“I”? But he contains multitudes. “We” more like.
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Megan Harrington: Everyone wants Compton’s human sacrifice but no one wants Kendrick Lamar’s self-esteem? I suppose I am among the few that felt he published the definitive volume of his escape from the streets. I wasn’t keen to hear Pt.2: the Re-Comptoning and I’m excited hear how the gears have changed. “I” is a song vital to Kendrick’s further artistic ascension — a song that, like “Swimming Pools,” reveals a piece of his ideology. Perhaps elsewhere we’ll hear a dark and crackling glimpse of the downsides to fame and Grammy nominations. I suppose this is too earnest, but I find the song’s message genuinely uplifting. It makes me happier to play this song.
[9]
Jer Fairall: Less the sequel to “Real” that some have suggested than the manic intoxication of “Backseat Freestyle” approached from a healthy distance, his self-affirmation now a reaction against his surroundings rather than an acclimation to them. The shrewdly chosen Isleys sample couldn’t be more appropriate, its initial ebuillence almost immediately revealing dark contours (in the form of some squalling guitars) that work as an aural reflection of Lamar’s mental and physical space. If the effect is admittedly less startling than the best of good kid, m.A.A.d. city, his willingness to swap impact for resonance is encouraging.
[7]
Alfred Soto: The obvious Isley Bros sample tries to mix the Bass Ale with the Guinness Stout, but, really, that’s up to the star, who hasn’t figured out which of his cartoon voices best suits this track. If it were an “iTunes Exclusive” song, I wouldn’t miss it. He’s trying to bring a delight in performance and character playing into the charts — good for him and why not. Still sounds tentative. All I hear are the memories of Wile E. Coyotes in the room.
[5]
Micha Cavaseno: Ambition is a toxic thing in people of great talent: the arrogance, pseudo-benevolence, cowardly anxiety of “giving the people what they want.” It’s not Kendrick Lamar’s fault that he already has to deal with a rich brat imitation of himself who sounds hopped up on too many cartoons and cereals. Nor was it his fault that the music industry enjoyed the unsubtle racism of letting Macklemore three-peat the rap categories of the Grammys. It is not Kendrick’s fault that he has the option to pander to disaffected, goofy folk who know you can force rap to become Bob Marley poster music if you throw a check at it. But it’s his goddamned fault for taking the dive. Section.80 was riddled with orchestration, jazzy textures, revolting lounge-singers and inane conceptual pandering, condensed into a desperate plea to be taken seriously. Likewise, the rambling, proggy in the worst ways, affected in its Madlib-like jitters GKMC begged to be recognized as the voice of a generation. Now, over a K’naan-style carnival-Bonnaroo rendition of The Isleys in psych-soul mode, he pleads to LET ME ENTERTAIN YOU: Kendrick using his most obnoxious tongues, a broken wind-up toy frantically asking in his favorite Martian-by-imitation-not-
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Anthony Easton: I never trust people with self esteem, but the idea of the city giving him confidence as a living creature and a kind of nurturing monster, is novel–and how he layers that idea is a masterpiece of production.
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Jonathan Bradley: Rolling around America last year, one of the more alien experiences for this outsider was the ubiquity of Kendrick Lamar: stereos in San Francisco and Seattle were playing the same record as cars from the Carolinas to Key Largo. The whole of the United States had seemingly subscribed to the rap nerd playbook for the summer. Now, in “i,” Lamar has produced a song that sounds built for national appeal; like Pharrell with “Happy,” his pop is generous enough to extend even to kindergarten teachers looking for singalong material. None of this is necessarily a welcome move: there is a black music mode that appeals particularly to general audiences, and it tends to value uplift and traditionalism while erasing hints of discord, dissatisfaction, or disorder. “i,” with its Isley Brothers lift and throwback aesthetic could be a hint that Kendrick is looking to solidifying his career into Cee Lo mush, only everything we know about this rapper, from the operatic scope of good kid, m.A.A.d city to “Control” to his Top Dawg competitiveness suggests he’s playing a longer game. So does the mid-song change-up and the free jazz outro. What emerges is a major key answer to gkmc‘s “Real” and an extension of that song’s third verse meditations on love as a spiritual and communal concept and as a conduit for personal growth. On the album, “Real” was succeeded by “Compton,” and “i” is like that song, too, in that it is triumphal and welcoming and, perhaps, the advance guard for a body of work that extends its concerns into deeper and more interesting places.
[7]
Madeleine Lee: “How can you love anyone else if you don’t love yourself?” is how the adage goes, but less often addressed and celebrated is learning to love yourself, and continuing to love yourself, when you know that other people don’t love you.
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Brad Shoup: “What do you want from me and my scars?” You can leach the indie rock from the critic bro, but the impulses remain. Lamar’s sharp as hell, we know this; he had plenty of time to consider whether “Who’s That Lady” was too obvious a base when he was flying musicians in to re-create it. Fans can lose themselves in major hits; God forbid the hitmakers do the same. For all the love talk, “i” is plenty prickly, lobbing declarations like tear gas canisters, pumping itself up with rejoinders and echoes and the whole kit of voices. (And jazz fusion basslines!) But hey, if you love yourself, doing you never feels like an obligation.
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Ramzi Awn: Brighton Beach cookout music isn’t a bad idea.
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