On 'Section.80'
Starting last week when he wrote about the 2016 film Moonlight, NGL will be recommending a piece of art to consume from black creators. This time, he writes about Kendrick Lamar’s studio ablum debut, Section.80.
Before I get into my thoughts on Section.80, I just wanted to say that if you’re interested in discussing the thoughts presented in this article, we’ve started a book club of sorts in our Discord server. The value proposition of this community is simple: we’re a group of people who prioritize context, depth, vulnerability, and creativity.
In other words, we have a shared love for longform!
Anyway, if you’re interested in a community of people engaging in authentic conversation in good faith, consider joining our server. In the Discord, we have different channels set up for discussion about the serious (like the BLM movement and mental health); the salon (like what’s streaming and our upcoming UP merch); and the silly (like our channel dedicated to out-of-context rap lyrics). Personally, I was so damn excited with the types of conversations that popped up when we talked about Moonlight last week, and we’d love to have you in there with us!
Alright, let’s dive into Kung Fu Kenny’s studio album debut, back when the iconic rapper was still working his way up into the cultural zeitgeist.
I always feel weird when considering whether or not I’m “allowed” to comment on music.
As I’ve written about before, rap is — and has always been — my favorite genre, but as a white dude, I go back-and-forth on whether or not it’s my place to write about it.
Past just that too, though, is something I’ve talked about with one of my roommates. As someone who leans more towards traditional journalism than I do, his perspective is that while it’s okay to fan out about stuff, he’s not as comfortable writing about things that a) he doesn’t have some form of expertise in and b) are part of an industry he’s not actively participating in. For example, he feels confident about working in sports media because he’s played sports his whole life, he consumes tons of sports media, and he’s spent the majority of his college career developing sources and interviewing people within the industry.
With that in mind, compared to movies and television — mediums which I feel confident in talking about due to the amount of time I’ve spent behind a camera — I do not have any experience in music production. Therefore, the lens I’ll be writing through is one of storytelling, something I do have a solid footing in.
And speaking of storytelling, there may not be a better storyteller than Kendrick Lamar.
Kung Fu Kenny himself (The Grammys)
Before the nonlinear picture of growing up in Compton painted in good kid, M.A.A.D City; before the avant-jazz-rap statement of To Pimp a Butterfly; before he was producing pulsating, Afrofuturistic tracks to chase scenes in Black Panther or winning a Pulitzer for his work on DAMN.; there was Section.80, in which the young rapper looked around at his peers and explored the decade they were born into.
Kendrick encapsulated the 2000s blog-rap era. Similar to how Kanye showed a generation of kids it was okay to rap about their feelings, K. Dot — along with J. Cole — ushered in something that wasn’t exactly mainstream. Instead of boasting about a superstar lifestyle, he created music focused on what he saw as failings and flaws of both himself and his generation.
He was a quiet introvert, an outsider. When reviewing Section.80, then-Pitchfork writer Tom Breihan wrote:
“If one of the Bone Thugs guys had a dorky, overly sincere younger cousin who was really into Afrobeat and Terrence Malick movies, it’d be Kendrick.”
Thing is, though, when Kendrick turned on the mic, folks tended to stop and listen. You can tell throughout Section.80 — this dude was hungry.
With a host of mixtapes under his belt and a tidal wave of blogger buzz, the rapper turned his attention to a host of problems he saw to be plaguing his fellow crack babies, the ones from Section 8 housing and the ’80s. These issues included black people’s strife under the Reagan Administration (“Ronald Reagan Era”), drug abuse (“A.D.H.D.”), women’s issues (“Tammy’s Song” and “Keisha’s Song (Her Pain)”), and more.
In highlighting how these problems still linger into present day, though, Kendrick doesn’t aim to elevate himself on a pedestal in comparison to his peers. He also doesn’t want to glamorize the negative aspects of the culture in which he grew up.
He’s simply an objective figure, a part of the cohort he is addressing; in turn, his music is influenced by what he has observed. When he’s not rapping, he dabbles as a hip hop journalist of sorts, as he raps on “Ab-Souls Outro”:
See I spent 23 years on this earth searching for answers
’Til one day I realized I had to come up with my own
I’m not on the outside looking in
I’m not on the inside looking out
I’m in the dead fucking center, looking around
Kendrick Lamar in the music video for “HiiiPOWER” (Kendrick Lamar / TDE)
Along with the themes and thoughts Kendrick threads together on the album, the thing that’s always stood out to me about Section.80 is its depth. In the age of streaming, it’s never been easier to listen through entire albums at a time. I think Section.80 succeeds in this capacity by drawing in the listener, in that almost every song is unique enough in its production and content to warrant multiple plays.
For example, on “Rigamortis,” the then-24-year-old showcases a dizzying, masterful array of sheer talent while comparing his bars to the craziness of Marilyn Manson and rapping about the beauty of death. And, to be quite honest, he pops off on this track. Just read these lyrics from the second verse:
I rapped him and made him Casper, I capture the likes of NASA
My pedigree to fly past ya, I’ll pass the weed to the pastor
We all are sinners, won’t you send us to bible study faster?
Your hypocritesque reaction a blasphemy, I assassin my casualty
And it’s casually done, and tell ’em my salary come
A lump sum of hundreds, don’t talk to me ‘bout no money
The sun is under my feet, and I come in peace to compete
I don’t run if you’d rather leap, my statistics go up in weeks
Even without the incredible beat —Kendrick actually got sued for using the horn sample from Willie Jones III’s “The Thorn,” even if the work put into sampling this was crazy—the rapper’s words read so damn fluidly, spoken poetry in of itself.
The dynamism of Section.80 can be seen when comparing the quick-hitting “Rigamortis” to the toned-down “HiiiPoWeR.” The first single from the album features a slower, harsher beat produced by J. Cole, with Kendrick touching on what he views as his own self enlightenment through reflecting on figures such as Malcolm X and Martin Luther King, Jr.
It’s a movement prioritizing heart, honor and respect, Kendrick and his Black Hippy cohort Ab-Soul tell us, one inspired by the work and words of fellow West Coast lyricist Tupac Shakur. And while the track may not compare in impact to 2015's “Alright” — a song that has become something of a rallying cry for protesters against racial injustice — I believe that “HiiiPoWeR” serves as a powerful preview for the role the rapper has since served in the cultural conversation.
To conclude, sometimes, the best works are the ones that make us read further, taking in the thought-provoking ideas presented and contemplating them ourselves. For me, the first time I listened to Section.80, I went into Deep Dive Mode, reading up on Reaganomics’ effects on black Americans and the infamous Section 8 of the Housing Act of 1937. Therefore, I think I’ll always be drawn to this album because of the way in which it touches on the history of an entire generation of individuals and the context of the world they grew up in — while also providing a highly-stylized cache of songs.
Whether or not the album is the rapper’s best work is a debate most people consider open-and-shut — it’s probably not. But I think there’s a lot worth learning and listening to from this first entry into his official studio discography.
Plus, with Section.80, Kendrick accurately predicts the his place in the rap world for the next decade: somehow, the kid obsessed with his own flaws became a larger-than-life figure. He’s not an outsider looking in, or an insider looking out. He’s in the dead center, looking around, watching all of us as we anxiously wait for his next breath.
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