Though it hasn’t even been 24 hours yet, I’ve talked about Kendrick Lamar’s Super Bowl halftime show with several people. Considering the varied opinions one can find online, surprisingly, most of the people I’ve chatted with shared similar sentiments. What’s the big deal?
When the powers that be chose Lamar as the halftime performer, it made sense. He became and remained part of 2024’s cultural zeitgeist because of his rap beef with Drake. The back-and-forth quickly became fodder for those close to the culture and those far removed from it. Who one upped who? Accusations flew like the “Bombs over Baghdad” Outkast rapped about nearly 25 years ago—abuse, pedophilia, adultery, child abandonment and neglect, to general b*tch-a**-ness. And despite a lot of word play over sometimes-jamming beats, both artists “pull[ed] the thang out” but weren’t “plan[ning] to bang,” as B.O.B warns against, unless we count Drake’s lawsuit against the rappers’ shared record label.
What’s this have to do with K. Dot’s Super Bowl performance? Everything. The performance simply lacked the heightened politicization and revolutionary-ism people are ascribing it. But yes, the man can rap (fast at that), and his love of poetry is evident in his storytelling.
I get it. In this highly polarized and, quite frankly, scary time we’re living in, we want something to hold to. Especially if that something is hope. The hope that performance and songs therein offer aren’t enough for one person to stand on, let alone capture the laments of oppressed people.
Let’s use “Not Like Us” for our case study. A song about the differences between Lamar and his camp and Drake and his is hardly the “I’m Black and proud” anthem so many people have made it out to be. I’m not here to argue the merit of the beef, who won, or any of that. My concern is somewhere along the line since May 2024, when the song came out, and now, we’ve allowed “Not Like Us” to be social commentary about the haves and have nots.
I’ll grant it that Samuel L. Jackson’s Uncle Sam narrating character was interesting. (I doubt anyone has ever said “Don’t be too ghetto” in front of a Super Bowl crowd.) The choreography was cool (I expected the red-, white-, and blue-clad dancers to form an American flag not long after I saw all three colors) and so were the illuminated messages in the audience. (“Game Over.”) Even Serena Williams c-walking to a diss track about her ex, cute but … <shrugs shoulders> It wasn’t radical; at best, it was innocuous. There will be people who respond to my propositions with things like “You just don’t get it.” But I did. “What more do you want him to do?” A lot.
The thing that concerns me more than assigning politicization where there is little to none is Lamar’s (and any other entertainer, for that matter) willingness to let people interpret his lyrics and performance as something more than what it was: a highlight in his career and an opportunity for more people to know his name. Certainly, art is open to interpretation. But allowing yourself to be exalted as one of the leaders of a movement when that movement wasn’t the alpha or omega for your art is akin to the antics of culture vultures so many of us scorn.
How did the performance push us forward as a culture? Or help the lives of people who have been disenfranchised? If the answer to those non-rhetorical questions is anything akin to “It was a call to action,” my response is “How did we get to the point where a corporation-sponsored performance is what it takes to motivate us to organize and mobilize?”
So many “leaders”—whether they’re given that label or assume it—are surrounded by people who treat them like they’re the only star in the universe, not one among many, like Lamar and SZA offered in “All the Stars” from “Black Panther: The Album.” Figurative stars, no matter how bright, require accountability, not permission to flit about exchanging sound bites for substance.
Revolution and liberation are far more complicated journeys than bites alone. They require rigorous study and strong foundations, and neither of these come from a diet of clichés and bit of truth.
I get it. More than ever, I believe people need heroes and heroines. But our heroines shouldn’t be our idols. And we must increase our capacity to hold two truths at once. We can and should respect people for the ways they’ve contributed to our collective advancement while we self-reflect, analyze, and expect integrity between the things people, especially leaders, say and do. Lest we think too highly of ourselves, a frame of self-awareness and reality are crucial.