I’ve never been afraid to listen to an album.
It’s a strange feeling. Music can elicit a number of emotions — tears, unbridled happiness, a wave of calmness, a strong stank face — but fear usually isn’t drawn out by music. It’s not something that artists strive to pull out of their audience. And yet that’s where I found myself on Sunday night, sitting in a restaurant in Harlem when I got the message that Kendrick Lamar’s sophomore album To Pimp A Butterfly had been released a week before its March 23rd date. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want to hear it yet. I needed time to prepare. There’s too much riding on this album.
To Pimp a Butterfly: Kendrick Lamar's new album is perfect
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