Bloggers weren’t feeling it, either: by the time Kendrick released his third solo mixtape, C4, in early 2009, it was clear that the K-Dot moniker had run its course, and that it was time for Kendrick to actually talk about something worthwhile. Though C4 was marketed as an homage to Lil Wayne’s recently released Tha Carter III album, Kendrick’s project felt redundant, and was a weird creative step, given the buzz he had begun to generate on his own. At this point, he didn’t need to rip a bunch of beats from a star like Wayne; he had the production team in place to start crafting his own artistic vision. The criticism got to Kendrick in a big way; in interviews and on his subsequent project, The Kendrick Lamar EP, he took subtle shots at the naysayers trying to throw dirt on his shine. He was at a crossroads, and he had to look in the mirror to assess who he wanted to be as an artist.
Then it hit him. “I’mma just be me,” Jeezy recalls Kendrick saying. The name change was the rightful next phase of his development, the best way for the Compton lyricist to become a fully realized musician and not just another cool rapper with one foot in the streets. As he once put it, “I think I was put on this Earth just to do music. I think God made me to spread my voice to the world, straight up.” It didn’t take long for Kendrick to sell Tiffith on the name change; in fact, the Top Dawg leader was on board right away. He joked that the name “Kendrick Lamar” sounded like some sort of designer fragrance you’d find at a Macy’s retail store. “Like, that sounds like cologne—we can sell that shit!” Kendrick once told Billboard of his conversation with Tiffith. The name change marked not just a shift for Kendrick but a turning point for TDE overall. The idea was to give the public just a little piece of his backstory while saving the rest for his proper debut album, good kid, m.A.A.d city, which he’d already started preparing three years before its eventual release.
In December 2009, The Kendrick Lamar EP drew listeners into the singular talent who’d grow to become the world’s best rapper. This was the first step toward that lofty acclaim, and was the first time he’d discuss himself and those closest to him in any kind of detail. “It’s like I don’t think y’all fully understand who I am, ya know? / I’m just a good kid from Compton who wanna rap,” he declared on “Wanna Be Heard,” a standout from the EP. “I don’t represent no colors, I represent my little sisters and brothers.” For the first time, people got a true glimpse of the kid who had watched the film House Party on TV and eaten Apple Jacks cereal in his parents’ house. He had sold Sega video games while other family members sold illegal drugs. We heard about his beloved uncle Bobby, who got his life together after fifteen years in prison, only for it to change for the worse following a claim of domestic violence. Then there was the story of Jason Keaton, a West Side Piru who wrote a letter to Kendrick from prison. He was twenty-one and facing some serious time, and through the rapper’s lyrics, we heard the pain of Keaton’s separation from the outside, where his grandmother and brother were getting older, and it was possible he might not see them again: “Said that they tried to give him like a hundred years,” Kendrick raps. “Sleeping in a cell, it’s been thirty weeks / Ain’t received any mail / It’s cold and the hole stinks.”
These revelations speak to the dichotomy of Kendrick Lamar—the shy kid in a tough environment, surrounded by strong black men who did what they could to survive. He’d been around the vices that had ensnared so many, yet his family—uncles, cousins, and dear friends—had shielded him from those trappings. It was as if they knew who he would be long before he did.
On The Kendrick Lamar EP, the rapper unpacked a childhood steeped in mischief and driven by the will to do right. Where Hub City Threat found Kendrick staking his claim as the world’s top rapper before he had any real credentials, the song “Is It Love”—the opening track of The Kendrick Lamar EP—outlined his wants in specific detail: he wanted the Grammys, the fame and fortune, the proximity to generational wealth. He also wanted to play golf with real estate mogul Donald Trump; that didn’t age well. Back then, Kendrick was driving his mother’s van to the studio with almost no gas in it. Around this time, his father started to wonder where Kendrick’s career was headed, and how long it would take before he’d earn money from it. He was twenty-two years old, and when his dad was the same age, he had had his own place and two cars in the driveway. Meanwhile, Kendrick was still living at home, and his career path was more of a slow burn. It took great patience to watch the young rapper make gradual gains when others seemed to make longer strides. His dad knew his son had a gift that the world needed to hear, and in his own gruff way, Kenny was simply expressing the frustration of having to watch bullshit be celebrated on the tube when Kendrick had what it took to outshine those same rappers.
But Kendrick was playing the long game; he was his own man, and it was
