Kung Fu Kenny and the Tradition of Political Rap
Kieran Lewis discusses this generation’s most outspoken protest musician.
Rap – or Rhythm and Poetry, if we’re being scholarly about it – has always served as a vehicle for social and political commentary. While the mainstream hip-hop scene of the early-to-mid-2000s may have been characterised by the frivolous, auto-tuned hooks of Flo Rida, the period was actually little more than a brief interruption of a rich and sustained tradition of musical activism within the genre.
Beginning with the formidably eloquent and laser-focused verses of Chuck D and his Baltimore collective, Public Enemy, the 80s saw politically-conscious hip-hop’s emphatic arrival into the mainstream. The hard-hitting work of NWA, Tupac, and Mos Def provided invaluable outside perspectives on everything from Ronald Reagan’s ‘War on Drugs’ to the advent of neoliberalism in the 90s.
These artists did what they could to compensate for the woeful underrepresentation of African Americans in politics against the backdrop of Republican landslides in 1980 and ‘84. When the political sphere looked like an old — and very white — boys’ club, influential black artists decided to bypass it altogether, launching their narratives directly into pop culture instead.
Fast-forward to recent years and rap’s activist voice has found ample reason to make itself heard once again. Despite the undeniable significance of President Obama’s milestone election and two-term presidency, it is the height of ignorance to suggest – as some antagonists continue to do – that the presence of a black man in the White House was a miraculous cure for racism in America.
For many, the incomprehensibly long list of incidents in which police officers have wrongfully killed people of colour in recent years alone is evidence enough of the work that remains to be done. The high-profile cases of Trayvon Martin, Michael Brown, and Eric Garner all played out under Obama, fanning the flames of ever more heated debates about race issues in the national dialogue. Indeed, despite the lazy misconception that everything must have been fine because of the Commander-in-Chief’s complexion, the need for political commentary through black art was arguably just as strong as it had been when Reagan was in office.
It is fitting, then, that the artist who can undoubtedly take the most credit for the recent resurgence of mainstream political rap was a frequent visitor to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue during the Obama years. K-Dot, King Kunta, Kung Fu Kenny; whichever moniker you know him by, Kendrick Lamar decisively commanded the attention of the rap world with 2012’s Good Kid, m.A.A.d. City, and quickly emerged as the natural successor to the black critics of the political establishment in the 80s.
Kendrick Lamar Duckworth built on the significant work of older hands like Lupe Fiasco, Killer Mike, and Pusha T— who had been the standard-bearers of political rap while more mainstream artists went in a different direction — and catapulted his observations to the forefront of the genre. The focus of Lamar’s lyrics has progressed from the concerns of a young black man trying desperately to avoid gang violence to wider themes of social injustice, but his blistering delivery and rhetoric is consistently used to great effect.
Having risen to prominence in the rap world, established himself as one of its key figures, and constructed an incredibly wide fan base all within Obama’s tenure, Kendrick was well-positioned to drop one of the most genre-defining albums of recent years before it was over. 2015’s To Pimp A Butterfly is widely regarded as one of the most effective examples of musical activism of this millennium.
Lamar’s jazz and funk-fuelled chef-d’œuvre is much more than a celebration of black music in terms of its instrumentals alone. He presents an in-depth lyrical exploration of his personal struggles and the complexities of the African American experience, warning the listener against the evils of Lucifer – or ‘Lucy’ – and ‘Uncle Sam’ interchangeably as he goes.
Within the space of one fifteen-track album, Kendrick grapples with depression (u), guilt (These Walls), and the hypocrisy associated with intraracial violence (The Blacker the Berry), before seemingly learning to reconcile his internal conflicts (i). How Much A Dollar Cost?, another standout track, was publicly acknowledged by President Obama as his favourite song of 2015. An introspective musing on selfishness and morality when confronted with a homeless man begging, the song simultaneously functions as a religious parable and political treatise.
It was, however, Alright that proved to have the farthest-reaching impact, becoming the anthem of the Black Lives Matter movement and taking its place alongside the likes of Sam Cooke’s A Change Is Gonna Come in the civil rights movement’s cultural canon. “We been hurt, been down before,” he laments, leading up to the now famously defiant refrain, “We gon’ be alright / Do you hear me? Do you feel me? We gon’ be alright”.
This celebration of African American resilience and solidarity has become the perfect soundtrack to the important task of resistance in the Trump era, and Kung Fu Kenny hasn’t stopped there. On 2017’s DAMN., he continues to shine a light on the discrepancies between the egalitarian America he envisions and the reality he is confronted with.
While this latest release is an even more introspective affair and clearly is not meant to function exclusively as a political tool (though a clip of Fox News criticism of lyrics from To Pimp a Butterfly is used on the fade-out of opening song BLOOD) Kendrick is still highlighting elements of his own experience that resonate with marginalised groups. In this way, he continues to perpetuate the tradition of political rap just as effectively as Chuck D and Ice Cube did in the 80s.
Looking to the future, rest does not seem to feature heavily in the rapper’s schedule. Just before the release of Marvel’s Black Panther, as much of a game-changer at the box office as it is for black representation in Hollywood, the Kendrick-curated soundtrack album put a spotlight on a wide roster of African American talent. Notable featured artists include Vince Staples, Anderson .Paak, and SZA, and the album has received almost as much acclaim as the film it accompanies.
If this is any indication of what we can expect from the rest of the 30 year-old’s career, the pioneers of politically-conscious rap can rest assured that Kendrick’s platform will consistently be used for the advancement of African American issues and that it will be done with all the artistic flare we’ve come to expect from him. Kung Fu Kenny doesn’t look like he intends to start pulling punches any time soon.