Anxiety and
depression are tricky things.
Think of them
like fighting any enemy made of smoke – an enemy that can disintegrate when you
hit it, only to reappear a moment later. It can seep through even the smallest
of cracks in your armor, cloud your senses and thoughts and shroud you in
darkness. Status, wealth and success are no shields, and the pressure and
attention that more often than not accompanies ascension in all these areas can
make it worse, not better. And sometimes the worst thing anxiety and depression
can do is just a hold up a mirror.
Just ask Kendrick
Lamar.
There have been
some fantastically moving, insightful and all-around well written things about
his beautiful, dark, and twisted new album, To
Pimp A Butterfly, which tackle the album's themes of what it means to be
young, black and gifted in a country that resents all these things. I can't add
much of anything to this part of the discussion, especially because my
experience as a white, middle-class man is so far divorced from the challenges
facing a black man from a poor background that it would be insulting for me to
even try to relate.
About one thing I
can relate with Lamar, and that's the feelings that accompany fighting anxiety
and depression. The roots of these battles are different – Lamar's (at least in
part, it seems) comes from the punishments of contemporary society on black
people and the travails of fame, while I think mine is – more or less – rooted
in genetics, but some of the symptoms are similar.
Let me be clear
about something before I go any further – Lamar's blackness is absolutely the
key them of the album, and if you walk away from listening to it without
thinking about what kind of damages years of subjugation and oppression have
done to generations of African-Americans, you did it wrong. Adjust.
In several
interviews with Lamar leading up to the release, he spoke candidly about
dealing with depression after the success of his debut, good kid, m.A.A.d city, propelled him to fame in 2012, and those
trials are very evident on Butterfly.
The sonics on the album are mainly inspired by the 70s free jazz movement,
where artists like Miles Davis took their art to new, electronic heights, and
the funk of "conscious artists" like Gil Scott-Heron, Sly Stone and
George Clinton, who used neo-soul sounds to explore black identity in America.
Few of the songs on the album start and end in the same place – they modulate
and transition (sometimes) jarringly as they progress, giving a fluidity to the
album's sound. To me, this as a reflection of the way anxiety and depression
are rarely stagnate feelings – they grow and change with you, and just when you
think you have them pinned down, they appear in a new form.
As you should
expect by now from Lamar, the lyrics are far-ranging and exploratory, and it's
fascinating to listen to him explore new ideas and perspectives on his world
and the world of his peers. The man is like a rapping James Joyce novel, taking
on different vocal tones, tics and deliveries in service of creating the vast
array of characters that populate his mind. Not all of these characters – or
the majority of, it appears after listening to the album – are benign. Some
seek to lead him astray (like the femme fatale Lucy that twines herself around
Lamar throughout the album), while others berate him for his failings as a
brother, disciple and friend.
The most
difficult song to listen to here is "u" – the counterpart to last
year's "i." At the time of its release, the single was panned by some
for being too positive (not yours truly – it was my favorite song of last year,
if you remember), but as Lamar told Rolling Stone, "i" is the
response to "u," and it makes so much more sense listening to both
tracks in the context of the album. On "u" Lamar absolutely shreds
himself, screaming out "Loving you is complicated!"over a simmering
bass beat peppered with Terrance Martin's wailing saxophone. About a third of
the way through the beat breaks down, and Lamar's voice takes on an unsettling
whine – his voice hoarse from hours of picking apart his every failure and
disappointment as he looks in the mirror. The level of self-incrimination here
is startling ("I'm fucked up, but I ain't as fucked up as you/You just
can't get right, I think your heart made of bullet proof/Shoulda killed yo ass
long time ago") and anyone who has battled anxiety and depression will
instantly recognize the gamut of vitriol he puts himself through. It's an
incredibly affecting song, and for someone suffering through anxiety or
depression, it is unsettling in its accuracy.
While
"u" is the song on Butterfly
most focused song on his personal demons, the theme is weaved throughout the
album, popping up in a line or two as Lamar explores the changed world around
him. The slow unspooling of a poem Lamar wrote throughout the album perhaps
sums it up best:
"I remember you was conflicted
Misusing
your influence
Sometimes
I did the same
Abusing
my power, full of resentment
Resentment
that turned into a deep depression
Found
myself screaming in the hotel room
I
didn’t wanna self destruct."
Few artists as on
the rise as Lamar is would dive into something so few people – men in
particular – feel comfortable discussing, and it’s a powerful testament to his
artistic and personal integrity that he pulls it off with such aplomb.
There is a lot of
darkness on Butterfly, but it is also
full of moments of startling beauty and clarity. Several studies have found a
link between anxiety and depression and creative minds, and if this is true,
Lamar is one of the clearest examples we have of how these emotions can be used
to create something truly beautiful. "Momma" is a gorgeous stunner
that allows Lamar to return home to Compton and find a sense of peace and
understanding he's missed on the road. "Thank God for rap, I would say it
got me a plaque/But what's better than that?/The fact it brought me back home,"
he rhymes over a shimmering beat from Knxwledge and Taz Arnold.
"You Gotta
Lie (Momma Said)" is a transformative grace note about being true to
yourself, and not living your life trying to impress other people. It features
perhaps my favorite beat of the album, if for no other reason than it's so
goddamn soulful and lovely. Butterfly
doesn't have much in the way of songs you can throw on during a house party or
when you're just hanging out, but this is a definite must add to any summer playlist.
And even on something as sweet as this, Lamar is still exploring identity and
cutting through the bullshit to find out where you belong.
If there is a
benefit to dealing with anxiety and depression, it's that both emotions are
great (albeit harsh) teachers – they teach wisdom, patience and empathy.
There's no way you can get out of bed every morning knowing anxiety and
depression are a part of you and not learn the benefits of finding inspiration,
hope and strength wherever you can. These things are what keep you trying, keep
you achieving and keep you growing.
Just ask Kendrick
Lamar.
To Pimp A Butterfly is out on Interscope.
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