can when in the presence of a pure butterfly. “Damn.”
Damn, Kendrick. You've reached your true potential on To Pimp A Butterfly. That’s all we could ever ask for.
