“Well, that sounds gay”, or at least what a peer of mine thought when learning the premise of this piece. I tend to write about things sporadically whenever I have a Eurika moment regarding any interest I have acquired over time. I think this time around I just want to ramble on a page and maybe someone reading will use it in their life, change their perspective or learn something new. Let’s get one thing straight, nothing I am writing in this piece is unique, as plain Jane as it gets, unseasoned, boiled chicken.
I watched Iron Claw for a second time a couple days ago, a film that depicts the infamous Von Erich wrestling family and their paradox of tragedy, being their family. Within 35 years, five brothers turned into one, a lonely and despair ridden Kevin Von Erich left to carry decades of trauma, pain and regret. Similarly, I only have brothers, fortunately I have not lost them and don’t intend to for a long, long time. The film ends with Kevin’s children, donning a different last name to avoid the “curse” bestowed onto his family, consoling him, “Don’t worry Dad, we’ll be your brothers”. Upon hearing this line, the viewer is slammed with the weight of the situation. What is interesting is the overwhelming sense of beauty from this full circle moment. A beautiful tragedy. How can something so disturbing be presented in such a beautiful, elegant way? A phoenix rising from the ashes of a mass grave. The same can be said for other artists that I have followed for as long as I can remember, Kendrick Lamar and Bo Burnham. Stay with me, I understand that we are now talking about a guy who performs comedy through music and a Pulitzer Prize winning rapper who is arguably the greatest to ever do it. It is all related.
Burnham in his most recent special Inside, dives into disassociation of an artist trying to find purpose in their craft. Am I here to make people laugh? What if that doesn’t make me happy? Why break my back trying to give you perfection if I don’t feel fulfilled after? He is no longer an individual, but part of the virtual online machine, a cog who is pigeonholed into churning out content. It’s deep, dark and depressing, yet we stand in awe of his beauty and ability to make us laugh.
“I swear to God that all I ever wanted was a little bit of everything, all of the time. A bit of everything, all of the time. Apathy’s a tragedy and boredom is a crime. I’ve finished playing and I’m staying inside”.
Bo Burnham, ‘Goodbye’
Burnham is tortured by the plight of a performer. There is no getting off this train of entertaining, once you start there’s no stopping. He’s been gaslit into a honed blade, cutting through creativity to elevate content. Don’t be authentic, be what we want you to be. Don’t laugh, consume. Don’t cry, consume. Don’t create, consume, consume, consume. I am the glutton; for you are the performer.
As for Kendrick Lamar, his journey over the last decade has taken a similar turn. Rather than a similar song or album, his path has evolved across multiple albums. Breaking out into mainstream success with his album, Good Kid, m.A.A.d City, he begins to sow the seeds of a hero’s journey. Three years after, he released arguably the greatest conceptual album of all time, To Pimp a Butterfly. It acts as proclamation that the hero has arrived to save his city. Coming from Compton, Lamar, like Von Erich is surrounded by tragedy. The poem that he depicts on the last track of the record, demonstrates his personalization of Compton. He will be the one to save his city, or so he thinks.
"The caterpillar is a prisoner to the streets that conceived it. Its only job is to eat or consume everything around it, in order to protect itself from this mad city. While consuming its environment the caterpillar begins to notice ways to survive. One thing it noticed is how much the world shuns him but praises the butterfly. The butterfly represents the talent, the thoughtfulness, and the beauty within the caterpillar. But having a harsh outlook on life the caterpillar sees the butterfly as weak and figures out a way to pimp it to his own benefits. Already surrounded by this mad city the caterpillar goes to work on the cocoon which institutionalizes him. He can no longer see past his own thoughts. He's trapped. When trapped inside these walls certain ideas take roots, such as going home, and bringing back new concepts to this mad city. The result? Wings begin to emerge, breaking the cycle of feeling stagnant. Finally free, the butterfly sheds light on situations that
the caterpillar never considered, ending the internal struggle. Although the butterfly and caterpillar are completely different, they are one and the same."Kendrick Lamar, ‘Mortal Man’
The message is clear, a transition, an evolution is born from this trauma, this mad city. As the listener we feel a sense of hope, finally overcoming the stagnant trauma forced upon by birthright. Following this project is another hit commercial success in DAMN, there is a slight change in the air. The hairs on our necks stand as fast as the mood changes. We were promised change, where is it? Why haven’t you delivered on your promise to change the culture? Lamar appears defeated, consumed by the noise. Within the confines of his cocoon, an infection spreads. For once, our hero has been enshrouded with doubt. The shadow looms over him to the point of disowning his own blackness, “Don’t call me black no more, that word is only a color, it ain’t facts no more”. Lamar is almost disgusted with himself, he is casting the harsh lashings that scar his spirit, consumed by fear, lust, envy, and regret. He reflects on his life with his last track Duckworth, Kendrick’s real last name. “If Anthony killed Ducky, then Top Dawg could be serving life, while I grew up without a father and die in a gun fight”. He’s failed. A true miscarriage of fate. You survived coincidence, you got out and were given this opportunity to do something, and you blew it.
This brings us to our final chapter to this story. Where will this last step take us? What door will open? What door will close? Lamar’s most recent project isn’t about our hero overcoming outside forces created to destroy him. Instead, our hero reveals he was his own antagonist. Mr. Morale and the Big Steppers is one of those albums that you learn something new about yourself with each listen. Each track is layered with what can be only described as humility. Sure, I couldn’t do what I set out to do, but I did something even better, I chose me. Lamar breaks down how the trauma that was bestowed upon him, that same trauma that fueled him to seek and strive for answers to save his city, was the key to change. You can’t undo 400 years of generational trauma, but you can give people the tools to recover from it. He describes the toxicity of sleeping with white women as a form of payback as well as using homophobia and misogyny as a way to elevate himself at the expense of others. We bear witness to the final performance, the end of our story on the track Mother I Sober.
“They raped our mothers, then they raped our sisters. Then they made us watch, then made us rape each other. Psychotic torture between our lives, we ain't recovered. Still livin' as victims in the public eyes who pledge allegiance. Every other brother has been compromised. I know the secrets, every other rapper sexually abused. I see 'em daily burying the pain in chains and tattoos. So listen close before you start to pass judgement on how we move. Learn how we cope, whenever his uncle had to walk him from school. His anger grows deep in misogyny. This is post-traumatic. Black families and a sodomy today is still active. So I set free myself from all the guilt that I thought I made. So I set free my mother all the hurt that she titled shame. So I set free my cousin, chaotic for my mother's pain. I hope Hykeem made you proud, 'cause you ain't die in vain. So I set free the power of Whitney, may she heal us all. So I set free our children, may good karma keep them with God. So I set free the hearts filled with hatred, keep our bodies sacred. As I set free all you abusers, this is transformation”
Kendrick Lamar, ‘Mother I Sober’
Lamar has become a changed man. The closest we will be able to see someone pulling themselves up by their bootstraps to take control over his own life. Rather than forcing a square peg into a round hole, he removed all the pieces and made his own set. But why mention all of this? Why would I go into such grueling detail to describe three completely different people that have never crossed paths, nor will they ever? What does a wrestler, a comedian and a rapper have in common? How the hell does that relate to me? The best way to answer these questions is with one word and one word only: humanity.
Humanity is such a beautifully cruel thing. I, like others have days where I want to see a show/film/video of something hopeful. Sometimes I want to see something sad, sometimes horrific, sometimes funny. The rush of a horror movie that makes you skip a step running up a dark stairwell, hoping not to be grabbed by whatever monster you just saw terrorizing the protagonist. The hope and warmth of a soldier surprising their family after coming home from deployment. The harsh coughing from laughing at a comedian tell the second most embarrassing story you’ve ever heard, second to yours of course. The heartbreak of the protagonist losing everything at a whim due to either their actions or a sick twist of fate. We consume it and demand more of it, constantly like small, controlled dosses of heroin. The feeling of euphoria and dopamine altering our brain chemistry. We become addicted.
As previously stated, I don’t come from a cursed family, I’m not a comedian locked in his house, and I am certainly not an African American rapper. What I will say is there is a bit of existential dread when reflecting on where I am, What I’m doing and what I will do. So, what are my goals? How can I be 25 and have this feeling of existential dread? My expectations aren’t ridiculous, right? A wife, kids, good paying job, a couple hobbies here and there. I work my ass off and come home to a 400 square foot apartment and sit on my couch and watch whatever is spoon fed to me on any given streaming service. As Oliver Tree would put it, “Work all day and then I wake up”. I don’t see myself having a wife any time soon, certainly not kids. If I don’t have either of those things, how do I justify buying a house. If I have none of those things, why leave? Rent is cheap, I won’t need to make any adjustments for any bigger things. Why do I want the things that I do? To be happy? To feel important? Am I ok with being average? Who’s even reading this? A couple people in my family? A couple friends? I’m not getting a book deal any time soon. Do I really like writing, or do I like the approval of others from reading it? Am I ok with being average? If so, Am I ok with being ok with average? After all, most people are just that: average.
I don’t know why I wanted to write this but here I am allowing you to peer behind the curtain. Am I the Oz? Is there a curtain? I guess that’s for you to decide. I’m told how smart and creative I am, I don’t feel it’s deserved. For God’s sake, I was told that I should be a history teacher for knowing about Black Wall Street, one of the largest domestic terrorist attacks in U.S history. Thirty-five blocks flattened; hundreds of people massacred in an instant. And for what? For me to be told I’d do well on a game show? That’s not some neat fact that you get brownie points for knowing. This was a god damned tragedy, don’t make it about me. Am I truly exceptional for using the tools given to me like Google or actually doing my job as a student and paying attention? Is learning the new novelty? It’s isolating. Marooned on an island surrounded by oceans of information. The irony is I don’t want to be special. I don’t want to be the genius that people tell me I am. I don’t have deals, awards or fame and frankly I don’t want it. I’ve seen what you people have done to these beautiful artists, musicians and generational talents. It’s disgusting how the masses strip the humanity and snuff out the bright light that they once were. Shackling them down and treating them like dairy cows. Raping them for that sweet, sweet milk. Their humanity stripped away and turned into those viral videos, the films, the songs, the story. There will always be cows and there will always be the drinkers. I may not know what I want out of anything, but I sure as hell know what I don’t want.
I may be stuck on this island, whether by others or my own volition. Maybe one day I’ll have my great exodus, my magnum opus, my great escape. Until then I’ll keep writing for myself, as much as I love and hate it. We’re all drinkers, I just never want to be the cow. But hey, you’re reading this now, I guess you made a cow out of me.