Man in the Mirror: An Analysis of the Story and Themes of Kendrick Lamar's Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers
Foreword: MM&TBS is, first and foremost, a conceptual album, presented as a series of therapy sessions that slowly deconstruct the model of Kendrick Lamar that he has built for the public until it collapses entirely. I will repeatedly mention times where Kendrick says deeply problematic things, and whether he believes them or not in reality, he is saying them through the character of Kendrick Lamar, not the person. For the sake of clarity, I will refer to the character as 'Kendrick' and to the artist as 'Lamar.' I will do the same for Kodak Black.
Mr. Morale is also, by any account, one of the most introspective and personal albums to emerge from hip-hop since its own emergence in 1970's New York. It is a large double album, and throughout the course of its 18 songs Lamar slowly peels back layers of his identity and trauma, trying to find the reason he can't function in this world he's put himself in. Throughout this analysis I will highlight the key moments of this story, and the overarching themes holding it together. Please consider listening to the album alongside your reading of this, as I will most definitely not be able to fully convey the depth or atmosphere Lamar presents. Thank you for reading.
The Heart Part 5:
"But I want you to want to me too."
'The Heart' is a series of songs released by Lamar sparsely throughout his career, loosely connected by the idea that they announce who Lamar wants to present himself as in that time of his career. The Heart Part 5 is not really a part of Mr. Morale so much as the prelude to it, a way for Lamar to set the stage for Kendrick's story as someone being pulled in two different directions: The Big Stepper or Mr. Morale.
Throughout the buildup to and release of Mr. Morale, Lamar decided to go informally by the name OKLAMA, with the subtitle "I am. All of us."
Oklama is a Choctaw native American word used in their translations of the Bible when God refers to his people, the children of Israel. I believe Lamar's use of this name is multifaceted. The first, and most obvious, reason is to escape the cultural limitations so often placed on African American pieces of art. As a black man using a native word that represents the Christian God's people, Kendrick is already placing himself outside of a space reserved only for African Americans. The second, slightly less obvious use, is to exemplify Kendrick's potential as someone capable of representing any group of people, because as he says "I'm not in the music business, I been in the human business."
Throughout The Heart Part 5 Lamar speaks from the perspective of prolific African American figures O.J. Simpson, Kanye West, Will Smith, Juicey Smollet, Kobe Bryant, and Nipsey Hustle.
The song is unbelievably dense and full of ideas that would be too much to cover here, but Lamar's point in speaking for these people is to deconstruct the culture they all felt crushing them throughout their respective careers. O.J.'s self hatred, Kanye's unhealthy relationship with his own art, Will Smith's place as the laughing stock of Hollywood, Smollet's escape from his own testimony, Kobe's dedication to the children, and Nipsey's protectiveness over his people, just to list the absolute barest of what he touches on. All of these people did great or horrible things in their attempts to both escape and exemplify a culture that constantly tears them apart so they can never face their true common enemy. Ironically, it's through this imitation of his peers that Lamar reveals himself, begging the audience to see the real him under the mask of culture and still love and want him, setting the stage for our first track.
Disc 1: The Big Steppers
"Tell them the truth."
Before we begin in earnest it's important to discuss the context surrounding MM&TBS. In early 2017 Lamar released his 3rd studio album, DAMN. It was an immediate success, quickly reaching #1 on the charts and winning countless awards, including the only Pulitzer prize for music ever awarded outside of the genres of Classical, Jazz, and Opera. He continued this run in early 2018 by executive producing and performing for the soundtrack to the movie Black Panther. Lamar brought together countless artists on this project, including some of the biggest names in hip hop such as Future, The Weeknd, and SZA. There was an undeniable industry upset forming with Kendrick Lamar at the center, and it seemed to everyone that he was unstoppable. He was King Kunta, Kung-Fu Kenny, the boogeyman of hip-hop. And then he vanished without a word, not to reemerge until 4 years later.
United in Grief:
"I've been going through something. One thousand eight hundred and fifty five days. I've been going through something."
The song opens with an introductory refrain from Sam Dew, wishing peace of mind and paradise upon the listener, before Kendrick speaks. He doesn't rap at first, in fact it doesn't seem like he's performing at all. He begins in a neutral voice, as if in shock. "I've been going through something. 1,855 days. Be afraid."
He quickly livens up, and in a quiet perturbed staccato launches into a list of criticisms of his community. His paranoia shows through as he speaks about women turned demons, and about how he cannot trust the institutions or people around him. What could have happened for Kendrick to vanish for so long, 1,855 days, and to come back so... off? He's always been critical of society, but his criticisms now are not only more personal and stereotyped, he throws in deflections, claiming his excessive lifestyle is how he shows his maturity. Despite the title of the song, Kendrick seems to want to use his grief to place himself above the listener. We're all united in grief, but Kendrick grieves different. He appears to be scared of the world, he can't trust his leaders, political or religious, nor can he trust his own people, even his family, worried about people pocket-watching and using his name for their own gain.
Abruptly, the song moves into a fast paced jazzy drum backing, Kendrick taking the part of the saxophone solo as he rapidly begins to talk about what's been happening to him. He tells us mostly about the money he's making, the money his family is making because of him, a hundred mil in taxes before he turned 29. He mentions going to therapy, but he seems more interested in navel-gazing about society than in improvement. But then, he starts to talk about a girl that he met on his first ever tour. She has beautiful green eyes that pierce through the moonlight and entrance him, and he can see her grief in them.
They share their trauma, the ones they've lost, and Kendrick spends the tour lusting with her. He drowns his sorrow in women, wipes the tears away with money, and they are united in their grief.
N95:
"Take that shit off."
As Mr. Morale is a piece of pop culture released in the first half of the 2020's, it unsurprisingly touches not lightly on Covid-19. The title N95, a reference to a specific face mask used primarily by doctors during the pandemic, is our introduction to the key iconography of disc 1: The Mask. Unlike the spiritual successor to Mr. Morale, Tyler, the Creator's Chromakopia, there is no literal mask to represent this common concept that we all wear a metaphorical 'mask' of ideologies, material goods, and moral grandstanding. Throughout Disc 1, every view Kendrick presents appears to be filtered through the bias of his own mask, he rarely lies outright if ever, but he allows himself to consistently frame things to look better for himself.
The song opens with a slightly abrupt, brief melodic section from Kendrick, referencing the work of Eckhart Tolle as he welcomes his audience to the new post-pandemic world, where the illusions of Corporate America are beginning to slip.
Then, just as abruptly as the song began, it cuts to a simple trap drum loop as Kendrick begins angrily demanding you to 'take it off.' He generically mentions designer clothes, expensive jewelery, and fakeness, telling you to take off the Chanel and Dolce and see what you have left. As the song continuously progresses, the beat becoming more elaborate, he moves into more paranoia, screaming from the rooftops about markets crashing and industry killing people. And again we can see that something deeper is wrong here than just his fear. Though he's never shied from criticizing others, Kendrick has always held an equally high bar for himself, openly working through his flaws throughout his career. But now, he comes off only as egotistical. At the same time as he demands you take off your mask and claims there's nothing but ugliness underneath, he simultaneously places himself on a pedestal, saying that he's the one going places and doing real things, HE is the one people look up to and imitate. He claims that his descendents come to him in his sleep, telling him he's too good for this world.
Most of all, Kendrick addresses cancel culture, and the wider culture of moral grandstanding, but his focus is not on those enacting it, it is on those folding to it. He is disgusted with his contemporaries, he sees them as giving in to the fakeness and presenting a mask of moral upstanding while he has always beared his soul.
But then, the song falls away. Soft vocal pads frame Kendrick's voice, and he seems to be describing his therapy, and his inability to be genuine himself, mentioning serving a look as he vents in a safe house. It is the first real vulnerable moment we see from him. And just as quickly as it came, it leaves, and Kendrick returns to his never-ending list of complaints, still focusing mainly on cancel culture, until the song ends with him simply calling you a bitch.
Worldwide Steppers:
"I'm a killer, he's a killer, she's a killer, bitch. We some killers, walking zombies, trying to scratch that itch."
The song opens with a brief introduction to our 3 main characters from Kodak Black, who we will discuss later in Disc 1. The characters he introduces are Kodak himself, OKLAMA, or Kendrick, and Eckhart Tolle, real life spiritual advisor and in-story therapist to Kendrick, serving an almost Virgil-like role. Kodak recedes for now, as our primary auditory motif appears: foot steps, or alternatively, tap dancing. As loud haunting staccato steps loom over Kodak's departure the ominous backing begins, and Kendrick immediately returns to the form established in N95 of decrying others while uplifting himself. But he's no longer angrily demanding you to take off your mask, now he is wistfully proclaiming all of humanity as murderers, destroying the lives of others as we endlessly grasp at whatever we desire. Kendrick, of course, is different though. He is the man of God, protecting his family from the fake world outside his walls. He claims that his absence and writer's block in the past 2 years (at the time of writing the song, presumably) has cleared the path for the truth he lays out now. He ironically claims to not be one to pass judgement. He claims that God speaks through him. It is another tactic for him to deflect away from himself, to establish that HE is better than YOU. But even if he weren't, we're all killers, right?
Once he's firmly established that we're all guilty and it would be hypocritical to call him out, Kendrick begins to open up again. We hear about another tour, and another girl, a white one. But this is not Kendrick's tour, it's earlier, before Good Kid Maad City. He was only 16 when he met her at the Pallisades, and when he learned that her father had locked away his uncle. He gladly takes the opportunity to exact revenge on the officer, claiming that "she paid her daddy's sins." He says that he continued doing this into the GKMC tour, seeing his conquest of these pale women as some sort of cosmic payback for their ancestors. He admits that he told his fiancé, Whitney Alford, what he had been doing, notably only mentioning his fear of being racist, and not the blatant adultery he has committed. Finally, he admits to his guilt over his toy-drives in Compton, seeing death not in the typical soaked-red clothing lining their parks, but in the unhealthy food he served to his own community, a community already susceptible to high blood pressure. Not that any of it would matter though, that's just what we do. We're all killers.
Die Hard:
"I hope I'm not too late to set my demons straight. I know I made you wait, but how much can you take? I hope you see the God in me."
Die Hard is an immediate and almost disorienting shift from the previous 3 songs, opting for a light poppy backing with bubbly vocals from Summer Walker. Kendrick is being far more vulnerable throughout as he reflects on how he's clearly lost something within him along the way to absolute stardom and resolves himself to find it again. He can't quite shake his paranoia, he still fears the rest of the world, but he is beginning to see that he doesn't have to. He begs the audience to be patient, promising that he will be better. Promising that you can trust him.
Father Time:
"You reeeally need some therapy"
"Real n***** need no therapy, fuck you talkin' about"
"Nah, nah, you sound stupid as fuck"
"Shit, everybody stupid"
"Yeah, well. You need to talk to somebody. Reach out to Eckhart."
Following the above request from Whitney, a small violin and piano medley, and the quiet yet domineering presence of footsteps in the background crescendoing to a final loud STOMP, the song moves into an eery backing. Distorted childish vocal pads play over an equally distorted instrument as Kendrick wastes no time in telling us about his father, Kenny "Ducky" Duckworth. He reminisces on his childhood and the myriad of lessons his father tried to teach him through tough love. Making him continue practice when he's hurt, teaching him not to trust anyone but his mother, refusing to empathize when he's down. A man shouldn't show feelings, that never helped anyone. He sees the same lessons reflected in his father as he returns to work the day after his mother's funeral, telling Kendrick the bills won't wait for his grief. It's incredibly obvious how much love Kendrick has for his father and the pain he feels exposing both of them in this way, saying his daddy issues are on himself and no one else. But Kendrick still isn't being truthful. Not out of deception, but because he can't see the truth himself. As he proclaims his love for his father and the tough love he gave, he simultaneously describes how those exact lessons have disrupted his adult relationships, unable to be vulnerable or empathize with Whitney, unable to truly care about the things that should be important him. He doesn't seem to recognize this himself, but it's evident how much of an effort Kendrick is making now. He just needs more time.
Rich (Interlude):
"A bunch of lost souls in survival mode. It wasn't no way for us unless we find our own. Running in stores, kicking in doors, n***** give me my glory. That's the type of shit we glorified."
It's time to talk about Kodak Black, and the Big Steppers. For those unaware, a 'big stepper' is a gang member who is very successful, they're taking 'big steps.' In the context of Mr. Morale, however, Lamar presents the big stepper as merely another person buried in masks, covering their grief with power, money, and glory. Black plays the part of our first main character, the exemplification of the Big Steppers. And despite (or because of, more like) the controversy surrounding his inclusion given his ongoing history of sexual abuse and violence, Black serves as the unfortunately perfect artist to fulfill this role. Kodak raps in his famously... unique... voice over an incredibly bare and stripped back piano medley, not dissimilar to the previous one. He talks about life in the Florida slums, the way the people there are constantly reinforced into a life of crime merely to survive. The point Lamar seems to be raising with Kodak's inclusion is more of a criticism of his self and society, which is typical for him. He's asking what you can accept. If Kendrick isn't Mr. Morale, if he's the Big Stepper, would you still trust him?
Rich Spirit:
"Bitch I'm attractive. Can't fuck with you no more, I'm fasting."
The song opens with a soft, relaxed backing. A reverbed synthy piano softly chimes as a sampled vocal pad of Kendrick loops. Kendrick is trying to reconnect to the spirituality he used to have, talking about spending time with his daughter and secluding himself from the world. It seems like the vulnerability he showed on Father Time was too much for Kendrick as he returns once more to deflections and insults, now trying to establish spiritual superiority over the listener, saying he's rich in every way you could imagine, materially, familially, visually, and spiritually. He doesn't have time for someone like you, he's busy fasting. He tries to act as if he doesn't care about the outside world anymore, too busy for it to mean anything to him, yet he spends the entire song continuing to criticize others, now for their reliance on other people and the internet, seemingly unaware that it is his own seclusion from other people that has lead to so much of his grief. Kendrick needs something to push him over the final stretch so he can truly open up, or he will continue to shy away inside his mask.
We Cry Together:
"Fuck you n****, you looove a pity party, I won't show up. Always act like your shit don't stink, motherfucker GROW UP."
Following an ethereal sample of Florence and the Machine imploring us to hold on to each other, we move into a terrifying backing, filled with discordant minor piano keys and distorted sirens and wails. We listen as a fly on the wall to an argument between Kendrick and his partner, played by the wonderful actress Taylour Paige. Throughout the song Kendrick is clearly drunk, his drink clinking in his hand as they viciously argue with each other. They repeatedly trade horrid insults with each other, often breaking down into simply calling each other names.
"You know what, fuck you bitch."
"Nah, fuck you n*****."
"NO, fuck YOU BITCH"
"FUCK YOU N*****"
"FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK"
"FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK"
It is hard to call We Cry Together a song, as if you take away the beautiful yet haunting backing it just sounds like a genuinely abusive relationship, Kendrick taunting and aggravating her over and over again, taking her keys and refusing to give them back until she's screaming and crying, throwing horrible stereotypes at her to make her mad. The argument continues for a full five minutes before they tire each other out and resign to instead make love on the couch, the haunting footsteps making their return yet again, taking the form now of the sounds of their copulation as we hear the real Whitney's voice, demanding Kendrick quit tap dancing around the conversation. It's clear that unless Kendrick can learn to confront himself he's going to lose her.
Purple Hearts:
"I bless it that you can have an open heart, I bless that you forgive, I bless that you can learn from a loss. I bless it that you can heal, I bless that you attract, somebody with your mind exact, a patient life."
The title seems to be a direct allusion to the previous song, a purple heart being the award given for facing severe loss in american military service, such as death or greivous bodily harm. Kendrick has reached his breaking point with Whitney, he knows how close he is to losing her forever. He's still being critical of others, now focusing on drug use and calling out lean specifically, but for the first time it feels like the Kendrick we've known throughout most of his career. He's not angrily demanding you throw down the cup, he's pleading for you to set it down and listen to God. Kendrick has finally cleared the path, and with the end of Disc 1 Kendrick has looked into the mirror and seen his mask, and he's ready to take it off.
Disc 2: Mr. Morale
"Before I go in fast asleep, love me for me. I bear my soul, and now we're free."
With Disc 2 it's time to discuss Eckhart Tolle, and the key iconography of not only disc 2, but the album as a whole: The Mirror.
Lamar has always been obsessed with duality and tried to represent that in his music. The two most obvious examples of this being his consistent identity as a Gemini throughout his career, and the meta structure of DAMN., which is well known for incorporating its central idea of diverging paths by having the album tell a different story depending on the order you listen to it.
Mr. Morale does a very similar thing, in that every aspect of Disc 1 has a mirror in Disc 2. There are an equal number of songs, and each song's respective counterpart is related in concept, mirrored across the center of the album, ie. Purple Hearts to Count Me Out, or Rich Interlude to Savior Interlude.
If Kodak is the representation of what OKLAMA could be as the Big Stepper, his mirror is Eckhart Tolle, the exemplification of Mr. Morale, the man that refuses to hide behind any mask. Tolle's work, while technically not religious, is very firmly rooted in the Buddhist doctrine of non- or no-self, the idea that the collection of thoughts, memories, and feelings that we call our selves are no more our self than our name is, and you can learn to observe them neutrally. They're a part of the things we experience, but according to Tolle we do not have to be our experiences. Most of his work focuses on the idea of building a new earth by helping people to move past their ego, to escape their 'pain-body,' or a collection of negative thoughts and experiences gathered throughout life that we subconsciously feed on.
Throughout disc 2, with the help of Tolle, Kendrick slowly dismantles more and more of the mask until he can see what's underneath. But no matter how close he gets, there's an undeniable presence looming throughout Disc 2, something that Kendrick desperately wants not to think about.
Count Me Out (Purple Hearts):
"Masks on the babies, mask on an opp, wear masks in the neighborhood stores you shop, but a mask won't hide who you are inside. Look around, the reality's carved in lies, wipe my ego, dodge my pride. Looked myself in the mirror, Amityville, I ain't seen nothing scarier."
The song opens with the return of Sam Dew's refrain, bringing us back to the beginning, and what happened to make Kendrick vanish. 1,855 days. Following his commitment to healing in Purple Hearts, Kendrick fully gives himself to his therapy, he knows that he has to to survive. He tells us that he's looked in the mirror, and it terrifies him. He retreats back, instinctively craving to be counted out, believing he does his best if no one believes in him. He may have promised to heal in Purple Hearts, but it's not that simple. He's made a major breakthrough, but there is still work to be done, he still retreats back to his comfortable mask of isolation.
Crown (We Cry Together):
"Heavy is the head that chose to wear the crown, to whom is given much is required now."
Crown is a reference to the, somewhat controversial, cover art of Mr. Morale: Kendrick in a motel room with his family, a reportedly $3,000,000 diamond encrusted crown of thorns sitting on his head and a gun in his waistband. The image is an amalgamation of how Kendrick sees himself and how his audience see him. To his fans the most obvious thing is his crown, the physical embodiment of his status as the black savior of hip-hop, a sort of pair of golden handcuffs forcing him to maintain the identity he's built for the public. To Kendrick what's important is what remains, the family he's desperately fighting not to lose, and the gun reminding him that no matter where he ends up he can never truly escape the place he was raised or the lessons it instilled into him, even as the savior of hip-hop.
The song is short and repetitive, Kendrick somberly claiming that he can't even seem to make himself happy, much less the millions that look up to him. It's clear the mirror has forced him to confront the true weight of everything he's picked up in his career, every title and award and key to the city. In We Cry Together Kendrick uses insults and manipulation and sex to avoid having a real conversation with Whitney, whereas Crown is about recognizing the identity and relationships you've built and acknowledging how damaging they are to your life.
Silent Hill (Rich Spirit):
"Pushin' the snakes, I'm pushin' the fakes, I'm pushin' em all off me like 'huh'"
If Rich Spirit is about Kendrick using his spirituality and status as an excuse to isolate himself and not deal with his problems, Silent Hill is less the opposite and more of an inverse, it's Kendrick pushing away people for the purpose of confronting his problems in silence. He declares that he's pushing away the fakes, the people that want to drag him down and halt his recovery. Interestingly, Kodak is clearly not part of this group since he's rapping alongside Kendrick, telling his detractors to try to take his place before they try to drag him down as well. Regardless of how you feel about Black, it's obvious that Lamar sees him as more than a Big Stepper, he has always refused to boil people down to their actions like that, and I personally find it admirable that he tries so hard on this album to give Black a place to explain himself safely, regardless of if you think he actually deserves that or not.
The song maintains a light poppy feeling throughout, upbeat bass-heavy percussion and fun silencer sound effects punctuating their words; yet Kendrick still seems to be alluding to something deeper, something horrible waiting for him. His head is down, and his chest is out, but still, something is stressing him out.
Savior (Interlude) (Rich (Interlude)):
"If you derive your sense of identity from being a victim, let's say bad things were done to you when you were child, and you develop a sense of self that's based on the bad things that happen to yo-"
Following the above quote from Eckhart Tolle, we hear from a new character, Hykeem "Baby Keem" Carter jr., Lamar's real life cousin and fellow artist. Identically to Kodak's Interlude, Baby Keem tells us about his experience growing up in the Compton projects, but where Kodak describes his situation of horror and survival with something almost like fondness, reminiscing on the big steps he was making, Baby Keem talks about his past neutrally, describing in detail the horrible things that happened to and around him as a child, and how he's lifted himself up regardless. If Rich Interlude tells the story of how this environment produces a Big Stepper, Baby Keem is another Mr. Morale, someone that isn't afraid to face his own mirror and grow.
Savior (Father Time):
"The cat is out the bag, I am not your savior. I find it just as difficult to love thy neighbor."
Savior is a song that feels canonical for Lamar's story, something that has obviously been brewing ever since his debut in 2011 with Section.80. Throughout his entire career Kendrick has had to hold up this status of the black messiah of hip-hop placed on him by seemingly everyone. Every fan on the street screaming it in their hearts, his contemporaries, whether they say it themselves or are too afraid to say their true thoughts at all, even while touring for his debut album Kendrick was told by Snoop Dogg that it was his responsibility to take that torch and run like a motherfucker, and boy did Kendrick run. This mirrors the relationship Kendrick describes with his father in Father Time. Throughout his entire life Kendrick absorbed these lessons from his father, something almost necessary to survive in their environment, but that he can now feel the Shockwaves of, disrupting his life. I'm sure the savior title at one point was comforting and something Lamar liked or even loved, a reminder of the values he's always wanted to show through in his music, but now that he's matured as an artist and can fully explore his ideas, the title is a weight holding him back, beating him into the mold the public wants to see. So he ends it here, telling the audience definitively that he is NOT their savior, and they can't call him that anymore.
Auntie Diaries (Die Hard):
"I looked at him and said 'Mr. Preacherman should we love thy neighbor? The laws of the land or the heart, what's greater? I recognize the studies you was taught since birth, but that don't justify the feelings that my cousin preserved."
Just as Die Hard marked a moment in Disc 1 where Kendrick began to consistently include moments of vulnerability, Auntie Diaries marks the beginning of Kendrick's true trauma. As we reach nearer and nearer to whatever it is that Kendrick dreads so much the music becomes darker as well, starting with a deceptively whimsical introduction to Auntie Diaries that quickly morphs into atmospheric kicks and reversed synths as Kendrick tells us about his Auntie, or rather, his Uncle.
He tells us about how he spent so much time with him as a kid, cruising around the city listening to music, eating food together, he even reveals that his uncle is the person that taught Kendrick how to rap for the first time. Notably, throughout nearly the entire song Kendrick misgenders his uncle, referring to him still as 'She' and as 'auntie,' saying "my auntie is a man now," even as he's confused about why his family treats his uncle so differently.
He then tells us about another family member he's close with, his cousin Demetrius, or Mary Ann. Kendrick tells us about growing up with Mary Ann, seeing her slowly become more distant and uncomfortable with his jokes.
"F*****, f*****, f*****, we ain't know no better. Middle school kids with no filter, however, I had to be very mindful of my good cousin"
Kendrick continues to misgender his cousin and uncle both, slowly becoming more distant until he reaches a day in church, with Mary Ann. The pastor begins to single her out in front of the congregation, telling everyone what she is. This is the push Kendrick needs to see that he was doing the exact same to his beloved cousin and uncle, and he stands up to the preacher, defending his cousin from his hate. Throughout the entire rest of the song Kendrick corrects his behavior, respecting who his uncle and his cousin are. As Mary Ann thanks Kendrick, he remembers his tour, the same one from all the way back in United in Grief. He remembers bringing a white girl on stage, then criticizing her in front of everyone for saying the N word, realizing he's done exactly the same thing throughout his career using other slurs and thinking nothing of it. He resolves to do better in the future, and with that, the mask begins to shatter.
Mr. Morale (Worldwide Steppers):
"Shit on my mind and it's heavy. Tell you in pieces cause it's way too heavy. My diamonds, the choker is heavy. More life to give, on demand, on are you ready?"
Immediately the song opens with loud, domineering horns, like the wails of the rapture heralding the end. The entire song is thick and heavy with this energy, suffocating you with dark horns, kendrick's screams and gasps for air, haunting vocal pads, and a frantic electronic beat. This song is incredibly obvious in its relation to its counterpart: The Big Stepper and Mr. Morale, finally coming to a direct head. Kendrick is obviously terrified of what directly looms ahead, he's in a complete panic, frantically rapping about the weight around his neck as he struggles to move forward. In Worldwide Steppers Kendrick tried dragging everyone down to his level, proclaiming humanity killers and walking zombies. Here, Kendrick recounts stories of R. Kelly and Oprah Winfrey, not to deflect from himself but to determine if their own big steps can be traced back to sexual trauma they experienced, seemingly an exploration of Tolle's ideas of ego and pain-body. He wants to know if they would still be the people they are today, if they have to be killers, if they had confronted that trauma as he's trying to do now. Wait, does that mean Kendrick...
Mother I Sober (N95):
"A conversation, not being addressed in black families, the devastation, haunting generations, and humanity. They raped our mothers, then they raped our sisters, then they made us watch, then made us rape each other, psychotic torture between our lives. We ain't recovered, still living as victims, in the public eyes who pledge allegiance, every other brother has been compromised, I know their secrets, every other rapper sexually abused, I see them daily, burying they pain in chains and tattoos."
XX/XX/1992
The sounds of the city echoed in the room through the thin shaky panes of their section 8 housing. Cars honking, tires screeching, and the occasional unmistakable sound of guns firing, the gangs outside in the peak era of their power. Kendrick sat on the floor with Demetrius, giggling as they played with their toys. Kendrick squeals with delight as he takes a toy from his cousin, tackling him to the ground to take it back. They both laugh gleefully as Demetrius tries to take it back, his thumb slipping below Kendrick's pants as they look up in horror at the sound of Kendrick's mother screaming in the door and quickly taking Demetrius by the arm and yanking him from the room.
The song opens with a very stripped back piano. Kendrick speaks in a quiet, hoarse voice, almost whispering. He recounts one horrible memory after another. Hearing his mother being beaten as a child by their family, not doing anything to protect her, the death of his grandmother. He tells us that he's struggled through all of this sober, scared to relinquish control.
He tells us about that day, in 1992. His mother demanding to know what his cousin did to him, Kendrick telling her nothing, and her not being able to believe him. He doesn't know who to trust, his mother planting a seed of self doubt in his mind. And still, he can't look her in the eye thinking of her own abuse.
He tells us again of his sobriety, sitting quietly with his grief without help. That is, until he goes further. A vice he's talked about plenty, but never confronted. He knew he was lying to Whitney when he said he wasn't addicted to sex, when he told her about his tour and only mentioned that he might be racist. He asks his mother why she would do that to him, why she couldn't believe him. It's a shock to Kendrick when he learns that she herself was violated, that she was terrified it would happen to him too. He returns to his home, empty now, Whitney and the kids gone, and he calls Eckhart for the first time, bringing us to the present, where Kendrick is finally on the brink of recovery.
"So I set free myself, from all the guilt that I thought I made. So I set free my mother, from all the hurt that she titled shame. So I set free my cousin Chaotic, for my mother's pain, I hope Hykeem made you proud, cause you ain't die in vain. So I set free the power of Whitney, may she heal us all. So I set free our children, may good Karma keep them with GOD. So I set free the hearts filled with hatred, keep our bodies sacred, as I set free all you abusers, THIS IS TRANSFORMATION."
And with that, the lingering remnants of the mask slip from Kendrick's face, falling to the floor and shattering. And Kendrick moves forward quietly, no longer needing to step. The song ends with a final refrain from Sam Dew, bringing us to the end, and once more to the beginning.
Mirror (United in Grief):
"Do yourself a favor and get a mirror that mirror grievance, then point it at me so the reflection can mirror freedom"
And finally, we reach the end of our journey. Mirror feels like an ending in every essence of the word, the upbeat airy backing reads like the sigh of relief at the end credits of a stressful movie, Kendrick has processed his trauma, and he's no longer afraid of his reflection, inviting the listener to gaze at his reflection with him and learn from his grief. And this is how we relate back to our opening of the album, United in Grief. Where in that song Kendrick Hollowly repeats the phrase "everybody grieves different," as if trying to convince himself while simultaneously using his grief to elevate himself above the listener, here Kendrick genuinely tries to connect through his shed grief, hoping to share his new freedom with the audience, pointing the 'mirror' at his 'grief'. He invites the audience to face their own mask, and the horror and beauty waiting underneath.
Closing words:
"And I'm tripping and falling"
Thank you, again, for reading my analysis. Mr. Morale, from the moment I first heard it in 2023, has been my favorite piece of media of all time. It is through this album that I discovered my love for analysis of literature, and I hope if you take anything from this, it's to engage with media in a more genuine way. It is easy to see through this album how often people are only interested in the meaning that can be extracted from a cursory glance. I can see it in reviews of this album, where people criticize Lamar for constantly contradicting himself and seeming to backpedal over and over on the same ideas, missing entirely that therapy is nothing but backpedaling, examining your past so you can more safely and comfortably move through the future. I hope that moving forward you can find and engage with media in the same way, and squeeze your own special meaning from it, even if it's hard to do so, because hard work is so often worth it, as Lamar has painstakingly shown. Thank you.