Album Review: Kendrick Lamar, Mr. Morale and the Big Steppers

Kendrick Lamar

Mr. Morale and the Big Steppers (released May 13, 2022)

It’s been a half a decade since Kendrick Lamar released a solo LP.

So OF COURSE he returns from his five-year absence the one week out of 52 this year that I decide to take a vacation. Though I originally planned to do the customary review after my week of beach life was done, I couldn’t fight the temptation. Curiosity got the best of me.

It’s all because my timeline was filled with the most divisive reaction to an album release I’ve seen in a long, long time.

Some have called Kendrick’s new LP his best to date – an INSTANT classic. Trust me playa, no classic is “instant.” Every great work takes time to breathe, to impact our culture, to influence future generations. I was skeptical.

Others called it an abject failure, a murky “misdirection play” after the (intentional) leak of “The Heart Pt. 5.” That single, they said, is what fans wanted – top-tier wordplay over an iconic sample, not the pseudo-psychology Dr. Kendrick delivered on this album. But again, I was skeptical – Kendrick never made us ANY promises, heck, we weren’t even sure that “The Heart Pt. 5” would make the album (spoiler, it didn’t).

Still others were just mad that he used the F-word a bunch.

Not that F-word, by the way. THE F-word. You know the one.

…Honestly I wasn’t skeptical about that one. Sounds like something Kenny would do.

So, I tossed vacay to the side for a few minutes and dove into the album.

90 minutes later I was left with two full notebook pages completely filled with chicken scratch masquerading as notes. And that was just my first listen!

I guess it’s fitting for an album that quickly proved to be as chaotic and divisive as advertised.

Mr. Morale and the Big Steppers is Kendrick’s fifth, and arguably, most important LP to date. Unlike most of his generation, Kendrick hasn’t fallen into the trap of dropping hollow releases or resorting to Twitter antics to keep his name trending. In fact, his recent absence, especially during the social unrest of 2020, had even his most ardent fans and colleagues questioning his commitment to the cause.

Whether he asked for it or not (and he didn’t), Kendrick had been anointed the spokesman for Black culture and, apparently, his silence was betraying his fans.

But as he reminds us on “Savior”

Kendrick made you think about it, but he is not your savior
Cole made you feel empowered, but he is not your savior
Future said, “Get a money counter,” but he is not your savior
‘Bron made you give him flowers, but he is not your savior

Where has Kendrick been? Well, he’s been protecting his peace.

This double album plays as an hourlong therapy session, a cocktail of Black joy, fatherhood, trauma, grief and abuse that is often a bitter drink to swallow.

Opener “United in Grief” sets the tone for this unconventional journey. The production takes a life of its own, jumping from warped soundscapes to jarring keys, which then evaporate for pulsating percussions, and then back to those keys. The Michael Myers’ chill of “Mr. Morale,” the crackling finger snaps of “Count Me Out,” the ridiculous “huuuuuuuuuuuuuuun” sound effects of “Silent Hill,” the production constantly keeps the listener off balance. That unorthodox mindset bleeds into “N95,” where Kendrick begins stripping himself, and listeners, of their barriers:

“Take off the unloyal, take off the unsure, take off decisions I lack…Take off the fake deep, take off the fake woke, take off the ‘I’m broke.'”

Though these tracks are clearly a call-to-arms, they’re not anthems in the sense of previous hits like “Alright.” In fact, there’s very little radio-friendly fare here, hence the disappointment from fans looking for “Money Trees” vibes. The closest thing we get is the carefree “Die Hard,” boasting an almost “Juicy Fruit”-like two-step and maaaybe “Purple Hearts,” mainly due to the inclusion of … sigh, Summer Walker. As usual, her contribution is as dry as a pack of uncooked ramen but a surprising feature from Ghostface Killah quickly raises the stakes:

While I’m crying, I clean the feet of the sweet Jesus
Dreams, visions get blurry of the Elohim, it’s light
It’s known to tear retinas in a single gleam

Pretty Toney hasn’t missed in 30 years, I swear.

But again, this album isn’t about making hits, it’s about making an impact. Even if it causes us discomfort.

“Father Time” is a blistering look at Black fatherhood, and how the brutality of “tough love” both built men and afflicted us. Though he thanks his father for “telling him to take the gloves off,” he does warn men that sometimes a softer heart is needed to break the cycle of abuse.

Lord, and speaking of abuse, reactions to “We Cry Together” burned through my timeline all day – a four minute shouting match between Kendrick and Taylour Paige that’s more toxic than Krang’s retromutagen ooze. It’s essentially the audiobook version of the equally divisive film Malcolm & Marie – a track so nasty that the hook is literally just the pair lobbing obscenities at each other. And while it’s very, very uncomfortable, it’s important not to miss the message. This isn’t just chaos for shock value’s sake, it’s a breakdown of the ills of a patriarchal society:

Find it funny you just can’t apologize
Egotistic, narcissistic, love your own lies
See, you the reason why strong women f***ed up
Why they say it’s a man’s world, see, you the reason for Trump
You the reason, we overlooked, underpaid, under-booked, under shame
If you look, I don’t speak, then I’m called on my name

There’s a lot of truth between those barbs, whether we want to admit it or not.

It’s the same gut-wrenching truths that define “Auntie Diaries,” which details the transition of two trans relatives. Yes, if you just skim the surface, it’s easy to condemn K. Dot for the flagrant use of the F-word, but this is a teachable moment – Kendrick readily admits his that he was completely wrong (“I said them F-bombs, I ain’t know any better”) and even gets called out for his hypocrisy at the end of the song when his cousin essentially says “yeah, you can use the F-word – only when you let a white girl use the N-word.”

But perhaps the most heart-wrenching moment on this album is “Mother I Sober,” an aching account of the deep, destructive roots of abuse in Black families. By the end of the torrid tale, Kendrick frees his family of those generational curses, not just for his sake or there’s – for the sake of his young children.

I’ll spare you the usual cliches about how Mr. Morale and the Big Steppers is “more than just an album.” It’s true, Kendrick is not here to tap dance for fickle fans demanding “instant classics,” or bowing to those seeking BANGERZ instead of meaningful commentary.

Mr. Morale and the Big Steppers doesn’t have the wide-eyed enthusiasm of Good Kid, mAAd City, it’s not the boisterous celebration of blackness that is To Pimp a Butterfly, nor is it wrapped in the hard-nosed defiance of DAMN. It’s sadder. Heavier. Bleaker. And honestly, it’s better – a more mature, thoughtful tome of an artist staring in the mirror, confronting his own demons.

It’s an unabashed, brutal honesty that has become a rarity in hip-hop, an honesty that makes Mr. Morale and the Big Steppers one of the best albums the genre has seen in years.

Kendrick’s not here to be your savior. He’s not your moral compass. He’s not here to fix the world – he’s too busy trying to repair his own.

He doesn’t care about my vacation at the beach, either.

As he says in the final track, “Mirror,” “I choose me. I’m sorry.”

No apology needed.

His words, his stories, his brilliance are more than we deserve.

Best tracks: “Mother I Sober,” “Die Hard,” “Father Time,” “Count Me Out”

5 stars out of 5