The sight of two (or more) people tearing chunks out of each other is one of humanity’s first and most enduring forms of entertainment. The sheer excitement, the intrigue, the unpredictability, the adrenaline rush, the bloodlust: who can resist? And in exchange for their courage, discipline and possibly even their lives, we reward our gladiators handsomely. It’s payday for the poetic, profit-seeking, pride-protecting feud between Kendrick Lamar and Drake, easily the landmark competitive event of our time.
Rappers are our modern gladiators (and poet laureates). And thanks to social media and the fact that every major media organisation worth its salt – the BBC, the New York Times, the Guardian – has dedicated prominent real estate to cover and contextualise the beef blow-by-blow, track-by-track, the world is their colosseum. Are you not entertained?
We see all the modern tools of warfare deployed: high- and low-tech espionage, infiltration of enemy camps, artificial intelligence (Drake released a record with AI-generated verses from Snoop Dogg and the late Tupac Shakur, both, like Lamar, west coast icons). There has been kompromat (including accusations of Ozempic usage and Brazilian butt lifts), leaks, disinformation events, racial propaganda, social media hostilities. This has resulted in numerous direct, highly innovative “diss” tracks: some to make you think, some to make you dance, some to make you TikTok – all to defame the opponent.
So why are we entertained? There seems genuine enmity between the two. But there is also the cultural dissonance. Lamar and Drake aren’t gangsta rappers, known for hurling epithets and busting off shots in nightclubs. They spring from the parallel tradition of hip-hop which is still highly entertaining but full of substance, and drenched in social nourishment (both are influenced by Phonte Coleman, perhaps the most influential rapper you’ve never heard of). Though Drake focused on more commercially appealing music often targeted overtly at “the ladies”, Lamar specialised in socially conscious issues, documenting the plight of the downtrodden (or as Drake described him: “Rapping like you tryna get the slaves freed”). Nevertheless, neither the ladies’ man nor the preacher man are shy about holding their ground in battle.
As they duke it out, it’s worth remembering that both have their music released under the umbrella of the same record conglomerate – Universal Music Group (UMG). UMG is led by the 64-year-old British record executive Sir Lucian Grainge CBE – who may well be looking at the balance sheets and skipping to work each day.
The barbs are clever, but they are not all pretty, and that may eventually give the label executives pause. On the track Family Matters, Drake accused Lamar – a Pulitzer prize-winning megaphone for socially important matters – of being a domestic abuser. On They Not Like Us, Lamar accused Drake of being a “certified paedophile”. It went from jousting, to sledging, to accusations of serious criminality – basking all the while in sustained profitability.
The insults don’t have to be true. We know that feuding rappers cultivate similar relationships with the truth as tobacco and oil companies: they obfuscate, exaggerate, fabricate. On 2001’s genre-upping diss track Ether, the rapper Nas accused Jay-Z of being “36 in a karate class”. Jay-Z was only 32 years old at the time. By the time Jay-Z was 36, he was boss of the record label Nas was signed to.
But that was a confrontation whose details were mainly followed by rap aficionados. This one is mainstream. The accusations – true and false – make news. The likes of MTV News and Hot 97 may have covered the rap beefs of previous decades, but it took Biggie and Tupac being murdered for such feuds to become hard news stories. These days Drake, in terms of popularity and record sales, is a global pop star approaching the level of Prince or Michael Jackson. When he responded to Lamar’s accusations, headlines were written worldwide. “Drake denies allegations of underage relationships in Kendrick Lamar song” said the BBC. Mud sticks in the public mind, and in the mind of law enforcement. On both sides of the Atlantic, rap lyrics are used as evidence against rappers facing criminal trials.
And what is the wider effect of this verbal boxing match? It is in too many ways a tale of collateral damage: of two famous black men tearing each other down as entertainment for the masses, enriching themselves, bolstering stereotypes and all the while diminishing others who look like them.
And how will it end? In the 90s, Louis Farrakhan, the Nation of Islam leader, beloved by many rappers, would have intervened to calm things down. But after all that has been said here, it is hard to envisage genuine reconciliation.
Jay-Z, as ever, lyricised wisely: “Nobody wins when the family feuds.” Given the amount of mud both Kendrick and Drake are now covered in, whoever wins The Great Rap War of 2024 lays claim to what may be a short-term pyrrhic victory. In the long term the only person who really wins from “beef” is the owner of the cow. So congratulations are due to the Universal Music Group.
Nels Abbey is a writer, broadcaster and former banker. He is the author of Hip-Hop MBA: Lessons in Cut-Throat Capitalism from Rap’s Moguls. He is also the founder of the monthly comedy & social commentary series Uppity: The Intellectual Playground.
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