Everywhere he looks, Lamar sees generational symptoms of the kids who came from the era of crack and Ronald Reagan. "You know why we crack babies cuz we born in the 80s," Lamar raps on the excellently emo relationship-song " A.D.H.D.", and that's a theme that comes up over and over. It's a young thinker attempting to describe the world as he sees it. A couple of guys from Lamar's Black Hippy crew- those guys really sound like Souls of Mischief when they get together- show up, but the album isn't a guest-heavy affair. The production, mostly from relative unknowns like THC and Sounwave, is almost uniformly excellent- a spaced-out blur of astral horns and blissed-out Fender Rhodes, with drums that only knock when they need to.
Instead, it gives him a chance to chase his muse wherever it runs. Section.80, Lamar's new album, arrives on a wave of blog-based buzz, but beyond a couple of ill-advised choruses, it doesn't make much attempt to present Lamar to major-label A&Rs or to a wider audience. Instead, he's very much within the tradition of 90s groups like Souls of Mischief or the Pharcyde- self-deprecating and insanely talented kids who routinely ripped dizzy, slip-sliding flows over mellow jazz breaks.
The crowd knew what to do - they sang every word.Lamar does exist within a strong West Coast continuum, but it has nothing to do with Dre. The set’s energy flagged briefly, but then Lamar grabbed hold of the reins again, double-timing his way through the power ballad “Love,” from his 2017 album DAMN. (Keem is also set to perform at Day N Vegas on Saturday.) Towards the end of the night, Lamar brought out his cousin Baby Keem to perform several songs - including the martial “Family Ties” and the blurting, bottom heavy “Range Brothers,” which also happen to represent Lamar’s two most recently released verses. He was especially impressive verbally hot-stepping and slip-sliding around the lacerating guitar in the Isley Brothers-sampling “I.” He was vehement yet agile throughout “Blacker the Berry.” He was a funky drill-sergeant orchestrating a fierce, stiff-spined march during the DJ Quik-like “King Kunta.” When the rapper briefly queued up “Poetic Justice,” his 2012 Drake collaboration built around a lethal Janet Jackson sample, he just let fans sing to him before moving on.īut more often than not, Lamr rapped with his typically bewildering dexterity, demonstrating a syllable-slinging flair that was mostly absent during other performances from the first day of Day N Vegas. Lamar didn’t have to deliver a verse if he didn’t want to - a track like “Alright” has reached the status of a modern standard, and the crowd was content to carry the whole thing. He relied on jerky, robotic movements, or ran in place, or waved his arms like a windmill gone haywire. A group of young ballet dancers also joined the fray, and Lamar danced frequently as well. They pretended to pray one moment, fake brawled the next, and illuminated the MC in flashlights later. First that meant a contingent of more than a dozen men clad in bow ties and maroon blazers, who served as hectic moons orbiting Lamar’s star. Any musicians remained hidden Lamar’s only accompaniment came in the form of kinetic dancers. The rapper frequently stalked the stage alone, clad head to toe in white, with cozy, comfy sweater sleeves extending several inches past his fingertips. (Maybe this preference for the hits was because a festival crowd contains more casual listeners it might also have to do with the fact that two major stars who preceded Lamar at Day N Vegas on Friday, Roddy Ricch and Polo G, likely weren’t even in high school when Section.80 came out.) The rest of Lamar’s set was a chronological tour of his biggest tracks, a performance as predictable and gratifying as a home run derby. As soon as the organ-like loop that opens “Money Trees” oozed out of the speakers, hip-hop karaoke ensued. But in truth, the crowd was waiting for juggernaut Lamar.
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