Image via Kendrick Lamar/Twitter
The Bay Area doesn’t sleep, and neither does Yousef Srour.
I have an unhealthy obsession with the Kendrick-Drake beef. My social skills have drastically declined because, frankly, I can’t talk about anything else. My worst conversation starter to date: “Did you know that Drake was supposedly in LA with 16 year old Bella Harris on June 16th, 2016 and that’s why Kendrick named one of his diss tracks, ‘6:16 in LA?’” At a party in the Hollywood Hills on Cinco de Mayo, I booed the DJ when he played “Push Ups” and “Family Matters,” drunk on Drake hate. This has been the Year of the Wood Dragon, the Year of the Hater, and most importantly, the Summer of Kendrick Lamar.
Two weeks after Kendrick’s “Like That” verse premiered on Future & Metro Boomin’s We Don’t Trust You, I spent half of April 7th driving from my apartment in Los Angeles to LaRussell’s backyard in Vallejo, racing against the clock to get to the Pergola by 2 p.m. The drive was anything but quiet. I’ve driven up and down I-5 and the US-101 more times than I’ll ever be able to recall, but this time the soundtrack was different. With an ample amount of free time in my six-hour journey crossing California, I revisited Good Kid, m.A.A.d City, To Pimp a Butterfly, untitled unmastered, DAMN., and Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers.
That fateful Sunday afternoon, I came to one conclusion: Kendrick Lamar is the greatest rapper alive. André 3000, if you decide to release another rap album, you can reclaim this title, but I’ve spent the past four months going back-and-forth, arguing with myself and anyone who will listen that Kendrick Lamar is the greatest rapper alive, and he has been the greatest rapper alive.
The most difficult part about writing about the Summer of Kendrick Lamar has been my sheer awe of Kendrick’s attention to detail. It’s been over four months and yet when my sister calls me to ask how I’m doing, I have to tell her that I can’t stop thinking about how Kendrick began “euphoria” with an audio snippet of Richard Pryor playing the titular character in The Wiz. She laughs at me because I say it’s “eating me alive,” but as a fan of puzzles and brain teasers, these four diss songs feel like the ultimate challenge. With Kendrick silent and the lyrics up to interpretation, I spend my days mulling over each minute detail.
Why Richard Pryor? Was he referencing “King Kunta” where he raps, “The yam brought it out of Richard Pryor?” Does Kendrick see a resemblance? Is this a hidden reference to “No Friends In The Industry” from Certified Lover Boy where Drake claims, “I had a Richard prior to these n****s, that’s the joke,” which Kendrick later addresses on Mr. Morale’s “Father Time” (“When Kanye got back with Drake, I was slightly confused. Guess I’m not as mature as I think, got some healing to do”)? Wouldn’t he want to use a line from Michael Jackson’s character, the Scarecrow? Would that have been too obvious?
My sisters nods blankly when I vocalize these questions. She reminds me that none of this actually matters, but I feel so close to cracking the code. I subscribed to the Joe Budden Podcast for this. I’m still patiently waiting for ‘What’s The Dirt?’s video essays about “Family Matters,” “meet the grahams,” and “Not Like Us.” I feel like I’m turning the channel’s host. In his “‘6:16 in LA’ Diss ACTUALLY Explained” video, the YouTuber explains: “The main reason this video took so long is because I got extremely subject stuck on finding out what the sound [in the beginning of the song] was,” writing on the screen that “it was a solid 8-10 days.”
This is the blessing and the curse of the Summer of Kendrick Lamar. When Kendrick says, “Rabbit hole is still deep, I can go further, I promise,” it’s almost like he’s taunting my abilities as a journalist. I’m revisiting “Buried Alive Interlude,” Kendrick’s “Control” verse, TDE’s 2013 BET Cypher, the original version of “ELEMENT.,” “The Heart Part Four,” following the paper trail dying to decode what exactly even started this beef. With enough time, I’m sure I could figure it out, but in the back of my head, I can hear my sister telling me, “Let it go already.”
My editor elaborates, “Don’t forget the human element here. We are just little creatures listening to little noise transmissions.” Sometimes I forget that Summer of Kendrick Lamar isn’t just about the fan theories and detective work; the Summer of Kendrick Lamar has been a celebration of regionalism, mutual hatred, and most importantly, the coronation of the once and future King Kunta.
“Euphoria” was the moment I knew Kendrick deserved the title of greatest rapper alive. On Spotify alone, I’ve heard the song 132 times. I know every word. My therapist and I have even spoken about it. “Taylor Made Freestyle” brought something out of me: anger at the disrespectful use of 2Pac’s voice, fear that Kendrick Lamar’s pen required the “1,855” days he alludes to on “United in Grief,” and concern that the critical darling might have left the West Coast in the rear view.
Thankfully, I was wrong. From the backwards-spun sample of Richard Pryor saying, “Everything they say about me is true” in The Wiz to the three beat switches that call back to Dot’s verse on “Like That” (“Fuck sneak dissin’, first-person shooter, I hope they came with three switches”), I have reason to believe that Kendrick might have even heard “Family Matters” before it dropped. Could it be that my favorite rapper is psychic? How could he have aimed his sights so perfectly with a claim as precise as, “Fabricating stories on the family front because you heard Mr. Morale. A pathetic, master manipulator, I can smell the tales on you now.” The “Mob Ties” beat that begins Drake’s second diss track even serves as the outro for “Push Ups,” the now infamous red button that will forever be known for its faulty wiring.
“Have you ever played?
Have you ever-
Okay, n****, let’s play.”
Kendrick Lamar approached this beef with a religious allegory, not too far removed from the thorns he bears on the cover of Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers. I believe the four diss tracks each represent one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. “Euphoria” is the white horse, featuring the white backdrop of Merriam Webster’s website and a reminder from Kendrick that “this a friendly fade.” “6:16 in LA” is the Red Horse, used in the book of Revelation to suggest that blood will be shed, exposing a cropped photo of a red button-up picturing a bulldog peeing on a fire hydrant, allegedly stolen from Dennis Graham’s suitcase.
“meet the grahams” is the black horse, matched with a ominous black square on DSPs, most likely a reference to the fact that after George Floyd was murdered, Drake posted a Black Square on Instagram with no evidence of him protesting, whereas Kendrick chose to take it to the streets and was tagged in a photo with DeMar DeRozan outside at a protest in LA.
“Not Like Us” is the pale horse named Death. The artwork captures a screenshot of Drake’s home address on Google Maps, topped with the red, white, and black signifiers of sex offenders in the neighborhood. One of Drake’s security guards was shot and injured not long after, and as the whole world chants, “Certified Lover Boy, certified pedophile.” Death decimates Drake’s empire, potentially marking the pop star’s image beyond repair.
“6:16 in LA” revisits Take Care’s “Buried Alive Interlude,” where Kendrick reminisces about the day he and Drake met and the conversations they had that night. Kendrick told XXL: “At the end of that verse, that’s him, in the conversation, him telling me that you have to accept this lifestyle, because all of that will come, and it’s up to you how far you’re gonna go with it, or how much you’re gonna let in. Me acknowledging that, when I say, ‘Then I died,’ it leaves it hanging on the audience trying to figure out where would I go with it? Will I let it taint me or destroy me? Or will I know how to deal with it?”
Although Kendrick never explicitly explains what was said that day, Kendrick continues his “Buried Alive” verse on “6:16 in LA,” where he starts the song by rapping from Drake’s point of view:
“Off-white Sunseeker at the marina
Fuck a Phantom, I like to buy yachts when I get the fever
Wine cooler spill on my white t-shirt, the sightseer
Trifecta, money, morals, and culture, that’s my leisure
My visa, passport tatted, I should hub in Ibiza
Lucalis dwellings in Brooklyn just to book me some pizza
Who could reach us? Only God could teleport this type of freedom”
At first glance, the theory sounds like a long-shot, but it was confirmed that same day when Drake released the “Buried Alive Interlude, Pt. 2 (Parody)” on his Instagram, hours after Kendrick released “6:16 in LA” solely on Instagram (reportedly due to sample clearance issues). Kendrick’s second solo diss track is an extension of what he briefly touches on in “Mirror.” When Kendrick belts, “I can’t live in the matrix,” on Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers’ finale, he’s once again referencing his “Buried Alive Interlude.” He claims that his first rendezvous with Drake in Toronto eleven years ago, “Felt like the initiation, a reality livin’ in the matrix,” where you “dig a shovel full of money, full of power, full of pussy, full of fame, and bury yourself alive.”
In a sense, “6:16 in LA” is a final warning shot to Drake. Kendrick doesn’t want to continue this conquest, but to truly be the second coming of Tupac Shakur as he suggests on “Mortal Man” – asking himself, “Who am I if I don’t go to war?” Over a sly Al Green sample it sounds like Kendrick might be suggesting that Drake’s in-house producer is the mole in his camp? Paranoia stokes the fire. Kendrick is dropping clues, imploring him to:
“Find the jewels like Cash Doll, I just need you to think.
Are you finally ready to play? Have you ever? Let’s see.
Have you ever thought that OVO is workin’ for me?”
`
Kendrick, on the other hand, is not susceptible to paranoia. He owned up to what he’s done on Mr. Morale. He’s not a drinker, he doesn’t smoke, he might squeeze in a line or two about lean but I hardly believe he’d touch it himself. Kendrick Lamar has no need for defense. “Euphoria” is the warning shot, “6:16 in LA” takes aim, “meet the grahams” is the killshot, and “Not Like Us” is the entire city of Compton crip-walking on Drake’s grave.
“Meet the grahams” is pure devastation. He’s spitting on Drake’s name, demoralizing him (despite saying, “truthfully, I don’t have a hating bone in my body.”) He addresses Drake’s son Adonis, his mother Sandra, his father Dennis, and an unnamed eleven year old girl, who may or may not exist. Now that the dust has settled, it doesn’t even matter whether or not the alleged daughter exists — it’s believable.
Kendrick’s third attack was released a mere 53 minutes after Drake’s diss “Family Matters.” I first heard the latter on the bus to my friend’s place. When I arrived, my headphones stayed on for a few minutes as I listened to the song for the first time. My friend stood there, analyzing my face as I heard Aubrey Graham allege that “they hired a crisis management team to clean up the fact” that Kendrick Lamar had abused his fiancee and that’s why the two high school sweethearts never married.
Our night fundamentally changed. The beef was no longer just a conversation topic. We gathered around the dining table, hunched over, unable to take a seat, immediately bringing out a speaker to listen to the song again. For the first time in years, it felt like the whole world was talking about one thing. When Future and Metro Boomin released We Don’t Trust You, I dropped everything to listen to this “event” album, but most of my friends didn’t do the same. But here I was in my friend Ben’s apartment, the home of a casual rap fan, one who frequently dons an airbrushed 21 Savage tee from the It’s All a Blur Tour, both of us shocked as our respective favorite rappers clashed in real time.
With our jaws still on the floor, we made our way to a nearby chicken spot before a night of comedy hosted by Freddie Gibbs at the Comedy Store. The only thing we could discuss over dinner was whether or not Kendrick would respond. After an hour of deliberation, we came to the conclusion that Kendrick would have no choice because of Drake’s odious final verse. When we checked Twitter and saw that a response had been issued less than an hour later, our surprise was nothing short of a muffled scream in a crowded public house.
When we arrived at the apartment, the mood turned grim fast. Although the intro and bridge emulate the theme music to an early-90s sitcom, the keys are pitched-up and the four notes that descend and loop throughout the verses are ominous and a feat of disharmony. Quite similar to Alchemist’s recent collaboration with Kendrick, “We Cry Together,” the beat was most likely taken from one of the Mr. Morale sessions since The Alchemist wasn’t told beforehand that the beat would be used.
Here, Kendrick Lamar carries the weighing scale and plays the hand of God, striking each of Drake’s cardinal sins and issuing character assassinations rooted in Drake’s immorality: “He’s a narcissist, misogynist, livin’ inside his songs. Try destroyin’ families rather than takin’ care of his own.” Gluttony, Lust, Greed, Pride, Sloth, Wrath and Envy, they’re all present in this 6-minute and 32-second ride on the black horse. As predicted by the third Horseman of the Apocalypse, Kendrick Lamar delivers famine, starving Drake’s entitlement, ego, and his unquenchable thirst for validation.
In the aftermath of the beef, the most damning lines lie in the second verse when Kendrick explains:
“It’s some weird shit goin’ on and some of these artists be here to police it
They be streamlinin’ victims all inside of they home and callin’ ’em tender
Then leak videos of themselves to further push their agendas.”
At first, the consensus was that these lines refer to Drake’s predatory house parties and him “accidentally” revealing an explicit picture of himself. But in an attempt to recalibrate his public perception, Drake later leaked 100 gigabytes of footage, detering the conversation away from his “private Tinder,” Millie Bobbie Brown, Aya Tanjali, Bella Harris, all the other underage girls he’s had eyebrow-raising relationships with, as well as the “sex offenders on OVO he keeps on a monthly allowance.”
The average rap fan won’t remember “6:16 in LA” unless Al Green eventually clears the sample, and “Buried Alive Interlude, Pt. 2 (Parody),” even less so. “Meet the grahams,” on the other hand, will join rap canon as one of the most savage takedowns to be uttered by one person to another since King Henry VI: “May the glorious sun never shine its rays on the country where you decide to stay. Darkness and the gloomy shadow of death will surround you until mischief and despair forces you to break your necks or hang yourselves!”
“Not Like Us” is essentially Kendrick stomping on Drake’s grave. “Baka’s got a weird case, why is he around?” “Certified Lover Boy, certified pedophile.” “Heard you’re trying to strike a chord and it’s probably a minor.” Whether or not Drake is a sexual predator seems immaterial. Kendrick has given us reasonable doubt, and that’s all the ammo you need to elicit an inevitably ugly response (“The Heart Part 6”). Armed with a two-note Mustard beat, an homage to Drakeo the Ruler’s flow, and the support of the whole West Coast: “I looked, and behold a pale horse. And its rider’s name was Death, and Hades followed with him” (Revelation 6:8).
I just so happened to check Twitter within seconds of the song’s release, even though I, of course, have Kendrick’s tweet notifications on. Without a moment of hesitation, I hushed the visitors in my apartment and instantly connected to my speakers’ bluetooth. I forced my sister and her friend to relish in what would become the final nail in Aubrey Drake Graham’s coffin. As soon as the trumpets blew their horns, my nose scrunched into the thizz face and I began G-walking in place. As soon as Kendrick announced, “Mustard on the beat, ho,” I proclaimed to the two pop rap fans in the room that he’s clearly emulating Drakeo. As soon as Dot grumbled, “Run for your life,” I mansplained that he’s explicitly shouting out 03 Greedo’s Grape Street anthem, “Run For Yo Life.” As soon as the crowd chanted “O-V-Hoe,” I cheered along, screaming and paying no mind to the pair slumped on the couch, “DANCE ON HIS GRAVE, KENDRICK!”
“Sometimes you gotta pop out and show n****s”
There is no response to being called a pedophile. As Zack Fox cleverly tweeted, “somebody say you a sex criminal what you gonna say ‘nuh uh’ ?” The song sits at #3 on the Billboard Hot 100 currently in its 15th week on the chart, and with Drake dangling at the stake and Kendrick the ultimate opportunist, “Not Like Us” became a symbol of West Coast sovereignty and cultural conservatism within hip-hop. The Pop Out exclusively featured LA artists, from BlueBucksClan and JasonMartin to Tyler, the Creator and Steve Lacy; the “Not Like Us” music video was shot and filmed in Compton, featuring iconic sites like Tam’s, the burger spot located a half-mile from Kendrick’s childhood home. The Pop Out occurred on Juneteenth, the music video for “Not Like Us” arrived on the 4th of July, cementing the Summer of Kendrick Lamar, now known as the greatest rapper alive.
With Kendrick Lamar’s four singles targeting Drake, “The Heart Part 5” takes on a far greater significance. A particularly weak single that doesn’t really work without the music video, the fifth installment of “The Heart” series was tacked on as the official-unofficial third disc of Mr. Morale & The Big Stepper. Kendrick Lamar interpolates the chorus to Marvin Gaye’s “I Want You,” basks in his accomplishments, asks the culture for acceptance:
“I want the hood to want me back (I want, I want, I want, I want)
I want the hood
Look what I done for you (Look what I done for you)
Look what I done for you”
I’m sure at one point or another, Kendrick must have wanted to be accepted by his community, just like the rest of us. But after being passed the torch of West Coast hip-hop by Snoop Dogg, Dr. Dre, Kurupt, Daz Dillinger, Warren G, and The Game, and with more Grammys than fingers, why would Kendrick be the one seeking validation? In a music video where Kendrick’s face morphs into six different faces of black culture: Nipsey Hussle and O.J. Simpson and Jussie Smollett and Will Smith and Kanye West and Kobe Bryant, Drake’s exclusion only furthers the idea that he is “Not Like Us.” Featuring seven direct references to the word, “culture,” “The Heart Part 5” serves as a predecessor to the diss tracks, subtly pointing towards the single artist who has strived for cultural relevance above all: Drake.
On “euphoria,” Kendrick maintains the voice of the culture, alarming Drake: “Notice I said ‘we,’ it’s not just me, I’m what the culture feeling.” On “6:16 in LA,” he once again raps from Drake’s perspective: “Trifecta: money, morals, culture. That’s my leisure.” On “meet the grahams,” Kendrick Lamar reverses roles once more to renounce Drake’s appetite for approval, informing him that there is: “No culture cachet to binge, just disrespectin’ your mother.” By the time Kendrick drops “Not Like Us,” he doesn’t need to mention the word “culture” at all. The deed is done. The music video was shot in his own hood, amongst his own people, with friends and family and fans physically representing his mark on the culture, spelling it out for Drake one last time: “You’re not a colleague, you’re a fucking colonizer.”
Now that every algorithm has been flooded with a hard drive’s worth of Drake nostalgia, I have to ask myself whether or not Dot could have ever ruined Drake’s career. For a lot of you reading this, I’m sure it’s too late. It seems that nostalgia runs deeper than values and “culture” and the current state of hip-hop. “Do you remember where you were the first time you heard ‘Over My Dead Body’?”
Drake will continue to humanize himself and the public will continue to fall for the facade because Sexyy Red told us it’s okay; he will continue rejuvenating his image in the fountain of youth, and the water will continue to be replenished by our refusal to let go of the man we once loved.
For me, the Summer of Kendrick Lamar will continue into the fall and winter. For the rest of the world, the Summer of Kendrick Lamar ended on August 6, 2024, with 100GB of behind-the-scenes footage of the “real” Aubrey Graham, caught in the best light by his friends, videographers, and accomplices. Even if Drake names his apology tour, “No One Likes Us,” never forget the summer we reminded each other, “they not like us.’”
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