This is a story of a girl and a rapper who made her feel seen, understood and safe. The rapper who gave her a new sense of perspective, an ode to how impactful art can be. As a part of Kendrick Lamar’s top 0.01% listeners on Spotify and after months of religiously listening to his music 24/7, I feel as though I have the “qualifications” to detail my experience with Lamar and unfold how his art has impacted me. While Lamar’s music discusses his own racialized experiences with respect to his mental health struggles, his lyricism captures an essence of mental health that is arguably universal and especially meaningful to me.
In this dissection of Lamar’s music, to some surprise, I will not insist that he is the greatest artist of all time, or even our time. Rather than defending his spot on the industry hierarchy, I hope to highlight what makes Lamar’s discography so special, both to his listeners and me. What I will insist on, however, is that his art of emotional storytelling is incredibly distinct — transcending beyond a rapper and giving his listeners a glimpse into his psyche in a way that I’ve never seen conveyed before.
From playing with his vocal tone – by switching between various cadences to evoke emotion – to utilizing his art as a means to make commentary on societal issues, Lamar’s voice matters both literally and figuratively. Through his music, he has taught me that my voice matters too. The 17-time Grammy-winning artist has impacted the world by unfolding new perspectives for marginalized groups of people, making them feel seen in mainstream media. His album DAMN., referred to as “a virtuosic song collection unified by its vernacular authenticity and rhythmic dynamism that offers affecting vignettes capturing the complexity of modern African-American life,” won hip-hop’s first-ever Pulitzer prize. No wonder all of Lamar’s studio albums have been certified platinum or higher.
- What makes Kendrick, “Kendrick”
Through Lamar’s immediately recognizable, multifaceted flow and technique, he has been proclaimed the voice of Black America on multiple occasions. On To Pimp a Butterfly, Kendrick rapped about the oppression and exploitation of Black people and culture by the hands of the United States. He brought cinematic visuals to main stages around the world, documenting the ongoing struggles of Black Americans. He conveyed a similar message during his performance of “Alright” at the 58th Grammy Awards show. Understanding the extent of his influence, he utilizes his music as a medium for political commentary, with his songs consisting of deep social overtones, touching on gun violence, racial and socio-economic discrimination, institutional racism, sexual abuse, mass incarceration and so much more. Lamar has been able to achieve his incredible success with a social conscience, taking initiative to spread a strong message any chance he gets, something that many rappers have failed to do. To me, Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers was undoubtedly the most important album of 2022, tackling many narratives in one body of work. The album was composed of songs detailing his pursuit of breaking generational trauma and the struggles that Black families endure due to institutional racism in America.
Lamar’s biggest strength and what infinitely sets him apart from other artists in the industry is his ability to make his listeners empathize. When listening to Lamar, it feels as if you can literally feel his emotional rage in your bones through his tone and vocal inflections. Lamar has mastered the art of creating a narrative and embodying his characters. He employs method-acting and role play, as seen in “Sing About Me, I’m Dying of Thirst” on good Kid, m.A.A.d city by rapping from the point of view of different people in his life throughout the 12-minute track — allowing his listeners to feel the urgency, anxiety, pain, irritation and frustration that he may have felt at the moment. Lamar’s music has given me a safe space to understand my own emotions. I have struggled severely with my mental health over the past six years. Many rappers, like Kid Cudi and J. Cole, have been able to make me feel understood, but no artist has been able to make me feel like I’m grieving alongside them.
This piece embodies my listening experience. I find beauty in the true stories — the ones with crackle and emotion, high stakes and true vulnerability, so please bear with me as I take you along on this journey of dissecting Lamar’s music through the lens of my own experiences.
- My stories through Kendrick’s music
“FEAR.” (DAMN.)
Give peace a chance, let the fear you have wash away.
From the age of 14, I’ve dealt with depression, a period coinciding with my family’s move from India to Texas. I was learning to adjust, undergoing a severe culture shock, while also grieving the death of the most important person in my life: my Ammama. As a teenager, death was a mundane concept, and I still now wrestle with its capriciousness as I enter my adulthood. I fear how apathetically I perceive death. I struggle to grasp how easy it is for life to slip away, how it all happens in a moment’s time. Yet, my Ammama’s death taught me to enjoy life’s slow moments and find beauty in them, no matter how small. At 19, I was formally diagnosed with depression. In some ways, I was actually relieved when I was diagnosed because I thought it meant that I wouldn’t have to struggle in silence anymore.
I was wrong.
The traumatic experiences turned into memories, playing in my mind on a constant loop. Never waning, never quiet. These memories became background noise, tolerable but always there. All 7 minutes and 40 seconds of “FEAR.” represent different phases in my own life where my fears took the steering wheel. This specific verse on the track struck a chord with me. Lamar raps about the fears he experienced living in Compton, California at different ages and how these fears have evolved to follow the changes in both his personal life and his career as an artist. As a Black man, Lamar raps from the perspective of an identity I do not hold, yet it is so beautiful how this verse is able to effectively reach people from so many different backgrounds and experiences in sharing those human emotions with him. This verse makes me feel less alone as he raps about internalized self-doubt, fear and depression. The song represents what it feels like to fear myself in my darkest moments.
I fear a lot of things. I fear that if I no longer feel the pain to the intensity that I do, then I won’t be able to create the art I know I am capable of creating. I fear that if one day I do get better, I won’t be able to empathize with other people’s pain and happiness. I fear that if I don’t allow the pain to consume me, the version of myself that is kind and humble will fade away. I fear that my depression constantly holds me back from allowing myself to be loved. I fear that if I keep pushing people away, one day they’ll decide to stop trying. I fear not reaching my full potential. I fear that I will never be able to help people in the world the way I hope to.
But the thing I fear the most is myself.
I tell myself that it’s okay to be scared, but I can no longer justify being scared as an excuse to keep allowing myself to fall down the same rabbit hole of isolation. The dread isn’t keeping me safe. I’m not keeping myself from heartbreak by existing this way. I’m keeping myself from joy, so I have to make a decision: how badly do I want to get better?
So I take a step forward and decide it is time to stop making excuses and start acting on what I envision for myself. To me, this meant accepting that I didn’t deserve the cards I’d been dealt or being in a constant state of pain. Now, I’m more mindful of how I treat myself, and that has translated into how I treat the people in my life.
I can feel the changes — the coils of my anxiety are slowly loosening. I am letting go of control and finding joy in the small things. I appreciate my morning cup of coffee. I adore the Mountain Bernese dog that passes me by every morning as I get on the 11:30 a.m. shuttle. I love just sitting in my bed belly-laughing with my roommates. Reprogramming my brain to not believe my biggest fears has been a process when I’m constantly in fight or flight, but the first step was accepting that I deserve peace.
I hope that wherever you are on your journey, you recognize that you deserve to be at peace too.
“Die Hard” (Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers)
You deserve someone who isn’t afraid of being responsible for your heart — someone who embraces it. You deserve someone who wants to requite all of your hopes with action.
Over the past summer, I was studying abroad in London. My boyfriend, who wasn’t my boyfriend at the time, flew out to see me and help me move into my dorm. During our short yet memorable time together, we walked the London Bridge at midnight listening to our favorite music. We broke into Borough Market and danced around under the fairy lights. We stumbled our way to every other pub, where he pretended to love beer but actually downed my delicious drinks for the “experience.” We stopped to listen to every local artist on our aimless walks, romanticized every bus and Tube ride and fell madly in love with each other. At 2:22 a.m. on June 22 in London, we started officially dating, and life has been so colorful since.
Falling in love is beautiful, yet daunting. My boyfriend was the first person I felt both wildly unsure and unwaveringly certain of. All I know is that he caught my eye and winged me back to a lightness I never thought was possible for me to experience in this lifetime. Time and time again, he has shown me patience and compassion. He has been there through every high, every low and every in-between moment, reminding me that I deserve to be loved and appreciated. He serves as a constant reminder that the right person always shows up. The right person cares, not only when life is convenient, but when it is difficult and messy and it aches all over. The right person believes in the love that you share with a ruthless conviction, with a hope that spills out of them.
“Die Hard” reminds me of our time in London — so poetically raw — and evokes the feeling of loving him through my grief. It’s difficult to be dating someone who struggles with depression, and it requires an additional amount of effort to be with them. Nevertheless, he chose to stay because he saw past all that. He carries my struggles as his own to ease a little weight off my shoulders, and I do the same for him. It is so painstakingly beautiful to be in love and to want to make the other person’s soul feel lighter.
My boyfriend is half of my heart, and he has changed my life entirely for the better. He has taught me to embrace everything that I feel and to love all that I am. And if some cosmic mishap takes place and forever doesn’t work out for us, I will always be so grateful to have known and loved him.
“Father Time” (Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers)
Your immigrant parents deserve empathy and understanding. Accepting that the generational difference of your struggles required two different perspectives is the first step to understanding each other better.
My mom always reminds me that my dad and I have been incredibly connected since the day I was born. She relentlessly tells the story of how every day he would come back from work and yell “Ammadu.” I would immediately wake up from the deepest sleep and giggle as I heard the pitter-patter of his footsteps inching closer and closer. I believe that, because even 20 years later, that remains the same. My dad and I have this special connection, and even through all the struggles and lack of understanding we have endured in our relationship, I know I always have him to fall back on for safety and support. My dad has quite literally defined what I expect out of men in my life and has time and time again shown me what it means to be an incredible human being.
My dad worked in India for eight months prior to immigrating to the U.S. He walked four miles every day to work to make a life for himself. After marrying my mom, who was 19 and still finishing up her undergraduate studies in India, my dad immigrated to the U.S. alone. He found a job to sponsor him in California and began working. He rented a one-bedroom apartment and didn’t know the language that well. He didn’t know anyone here. He didn’t have the support system to get through it. He had to do it alone. All he knew was that my mom would join him a year later, so he had to be able to sustain the life they pictured for themselves. So like any immigrant, he worked tirelessly while reminiscing about better days and being nostalgic for the days in the motherland that once were. I will never understand my parents’ struggles, and I cannot even begin to fathom what they went through to get our family to where we are now. Twenty-six years later, my older sister and I are determined to prove our parents’ struggles and tears. They stood on the ground so that we could touch the sky; it is crucial that we make that sacrifice worth it.
When I was younger, I didn’t have the maturity nor enough perspective in regard to their experiences and challenges to understand why their responses to my emotions didn’t fit under the radar of “gentle parenting.” When I was struggling with my mental health, I spent so much time and energy blaming them for being so ignorant. I know now that I was so far from the truth.
Immigrant parents often only teach what they are taught. I viewed their lack of engagement with their own emotions as a weakness. They viewed my tendency to over feel and my struggles with mental health as a disruption to the future they envisioned. My parents’ detachment and lack of understanding of both my emotions and their own created barriers that I have had to work through in every single relationship in my life. There are various patterns I have had to overcome due to the unresolved emotional baggage they carried, and I resented them for that. “Father Time” captures that feeling of being mad at your parents, especially given the angst and desperation in Lamar’s delivery, but also empathizing with the pain and wounds they carry.
Now, I am 20 years old, and I understand. I understand that my parents aren’t superheroes. I understand that just because they failed to see where I was coming from never meant that they loved me any less. It is crucial I humanize them and understand that they make mistakes because it is their first time going through life too. They are still in the process of changing and evolving. They were in survivor mode for so long when they immigrated, and that required them to be strong-willed; so, yes, they may not be as in tune with their emotions as I wish they were but I understand why. They never had it easy. Their struggles are comparably distinct from mine. They quite literally had to gamble on themselves and trust that everything will work out; the generational barrier makes us perceive the world in a different manner.
After intense introspection, I know my parents not picking up on the signs that I was struggling drastically with my mental health was not ignorance, but rather their lack of education and understanding of mental health in their own lives. My parents live vicariously through my eyes — getting excited when any opportunity comes my way, when I travel to a country they have never been to or when I am doing silly things at this age that they couldn’t. They aren’t perfect, but they made the decision to leave the people they love and their home behind in pursuit of the unknown. And they did that for my sister and me. I am so lucky to know that kind of love.
As I reflect on how I can repay my parents for everything, the only way I know how is to live life to the fullest and take advantage of every experience and opportunity, as cliche as that may sound. That is what they wanted for me, and I intend to do everything I can to provide them with the life they deserve. I’ve seen so much growth in my parents ever since I opened up to them about my mental health, and I see them trying to be educated about the things I go through and be present in my life in a manner that caters to my needs. I appreciate them for that. I am grateful to have parents that are willing to change their mindsets in their 50s: a true embodiment of unconditional love. My mom and dad always say, “Growth never comes from comfort zones,” and as they begin their personal journeys in understanding and dissecting their past struggles, I am there with them to navigate this uncharted territory. I am there to guide them, just like they did for me, with so much love and patience for the past 20 years.
Dad, in your heart I find the reflection of everything I admire the most: strength, compassion and perseverance. Here’s to a thousand more lifetimes of being your daughter — laughing, dancing in the rain, holding my hand tightly as we go down Splash Mountain at Disney World (even though you’re actually the one that’s scared) for the eight hundredth time and being there for me in every way you knew how to. Thank you for being open to change for me as my circumstances change. I hope we can continue to learn and grow with each other. You will always be the human I look up to the most.
“Mirror” (Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers)
Learn to be there for yourself and be okay with being alone — it is so freeing.
I’ve always chased adrenaline and experiences that ignite my heart and soul. I do this because I’ve had to up and leave everything I know every time I’ve moved to a different state or country. I am aware that the only constant thing is change, so I allow it to consume me whole. Whenever I crave change and experience something new, I meet a version of myself I have previously never met, and that is incredibly exciting to me. If I know anything, it is this: identity is not static. It is something you build upon, and your character arc doesn’t just stop. Growth is fueled by the very essence of change.
I’ve had to grow up a lot this past year due to my personal adversities and just because of, you know, life. It’s crazy what you learn once the veil of naive innocence disappears. Once that veil perishes, you are forced to choose between ignorance and perspective. I chose perspective, and let me be the first one to tell you that perspective can be a bracing fuckin’ slap across the face. Yet, honestly, having perspective has changed the trajectory of my life. It humbled me to the core and called me out for repeating the same actions while expecting a different result every time — a lesson that I needed to learn. It’s okay to make mistakes, but it’s not okay to make the same mistakes over and over again just because it is easier to live in ignorance.
I started therapy this past year. I started reaching out to my support system more when I know I am going down a familiar and unwarranted path. I am able to talk about my emotions without feeling fear or guilt. I am so much more present in the lives of those who I admire so deeply. I am light-hearted. I’m doing so well in school. I am able to love everything around me as it is. I am grateful for what every experience, good and bad, has brought me. The reality I experience is an identical reflection of my internal mindset — and my head has been a pretty damn good place to be recently. I finally see things in a new light, and all this happened because of one decision and one decision only: to choose myself.
“Mirror” holds a special place in my heart. It feels like saying goodbye to the last chapter of my life. I am finally able to see it from the point of view of the girl who has gotten stronger and better from it. It’s nice to finally accept the past as it is and to no longer live in it. After all these years of avidly searching for a safe place, I now recognize that my energy is my safe space; I feel so free.
Anyways, yeah, Kendrick Lamar is an okay artist I guess, haven’t really heard much of his stuff or anything.
MiC Columnist and Photographer Ankitha Donepudi can be reached at ankithad@umich.edu.