The first taste of good kid, m.A.A.d city came in February 2012 with the release of the song “Cartoon & Cereal,” a methodical cut that, in hindsight, is essential to understanding Kendrick’s creative aesthetic for the years to follow. Through modulated vocals and complex imagery, the rapper walks through family history—not just his, but those of his peers who grew up around gang culture. He speaks of male mentorship, of fathers and sons being connected physically and emotionally, and how little boys ultimately want to be like the grown men in their homes. But what happens when the role model is knee-deep in the streets, or locked up in jail? Here, the man is literally holding the gun as the woman gives birth to the little boy. Inadvertently, the armed man is the first image the boy sees, which informs his childhood perspective. “You told me, ‘Don’t be like me, just finish watching cartoons,’ ” Kendrick raps. It was supposed to be a single for good kid, though after it leaked to the internet, Kendrick and TDE decided to leave it off the album; as such, it has become a cult favorite for fans.
The next month, it was announced that the rapper had signed a joint venture deal with Interscope Records and Dr. Dre’s Aftermath Entertainment imprint to release good kid, m.A.A.d city, his major-label debut album. Kendrick signed the deal not only because of Dre, though that was surely a big reason, but because Interscope had a reputation for putting out albums in the truest sense. “It was about who understood the vision, and Dre and [Interscope CEO] Jimmy Iovine understood,” Kendrick once said. “They were just banking off talent, like Eminem. They understand how the growth of an independent company, like Aftermath, can develop into something that becomes its own Interscope, and that’s what we’re doing with Top Dawg Entertainment. We want to develop artists and put out solid albums like Eminem did with The Marshall Mathers LP and 50 Cent did with Get Rich or Die Tryin’—they’re records that stood the test of time. They understood that.”
But having a deal didn’t mean he was going to submit to pressure from record executives; Kendrick still had a unique vision for his music, and good kid, m.A.A.d city was going to fulfill it. He wanted to carry out Snoop’s directive as the next great savior of West Coast hip-hop, and to make believers out of those who claimed that L.A. rap had fallen off. Kendrick didn’t think the city had lost a thing, but compared with the earth-shattering force of his creative forefathers, Southern California hip-hop needed a new voice to carry it back to prominence: “If I’m the shining light that can branch that off then so be it, I’mma do just that.” By the summer of 2012, there was a legitimate buzz surrounding Kendrick, but he still hadn’t broken out on his own; on the Club Paradise Tour, he was just the opening act; now it was time to command stages by himself. That July, just three months after his gig concluded on Drake’s tour, Kendrick was in Chicago, some fifteen minutes up I-90W from where his parents lived before they picked up stakes and moved to Compton in 1984. It was a full-circle moment: His folks had to leave to escape street life and make a better way for themselves. Now their firstborn son was in their home city, on the verge of becoming a star.
Kendrick was booked to play the annual Pitchfork Music Festival in Chicago’s Union Park, where prominent rock artists like Modest Mouse and the National, and rap acts like Public Enemy and De La Soul once graced its stages. Kendrick was part of Pitchfork’s most rap-friendly lineup ever to that point, where even his TDE partner ScHoolboy Q—who’d released a really good LP, Habits & Contradictions, in January—had a slot to perform. Up-and-coming rappers Big K.R.I.T., Danny Brown, and experimental producer Flying Lotus were also on the bill that year. Kendrick was easily the weekend’s star, even if his
