Mr. Morale and The Big Steppers: The Difference Between Vulnerability and Sensitivity
Although audibly laudable, this project omits the consideration to reflect and acknowledge that cishet Black men are not the only Black people who listen to rap.
Rap generations old and new acknowledge Kendrick Lamar’s flow, presence, fluidity, prowess, and, especially after 2013, control. Lamar’s latest release, “Mr. Morale and The Big Steppers”, is a lot like his 2017 release, “DAMN”, because both are excellently produced projects that exhibit a master class execution of personal vulnerability. Unfortunately, the envelope for personal vulnerability has been widely stretched out and leaves rap lacking the one thing that its masculine vanguards detest: sensitivity.
“Mr. Morale and The Big Steppers” showcases Lamar’s vulnerability whilst refusing to show critical sensitivity. Although audibly laudable, this project omits the consideration to reflect and acknowledge that cishet Black men are not the only Black people who listen to rap. Contemporary media can champion inconsiderate honesty packaged as “raw” or “vulnerable”, but without the added layers of self-reflection and social awareness, it just feels violent and lazy.
Vulnerability
“Mr. Morale and The Big Steppers” is a two-part album that breaks between “Purple Hearts” and “Count Me Out”. Each part typifies the double-edged sword -- one side is vulnerability and the other is insensitivity -- with an equal balance. Here, vulnerability is a willingness to be exposed to potential criticism emotional and/ or physical danger.
Ignoring the full spectrum of a target audience has recently been misnamed as blatant vulnerability instead of its real name: arrogance. “Mr. Morale and The Big Steppers” takes a few steps past Lamar’s usual, be it intimate, level of exposure. This album falls heavy by lacking the sensitivity and reflection to acknowledge that cishet Black men are not the only Black people who listen to rap.
Tracks like “Father Time”, “Mother I Sober”, and “Count Me Out”, show off Lamar’s coherent vulnerability. These songs clarify that Lamar knows how he’s perceived. Each song shares how Lamar is choosing his personhood over taking responsibility for how he postured himself over the years. The word isn’t only respect, it’s accountability.
“Count Me Out” is a great example of laying emotions on a wax. “You said I'd feel better if I just worked hard without liftin' my head up / That left me fed up.” Among other bars on this song, the opening of verse two displays the ostracizing position of celebrity and consistent work ethic. This song does exhibit Lamar begging questions and using feeling to mark his pedestal, yet he doesn’t take the next step by providing answers to his questions or how he processes his feelings.
For Kendrick Lamar to stand out as a thorough thinking rhetorician he should know how to be accountable for his messages. When he doesn’t it takes me back to “How Much A Dollar Cost” from Kendrick Lamar’s “To Pimp A Butterfly” from 2015. Seven years later, Lamar’s potential is officially bittersweet.
Sensitivity
Here, sensitivity gives close attention to others’ feelings and responds with nuance to differences among people. Through every song where Kendrick Lamar intimated insensitivity, it’s clear that he was self-aware. Despite the self-awareness and honesty in Lamar’s delivery, some things are better left said by others. I’m talking about the f-slurs on “Auntie Diaries”.
The most bitter tastes of this project are the graceless Kodak cameos that can hardly fit into the tracklist as features. Kodak's cameos are hand in hand with the viciously violent “We Cry Together” that performs Black domestic abuse for consumption without any sensitivity to audiences who have survived or endured abuse. On Kodak, his consistent presence in hip-hop relays how the industry relies on abuse to keep the lights on.
Lamar missed an opportunity to have a nuanced conversation about cisgender struggles in connection to Black agency, emotional availability, and healthy relationships. Instead, he made crabbed decisions that spotlighted virulent realities which bar Black folk from developing thriving relationships. The fly on the pile is Lamar’s awareness of vulnerability and refusal to push the envelope beyond the shadows of stereotypes and abuse.
Moreover, in “Rich - Interlude”, Kodak wrongfully asserts that one can’t be better than the OGs. In practice, OGs and predecessors are steps that allow their followers to take mastery in different directions. The real OGs are becoming outdated as the middle generation takes the reins. Members of the middle generation (Kendrick Lamar, J. Cole, Drake, and Tyler, the Creator among others) eject ego masturbation to bate folks with the image of mastery, yet true mastery is a blade sharpened by sensitivity.
This isn’t to say that Lamar is a stranger to sensitivity. “Mother I Sober” shows Lamar at his most contemplative. He reflects on his trauma from the center of an unguarded past. His low inflection cascades the murmuring beat and oscillating chords that are given breadth by Beth Gibbons’s dissociative lyrics, “I wish I was somebody / Anybody but myself / Ooh, I wish I was somebody / Anybody but myself.” Altogether, this track is a peek behind the canvas that empties the heartfelt, insecure, and vulnerable sensitivity that’s expected of Kendrick Lamar.
“Mother I Sober” exemplifies how rap can meet sensitivity by being emotionally aware, sharing lived experiences, and challenging the status quo within one’s chosen lane.
Kendrick Lamar postures himself as someone who puts in the work to be thoughtful. Tracks like “Count Me” Out and “Savior” are Lamar’s revelations to the world that his pen leaks as it bleeds. It’s not wild to reassert that he has a lot of space for growth regardless of his capacity for lyrical control.
I didn’t consider sensitivity’s place in rap until I read this. Thank you
I didn’t consider sensitivity’s place in rap until reading this. Thank you .