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Of all the things that could have divided the United States this month, I didn’t think Kendrick Lamar’s Super Bowl halftime show would have made the cut. 

Within the twenty-four hours since the game, quarrels have broken out on all sides of social media. While I’m not surprised by the fact that debates are happening―that’s expected―it’s their intensity that stands out to me.

Constructive criticism shouldn’t be mistaken for an attack, yet even the mildest of observations are getting suplexed before they can prove their merit.

Distinguishing Artists from Performers

First things first―and this might shock some folks―but there’s this wild concept where someone can be an incredible artist but not the most electrifying performer (*gasp*). I know, right? 

Kendrick Lamar is a Pulitzer Prize-winning master of the literary arts. He considers the connotation, denotation, and context surrounding words. He constantly pushes the boundaries of symbolism, callbacks, and covert messaging.

Oftentimes, it seems to me that he sprints ahead of his audience and waits for them to catch up, then sprints ahead again. While some would apply these highbrow skills to writing a novel, or exercise them through poetry, he chooses to manifest them as a rapping raconteur.

Does acknowledging that his performance may have been a bit lackluster invalidate his artistry? Of course not, but here is where it is particularly useful to note the difference between an artist and a performer.

Within the context of Super Bowl performances, I think Prince’s halftime show stands head and shoulders above the rest (if you can think of others, please mention them in the comments). It’s not just because of his raw talent as an artist, but because that talent extends to his ability to perform. He truly was a master of artistic expression and showmanship.

From the stage design, which allowed fans to get close to the performance, to the serendipitous finale where Prince performed Purple Rain in actual rainfall, the entire experience was conceived with the fans in mind. He fostered a connection with the crowd from the very beginning and intensified it as the performance went on.

Near the end, he ramped up their energy, hung back so fans could take over the song, and silenced the band so their voices could be heard as one. Prince rewarded their participation with affirmations and backed their chants with his passionate guitar play. I think the sum of all these parts made his show one for the history books.

Contrast this with Lamar’s performance, which seemed to be focused on cinematic storytelling rather than fostering an immediate connection with the live audience, and it becomes clear―or at the very least, fathomable―that some people would not feel connected to his performance. While they may not know how to articulate what his performance lacked, I would have to guess it was that magnetic pull that made a performance like Prince’s unforgettable.

Looking back at Kendrick’s staging, the setup kept the crowd at bay and his setlist leaned into dense lyrical storytelling rather than call-and-response anthems. Many aspects of its execution required taking in the show from up close and high above, all at once.

We needed to be up close to appreciate Serena Williams’ crip walk, Mustard’s dramatic entrance, and even the commentary from Uncle “Sam(uel)” Jackson. We needed the eagle-eye view to appreciate the fact that the stage was a PlayStation console and how he used the stage and participants in the crowd to send subtle messages to the viewers. 

In all, I feel like he did what artists have a tendency to do, which is to prioritize the message over a shared experience.  

While this approach might not resonate with a stadium audience in the same way past halftime shows managed to do, it does align with his artistic style, which often asks the audience to meet him on his terms rather than catering to mass expectations. 

But in what way did any of this contribute to a divide?

Cue the Pop-up Ph.Ds in Kendrickology

The phenomenon started with articles popping up all over social media, listicles along the lines of 7 Things You Missed in Kendrick Lamar’s Performance. Okay, cool—thoughtful analysis is always welcome. What followed was not so cool. The number of people who graduated overnight with a Ph.D. in Kendrickology was astounding.

Before the ink could dry on their homemade certificates, they took to the comments, cutting and pasting the information from those articles to mount their online dissertation, using this information to invalidate any dissenting opinion of the halftime show.

Rather than fostering a deeper discussion about Lamar’s artistry, they’d kicked off an arms race to prove who “got it first,” as if understanding the symbolism was a badge of honor rather than an invitation to dialogue. Others took it further, implying that if you didn’t instantly decode everything, you were missing the point entirely.

The Art of Missing the Point While Pretending to Get It

Ironically, in a rush to defend the artistic depth of Kendrick’s performance, they shut down opportunities for a deeper discussion about his execution, spoiling opportunities to foster in others an appreciation of his work.

Moreover, I feel like many overlooked the real discussion at hand. What had people talking in the first place was whether the performance succeeded as a halftime show. Instead of acknowledging that both artistic brilliance and a lack of engagement can coexist, many have treated the criticism of the performance as ignorance rather than perspective.

If we opened that topic for discussion, some could argue that Kendrick’s performance wasn’t meant to generate the same kind of fervor from the crowd as past halftime shows, but rather provoke thought through its rich symbolism. That would be a fair point. Others could argue that an event like the Super Bowl is a place where performers are expected to bridge the gap between artistic vision and mass appeal. Did his performance successfully walk that line? That’s a discussion I’d stick around to hear.

A Personal Note: Late to the Party but Here for the Art

Now, let me be completely transparent here: I’m not claiming to be a long-time fan of Kendrick Lamar. I disengaged from rap music back in the 90s and occasionally lend my ear to it from time to time. It was my nephew who brought the whole feud with Drake to my attention and sent me down a rabbit hole to consider what these rappers were doing. 

What drew me to Kendrick wasn’t the hype or the drama―it was his artistry, specifically his use of cryptic expressionism, a style of execution I admire and practice in my own right, albeit not for an audience of stadium proportions. I would like to think that most artists, in developing their voice and finding their path, dabble in cryptic expressionism to varying degrees.

From the infinite zoom into digital art to Childish Gambino’s “This is America,” the temptation to slip something into the art is difficult to resist for many artists. We jest. We tease. We secretly wink at those who know our ways and pay attention.

The Value of Nuanced Criticism

For the past decade, I’ve hosted critique sessions for writers from all walks of life and at every stage of the writer’s journey. When I first joined the group, I was just a rookie writer, hoping to learn what I was doing right and wrong. As a neophyte, I thought in those terms, but what I gained from experience, and learned from the more seasoned writers, was the ability to detach from those binary constructs of praise or blame, good or bad, right or wrong.

Most of all, I learned that critiquing the execution of an art form doesn’t invalidate the art itself or the artist who created it. On some level, I do hope that is what readers take away from this piece.

Fetch Me a Fedora

I don’t wear hats, but if I had to choose a style to wear, it would be a fedora, and I would gladly tip it to Kendrick―not as some newly minted expert in Kendrickology, not as a long-time fan, but as someone who deeply appreciates his artistic expression. The man is undeniably brilliant at what he does. His ability to layer meaning and message into his work is a testament to patience and craftsmanship. His impact on hip-hop is undeniable.

I do not doubt that many of the defenders of Kendrick’s performance sincerely loved the halftime show in all its glory—for its symbolism, its theatrical presentation, its choreography, and more.

However, to all the overnight graduates in Kendrickology, I leave this final thought: it’s okay to let people have different reactions to a performance without assuming they just “didn’t get it.”