In May, hip-hop’s long-absent guiding conscience returned. Though our decaying world expected salvation, the messianic MC rose bearing an evasive, eremitic double LP that offered no overarching political comment, no rap-along anthems, no solutions to our societal woes, but, instead … lyrics about therapeutic water fasts and the hollow comfort of luxury cars? Had Kendrick’s poetic eye finally shifted downward from America’s streets to his millionaire’s naval? Oh god … is he rapping about cancel culture?: How short-sighted we were. Kendrick Lamar understands the stakes perfectly. He won acclaim with a series of albums that vividly rendered the reality of his surroundings, but the empathetic acuity of his reportage quickly became mistaken for the faultlessness of his personhood. Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers is the turning away, the Yeezus, the In Utero – the standoffish swerve that emphasizes Kendrick’s fragile, difficult humanity to save his unparalleled artistry. Sure, it’s upsetting to hear the voice of a generation echoing around in his own head – fixated on his trauma rather than ours – but it’s also unmistakably honest, and isn’t that what we all come to Kendrick for?: Well, maybe not. Recent festival set lists suggest that the Big Steppers tour will go heavy on old favorites. Taken at face value, you could read this as a musician cowing to public opinion, quickly moving past his “flop” era. But I disagree; this is confidence. He knows Mr. Morale has done its job and recontextualized his music forever. Kendrick Lamar is not, has not been, will not be “your savior.”