In May 2020 George Floyd, a black man, was arrested and shoved to the ground. A police officer placed a knee on his neck as Floyd shouted that he was unable to breathe. Minutes later, he died. This violence was caught on video by bystanders who were at the scene. This is the moment that the song “Alright,” from Kendrick Lamar’s 2015 album To Pimp A Butterfly, began to trend. Music can often communicate what words alone can’t. As a 20-year-old black woman, I have gained an even deeper understanding and appreciation for Lamar’s album which came out when I was a teen, and which I recall loving on first listen. When it resurfaced in 2020, this album had become something even more: an expression of what it meant to be black, to survive, and to keep fighting in a world that doesn’t see us.
Back in 2015, Lamar sat down with MTV News interviewer Rob Markman to talk about the release of the album and broke down each song on the tracklist, discussing the stories around them. In that interview, Lamar also talked about how the music industry shapes the narrative of what it means to be a black celebrity while reflecting on his childhood and upbringing in the rough areas of Compton, California. The way Lamar can tell a story through his rhythms, cadence, and lyrics makes it easy to fall in love with most of the tracks in the album. Eight years later, To Pimp a Butterfly still rewards the music lover in me, but I look at it differently. Today it’s the album’s treatment of the complexities of racism and the black experience through both sound and lyrics that really haunts me.
The song, “Alright” (the seventh track) emphasizes the feeling of pain and struggle while assuring us that “we’re gonna be alright.” I remember it playing as the underscore to the endless videos I watched of George Floyd’s horrific killing on my Instagram and TikTok. It played to the countless other montages I watched of other black men dying at the hands of police, of people protesting and shouting and crying. As I watched these videos my heart sank and tears burned my eyes, clouding my vision. I couldn’t believe I was witnessing this moment in real-time and watching people who looked like me mourn and scream in pain, pleading for justice. I couldn’t stomach it. While Floyd’s murder was the first that I became fully aware of, he wasn’t the first black person we saw violently killed by the state or its representatives. The murders had just kept coming one after the other in a domino effect: Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Tamir Rice, Michael Brown, Alton Sterling, and many more names that I wish I could remember. And in May and June of 2020, it felt like only Kendrick Lamar’s music could be big enough to speak for all of them.
I remember when Floyd was murdered, I dreaded leaving my house. My body and soul felt weighed down by a ton of bricks. I was scared to go to public areas or to my job. I felt surrounded by violence that ranged from brutal murder and retaliation to emotional batterings and microaggressions. Nothing and nowhere felt safe. One morning at work I was asked by one of my co-workers to carry something to the storage room for him. As I was working on the clock and had customers waiting in line, I politely asked him to get another co-worker to assist. In what felt like slow-motion, my co-worker replied, “Isn’t your job to help us; you people should be good at following orders.” My heart sank at the “you people.” I turned and asked him to repeat himself, just in case I had heard him incorrectly. Unfortunately I heard him loud and very clear. I could not believe or process what I was encountering. I remember giving him a small smile and saying, “Well, unfortunately, I will not be able to take orders from you today, but I do know you are more than capable of handling yourself, aren’t you?” With that, his smirk faded, he let out a low grunt and turned on his heels, and walked away grumbling. That incident alone made me understand my place in society as a young black woman.
To Pimp a Butterfly depicts the black psyche. It captures the mindset my people have when navigating the world around them and shows the systemic racism we daily encounter through vivid storytelling that remains sadly relevant to today’s world. For example, the song “The Blacker the Berry” confronts the self-hatred and frustration of being black in America and the struggle we face as a community wanting the respect and acknowledgment we deserve. Lamar raps, “My skin is dark, they say I’m handsome/trust issues, f*ck you, you lie just for clout.” This track displays the self-doubt and anger that persist when being faced with constant prejudice. Not only have black people been subject to violence, they have been and are treated differently when it comes to opportunities. For example, even where we live has been defined by redlining, by the Federal Housing Administration’s enforcement of segregation through refusing to insure mortgages to African-American people that were given to white people. This is still a common problem that persists.
Another example is the difference in job opportunities that black people have compared to white people. According to a study that was done by the University of Chicago and Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), employers may overlook potential job candidates for interviews based on their potential race as suggested by their names. The research has found that applicants with “white-sounding names” were 50 percent more likely to be contacted for job interviews than those with “typical black names.” This goes to show the struggle that the black community faces when trying to gain opportunities such as a home and a job. Lamar’s track “Hood Politics” also discusses the struggles within the black community; for this song, the focal point is hopelessness in impoverished black communities due to the lack of economic opportunities and generational poverty. In his lyrics, he raps, “trying to sidetrack black people with white lies,” and speaks of a “rich man’s world.” This continues to highlight the systemic racism that we black people often deal with. Lamar uses this song to talk about how American politics and policy have impacted the black community and the neighborhoods in which we live. He highlights growing up in the streets of Compton and the government’s failure to provide a safe space for his community while still exploiting them. He depicts his raw experiences and alienation as a black man, showing the lack of representation and the absence of safety and protection for the black community.
Given everything Lamar sings about, everything I too have witnessed and experienced, I find it hard to say that America has progressed in its fight against racism. The attacks come from everywhere. For example, NBC News reported that Florida Governor Ron DeSantis signed the Stop W.O.K.E Act on April 22nd, 2022. This act restricts how race is talked about in Florida schools, colleges/universities, and corporations. The governor stated, “In Florida, we will not let the far-left woke agenda take over our schools and workplaces.” With this mandate, DeSantis erases access to learning about the black history that still affects us to this day. And it is more important than ever that we know and discuss our history. During March of this year, News Channel 5 Nashville reported a debate in the state of Tennessee where lawmakers considered hanging a person from a tree as an execution method, further proving how far our country has relapsed with regard to correcting deeply embedded systemic racism. The very idea of lynching as a form of execution reinforces the racial terror of the Jim Crow era. Though President Biden responded on March 29, 2022 by signing a bill that officially made lynching a federal crime, the fact that it had not been recognized as one before and had been up for debate again shows how “progressive’’ our country really is.
No wonder the song “Alright” became an anthem for the Black Lives Matter movement: the album has only become more relevant. “Alright” addresses struggle, pain, and loss while still uplifting black life and culture, as when Lamar says, “If God got us then we gon be alright.” Almost ten years after it was released, Lamar’s album continues to create dialogues that encourage listeners to acknowledge and address inequalities and to stand in solidarity with the black community.