With enough symbolism that would take President Trump the next four years to dissect, American rapper Kendrick Lamar performed an unforgettable Super Bowl Halftime performance on Sunday, Feb. 9.
As one of the most anticipated events in music and sports, Lamar, the first non-classical or jazz artist to win a Pulitzer Prize for music in 2018, offered a stunning rebuke of the system, even as critics of the show dismissed the rap artist for the very message he was trying to deliver.
In the end, the performance wasn’t meant for them.
Notably, it was only the second rap performance in Super Bowl halftime history. Aretha Franklin made history in 1972 during Super Bowl VI as the first Black woman to perform. While the show has become more inclusive since, it still faces resistance.
Many suspected his beef with Canadian rapper Drake would be the show’s star, but that wasn’t the case. The show was a deeply political performance.
Lamar’s set list blew the roof off of New Orleans’ Caesars Superdome. His artistry, attention to detail and intention proved him to be a hero of our generation. The President was in attendance, and he chose to protest. The Drake commentary was no comparison to the highly political array Lamar showcased, and at certain points, it wasn’t a show but a message.
For those who are familiar with Lamar’s music and artist history, the not-so-subtle nods to politics, revolution and the overall state of this country were celebrated by fans and quickly dissected after the show that night. From the choreography and songs performed to clothing/accessories worn and Samuel L. Jackson dressed as Uncle Sam introducing Lamar, there is a lot to unpack.
“Salutations! It’s your Uncle, Sam,” Jackson says as he points to himself with the most mischievous grin you’ve ever seen. “And this is the great American game!”
After the first song wrapped up, where he sang from the hood of the 1987 Buick Grand National Regal GNX that his dancers all came out of, Kendrick paused to address the elephant in the room, stating, “The revolution will be televised. You picked the right time, but the wrong guy,” which is a nod to Gil Scoot-Heron’s 1971 song, “The Revolution Will Not be Televised,” a song about being active during a time of revolution. This was taken by many as Lamar being the wrong performer for the show for those who do not agree with his politics or music, a sort of “I ain’t the one.” It could even be taken as the country choosing the wrong presidential candidate. Those dancers from the car were later divided during the performance, most likely signifying that even though we all came from the same place, we continue to be a divided nation.
Then, slipping into a song like “squabble up,” (meaning “to square up or get ready to fight”), Lamar’s blink-and-you’ll-miss-it delivery was flawless. Resembling a Renaissance painting at some of the performance’s best moments, Lamar stood between a divided American flag made up of dancers standing in formation dressed in red, white and blue. The stage itself was made to look like a video game, where the dancers signified the pawns that don’t matter to the powerful and wealthy in this country.
The show would not have been complete without his performance partner, SZA, the Grammy-award winning R&B singer-songwriter. Performing hits like “All the Stars” and “luther” alongside Lamar slowed the show down briefly before bursting into insanity.
Halftime art director Shelley Rodgers suspected that the PlayStation stage design was for the younger audience watching. The game of life also comes to mind. Living life like you have to pretend or blend into the background to either simply get by or even survive. The game controller imagery and flashing “WRONG WAY” or “GAME OVER” both convey their own message during the performance, too.
The stage represented the streets of Compton, California, where Lamar is from. Grey pavement lined with people hanging outside beneath the street lights as Uncle Samuel L. Jackson cut in for short narration, at times calling Lamar’s performance “too ghetto,” a stereotype that many associate hip-hop with. Jackson also asked if Lamar knew how to really “play the game.” This was a bone-chilling part of the performance because what Jackson meant was, ‘Do you know how to survive?’ As a person of color in America, life can feel like a game that’s played to make it to the next day. Jackson playing Uncle Sam to begin with, as he is known to be the white figure associated with the foundation of our country, is a perfect juxtaposition, as we know it is Black people. “The old culture cheat code,” says Uncle Samuel L. Jackson. Jackon now deadpans the camera, staring directly into the audience’s souls, “Score keeper! Deduct one life.”
“40 acres and a mule, this is bigger than the music… They tried to rig the game, but you can’t fake influence,” says Lamar, backed by four women dressed in white hyping him up, “You really ‘bout to do it?” The camera pans out, showing many of them lying dead on the ground as Lamar rapped, “Not Like Us.” While the stage is filled with red, white and blue bodies on the ground, a small inner circle of white figures can be seen dancing among them—another clever nod to the decline in the unjust treatment of marginalized groups in America.
After the Civil War, enslaved people were promised 40 acres and a mule once they were set free. In 1865, Special Field Order No. 15, issued by Union General William Tecumseh Sherman, promised just that. It was ripped away once President Lincoln was assassinated and Andrew Johnson took over office. The land was then returned to its original Confederate owners.
Then, of course, there is the Drake drama. The hype of the entire arena and millions at home watching and singing the elongated lyrics, “a minor” back to you on a diss track you wrote, probably solidified that you stay winning. It was a genuinely diabolical moment. Inviting Drake’s reported ex, Serena Williams, just to crip walk for less than 10 seconds on the world’s biggest stage is a new level of petty. Of course, it is also a perfectly crafted throwback to her crip walking at Wimbleton, which almost ended her career. The excitement and energy surrounding Lamar, even when he was playing his hit song/diss track.
Lamar proved to us once again why he won that Pulitzer. The poetry, the relevance, the cultural significance, the vibe, his fit, the courage. Many people like to believe that the unjust times in this country are behind us, but not even a month into President Trump’s second term in office, Lamar, who has won 22 Grammys, is here to remind us that the worst is yet to come.
Copy edited by Matt Brady
