GNX

The guests are also memorable, although Kendrick doesn't give them enough ground. After g-funk synths enter the picture halfway through “hey now,” Kendrick and Dody6 engage in a frenzy back and forth. Kendrick is so magnetic that the memorable Drake tinge stands out: “Hey, shit gets scary, every day in October,” he raps, in his playful E-40 drawl. On “peekaboo,” his Drakeo impersonation (maybe a little Young Slo-be in there) is rockier than before, but AzChike's light menace steals the show. Kendrick is a good host when all the street rappers get together to talk their shit on the posse cut 'gnx': Peysoh is smooth with it, YoungThreat sounds like a ghostly spirit.

However, the album's locality feels more like an elaborate charm for Drake than a musical pivot fueled by passion. That missing spirit is in the production, very clean and synthetic. The very neat funky bass of “squabble up” should be so thick that it hums like an old muffler, like P-Lo's Mac Dre Tribute does at LaRussell's Mostly independent. The back of Mustard's “tv off” has been drowned out by these insanely blaring horns that feel made to be dumbed down in Nike commercials. Kendrick represents LA hard on mature “dodger blue,” calling out local high schools to confirm the sensibility. But it wastes Wallie the Sensei and Roddy Ricch by having them harmonize over chillwave synths, a shame when you have access to basically every g-funk producer alive or dead. He could have called at least one or two of the coolest (non-mustard) LA producers of the last decade, like RonRon or JoogSZN or Low the Great. Instead, the two producers credited on nearly every track are Sounwave (as expected) and star whisperer Jack Antonoff.

Elsewhere, buried among the LA corridor anthems are softer melodic joints that could have been DIME and some creative writing exercises. Quite nice is “luther,” an SZA-featuring lullaby that's harmlessly sweet and easy to listen to, punched by a Luther Vandross sample that melts into the instrumental flourish. Unlistenable is “reincarnated,” an homage to Tupac at his most paranoid and disoriented, where Kendrick writes from the perspective of his old-time artistic influences. Those writing songs that he is prone to, like this or TPABof “Mortal Man”, were always more technically impressive than anything else. It doesn't help that “reincarnated” also feels like it exists to counter Drake who made that AI Tupac song I forgot ever existed.

Crucially appealing are the “cleaned-up murals,” where you can overlook the over-glossy hard beat because the salty raps have so much genuine hunger behind them. Unfortunately, he hasn't been involved in anything worthwhile: He's mad at Snoop for finding Drake AI Tupac's song funny. (Again, I only remember this because Kendrick keeps bringing it up.) He's mad at Lil Wayne who he feels snubbed him for not going to the Super Bowl. He's mad at the entire rap world because no one congratulated him for booking the halftime except for Nas. Immersive. I'm all for airing petty grievances in your raps, but when you're also talking about saving the essence of hip-hop, there has to be something deeper at the root. Instead, it's the usual flicker of the hip-hop elite. Acting like the genre depends on Kendrick's personal journey to Black perfection: Is this the life of a hip-hop outlaw? That's it watching the party die? My friend, the party might be in your crib now.