For several months, Kendrick and Sounwave locked themselves in the studio, resting in sleeping bags until they had a fully formed album to put out. And when they thought the record was done, they’d go back in and fine-tune it some more, tweaking and bending the sound until it was perfect for them. Despite their success, or maybe because of their success, Kendrick and Sounwave still had the verve to literally sleep in the studio. The stakes were at their highest; the music world watched TDE closely. But this is how you become the greatest rapper ever, by putting in this kind of work when the cameras aren’t rolling and no one’s there to snap your picture for Instagram. Greatness is achieved in the trenches, when nothing but the will to be an icon is your creative fuel. The greats are all the same—Beyoncé, Serena Williams, LeBron, and the like: they’re never satisfied with where they are now. They’re always looking ahead, always looking to improve, always looking to break new ground. The will to transcend never leaves. When you’re Kendrick Lamar, and you’ve come from the city he did, and seen the things that he’s seen, there’s always this innate feeling of restlessness, that even though you’re a multi-time Grammy Award winner, you still have to work at being great. There’s always a new message to be told, a new wrinkle in the way you disseminate thoughts.
At this point, Kendrick was a millionaire a few times over, but he still had something to say. For it to truly take shape, he and Sounwave had to become one again—just as they did for Butterfly. If the previous album was shepherded mostly by Terrace Martin, DAMN. was brought to life by Sounwave, who, along with Kendrick, was responsible for much of the album’s sonic direction. While much of To Pimp a Butterfly was written on the road and recorded in different studios, DAMN. was recorded in one studio, where Kendrick’s collaborating producers quite literally had to sleep in the studio as well. The requirement was intense, but Kendrick had the cachet to demand such a thing. “If you had a girlfriend, she had to come visit you at the studio. It was that environment,” Sounwave told GQ in 2017.
Two months before the record was set to release, he and Kendrick put extra pressure on their collaborators to stay, and even forgo going to get food, so the record could get done on time. “You wanna go get something to eat? You’re not serious,” Sounwave told Fader. “You’re gonna be in this studio and you’re gonna starve with us until it’s perfect. Luckily, it’s everybody we love—it’s like having a sleepover with all your cousins.” They took every last second they could to finish DAMN., tweaking the sound—flipping and reversing beats, switching out beats, and changing the speed of Kendrick’s voice at the very last minute. Indeed, the sessions were moving quickly, and missing one meant missing a day’s worth of ideas, or having your idea scrapped for something totally different. So Kendrick’s collaborators almost had to be in the studio just to be seen. As they did with To Pimp a Butterfly, the creators communicated mainly by cell phone when they weren’t in the studio, trading files via text message and fleshing them out once they were all in the same place.
As much as DAMN. is about Kendrick evaluating his relationship with God, he was also reconciling his relationship with himself, learning to accept his shortcomings—his fears, doubts, and pain en route to his own ultimate survival. Sans a few features—Rihanna on “LOYALTY.,” U2 on “XXX.,” Zacari on “LOVE.”—Kendrick goes at it alone, which makes the already-reserved rapper sound even more isolated. That’s what he was going for here; DAMN. plays like a series of diary entries. For the first time, it sounded like Kendrick was bending to the pressure of belonging to the world, and combined with the conflicts he faced at home and within his own psyche, DAMN. was the sound of Kendrick seeking help from a higher power. For the past few years, he belonged to and told everything for the culture, but who was praying for him? Who were the people helping him shoulder the pain? Kendrick had been living in a fishbowl; it was not like he could just go out for a walk, or even run down the street to the grocery store without causing a scene. So at home, or in the studio, Kendrick had nothing but time to think about his true allies and where the world was headed. That led to some of his most clear-eyed music ever, because it was so raw and of the moment, and at the end of DAMN., he left no mistake about how he felt as a man, a U.S. citizen, a brother, and an MC. That after everything he’s given to the culture—Section.80; good kid, m.A.A.d city; To Pimp a Butterfly—Kendrick still wrestles with his self-worth. He still wonders if he’s enough, or if after all that, if he’s even appreciated for what he’s given Black America; does it even matter in the long run? Did the community even care, and will they remember his intention? It’s the same question that Obama asked himself when leaving the White House, that despite the wave of goodwill that typified his years in office, he openly wondered if he miscalculated the entire thing. That nagging self-doubt never goes away—no matter if you’re a world-famous, Grammy Award–winning poet and rapper, or the outgoing president of the United States.
On “FEAR.,” Kendrick reviews the fears of his life—from childhood through adulthood. Here, he breaks down his life in ten-year increments—when
