Kendrick Lamar and the liberal inclinations of art

What is the purpose of a Super Bowl halftime show — or any spectacle for that matter? Are we meant to be delighted, entertained or challenged? Do we want to simply sit back and enjoy or also engage in cultural critique?

It depends on the artist hired. A film directed by Mel Gibson will hit differently than one directed by Tina Fey. A Super Bowl halftime show headlined by someone like Paul McCartney was always going to have different appeal than one by Kendrick Lamar.

But 37-year-old Lamar is at the top of his game right now. He has a Pulitzer, enough Grammys that he could probably give one to Diana Ross and never notice its absence, and is regarded as one of the best rappers of all time.

And he was on point on Super Bowl Sunday. His microphone wasn’t working well at the beginning, making him hard to hear, but once it was fixed, the man delivered. His words were beautifully scathing, the dance arrangements were metaphorically profound, and the staging, which evoked a video game, felt fun.

If more people were for people

Reactions to his performance have been mixed, though. While some of us loved it, others hated it, with many calling it “the worst halftime show of all time” (which is crazy given the many years of Up With People!). Folks complain about his rapping, the lack of subtitles, or Samuel L. Jackson talking about the “ghetto” on a football field.

A friend of my dad wrote on social media that the “raps were whatever,” but he wished “Lamar could have performed that song about being all right. Why make it so political and hateful? They should have just hired a country singer everyone would have liked.”

But country music has always been political, protesting The Man from its inception as the music of working class folks in Appalachia and the American South.

In fact, most music genres, with some religious exceptions, have leftist, working class roots. Pop, rock n’roll, disco, hip hop, folk, electronica, salsa, reggaeton, and heavy metal were all born of challenging norms and speaking truth to power.

That’s how it is with art. And while there are plenty of conservative artists, who are tremendously successful, many are working in genres established by other artists with liberal inclinations. Art, much like the political left, is at its best when it’s on the side of the oppressed.

All people ev’rywhere

Before the Super Bowl, my family went to see the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra play the score of the first Star Wars film, “A New Hope.” The packed audience was enchanted as much by the film as by hearing John William’s iconic music being played better than the original. (Sorry, London Symphony Orchestra!)

As (spoiler) Luke took down the Death Star, everyone in Heinz Hall cheered loudly. We were all on the side of the Rebel alliance, the leftist agitators trying to take down The Empire, a political faction representing control and authoritarianism. We cheered for the guys freeing the people from tyranny. There is little art made from The Empire’s point of view.

Kendrick Lamar is more like Luke Skywalker than Darth Vader. His art pushes against systemic (and Drake) oppression. His unique flow often explores how our nation was built on the backs of Black labor — a moment alluded to in his dancers’ choreography.

His assertions complicate American history, make it less simple than “America good.” There’s a reason that it’s mostly conservatives who are calling his performance “the worst.”

As Vince Mancini wrote for GQ: “The root of all conservatism, in fact, might be the desire for simple stories (‘white hat good, black hat bad,’ ‘victim actually deserved it,’ etc.). Which is why it’s perhaps no coincidence that conservatism’s most successful purveyors (Ronald Reagan and his imitator, Donald Trump, but also Steve Bannon, et. al) come from the world of B-movies and reality TV.”

Up! Up with people!

I recently attended a much smaller spectacle, City Theater’s production of “The Real James Bond was Dominican” by Christopher Rivas. The well-acted one-man show tells the story of the Dominican playboy who inspired Ian Fleming, Porfirio Rubirosa.

As I left the theater, I overheard a nice couple lamenting they hadn’t known about Rubirosa. “There’s so much we don’t know,” the husband said. “We should try to know more, though,” the wife replied. We should all be so open.

Kendrick Lamar was never meant to be unifying. If Roc Nation, who produced the show, wanted someone unifying, they wouldn’t have left Paul McCartney in the stands (although McCartney at 37 would have been just as political). Roc Nation wanted to showcase the best artist working now, so they chose Lamar.

They also wanted someone the kids would watch — someone thrilling. And no one achieves “thrilling” by playing it safe.

The best art is a challenge to know more — and it’s never simple or easy. Lamar delivered, and it’s not his fault that some people didn’t get it. Maybe a few of his critics will take the time to educate themselves. But the rest of us? Well, “we gon’ be alright.”

Adriana E. Ramírez is the editor of InReview and a columnist who writes about books, popular culture and politics for the Post-Gazette. She is the award-winning author of “Dead Boys.”