Kendrick Lamar’s verse on “Control”: Why the hype?

“Have you heard Kendrick Lamar’s verse on Big Sean’s “Control” yet?! Have you?! It’s the stuff of legend! Like, I can’t stop hash-tagging about it! It’s totally unprecedented. I mean, a rapper claiming he’s the best in the game? Wild! A rapper calling out other rappers on a song? UNCHARTED WATERS! I knew K-Dot was a beast when Pitchfork gave good kid, m.A.A.d city that 9.5!”

Folks, let’s calm down. Kendrick Lamar’s verse on “Control” breaks no new ground. It’s befuddling that people have collectively decided to label that verse as a game changing event in hip hop; are people just that woefully unfamiliar with the egotistical tropes of rap music? Or, more likely, is the current state of rap so diluted that even an easily dismissible bit of braggadocio has to be dissected/debated because we as fans have nothing better to do?

Now, to be fair, the verse isn’t ineffective. It’s generated the type of conversation, praise, and Twitter excitement it was likely written to achieve. What’s confusing, however, is the idea that this verse is in any way extraordinary. What risks were taken? The rappers in Kendrick Lamar’s crosshairs — J. Cole, Tyler the Creator, Mac Miller, Meek Millz, etc. — don’t exactly comprise the Mount Rushmore of figures in the world of hip hop. They are popular contemporary rappers; their collective coolness (and disposability) is entirely hinged upon the blogging taste-makers that currently drive music. This doesn’t necessarily imply all the listed rappers are unskilled or disreputable, but rather that their collective pop-cultural clout — their status as being big enough to even be called out — seems…well, pick tenuous or transitory. If Kendrick Lamar chose to call out a legend like Kool G Rap, I’d maybe tune in. But Kendrick Lamar calling out Wale? I’ll pass.

See, there’s nothing new about a rapper saying he or she wants to be known as one of the best. Pharoahe Monch has said it. Grafh has said it. Buckshot has said it. Tech N9NE has said it. Invincible has said it. Are those boasts controversial? No. You know why? Because it’s a thing rappers say. That’s it. Always has been and always will be. Favorable self-comparisons to contemporaries are par for the course in rap music — especially when those comparisons are in the form of I’m-better-than — no matter how, when broken down, ludicrous or illogical those comparisons actually are. We don’t always jump all over a quarterback on a mediocre team when he earnestly says he believes his squad “has a great shot of making the playoffs this year,” right? Even when we all know that the statement is wishful, borderline delusion thinking on his part, we chuckle and play along. We know he’s wrong, we know his team will likely flounder, but we let it slide. Confidence is an integral and accepted part of the persona. Kendrick Lamar is a participant in a tradition, not an inventor of a new one.

Also, it’s doubtful that any of the rapper named had their feelings hurt by Kendrick Lamar’s citation. In fact, it appears the most irritated rappers were the ones not called out, the ones taking offense to his “king of New York” line (a boast I interpret is less of an outright coast-against-coast diss and more of a sly reference, as indicated by the “Makaveli’s offspring” setup, to Tupac’s a.k.a Makaveli’s first rap name: MC New York. But that’s just my take). At most I foresee some friendly competition being sparked, but P.M. Dawn vs. B.D.P. Round II won’t be spawned. Oh, we as fans want it to happen. We want to take sides and have loyalties and Embrace Debate. But let’s be honest: we’re projecting our fantasies as fans onto the verse. We want Pusha T to go toe-to-toe with Kendrick because, hey, that would be a hell of a lot more interesting than the next Trinidad James single.

Kendrick Lamar’s verse is a trending topic on social media because there is seemingly so little worth truly, deeply, and passionately talking about in hip hop right now. No, that’s not a curmudgeonly get-off-my-lawn attitude coupled with a just-a-tad-pretentious disposition; it’s a fact of life in the post-Da Drought world we reside in, where mixtapes and remixes and freestyles and song-a-week gimmicks constitute the deluge that has marginalized the art of crafting albums. (It’s worth noting that good kid, m.A.A.d city was so praised precisely because it was a coherent project in a time of slipshod releases.) It’s not that rap is “bad” now — that would be wholly incorrect — but rather that there is so damn much of it that it’s ever-more important to have moments/songs/albums that everyone can weigh in on and feel apart of. Because tastes are so diverse and because access to new music tailored to your individual liking is so easy via the Internet, hip hop fans need these “it” releases that transcend preference, style, and region. Something has to stand out and rise above the noise, otherwise the genre will grow increasingly fractured.

All of this isn’t to say that Kendrick Lamar isn’t a rapper worth being enthusiastic about, nor that the rappers on his list aren’t worth your dollar Spotify plays. It’s fine to be excited, but you have to also be reasonable. Kendrick Lamar spit a good verse, but it’s not a verse that will alter the landscape of hip hop. It’s less his verse than our verse; it will provoke more debates amongst fans than it will provoke actual, serious, wrathful diss tracks. Hype is not intrinsically a bad thing, but it’s important to distinguish the reaction and interpolations from the words themselves. Kendrick Lamar didn’t reinvent the wheel here; he just made its rotation fleetingly more fun. Again, that’s not a bad thing, but it makes you wonder why it is we so desperately crave such an entertainment.