“The revolution ’bout to be televised,” warned a man at the peak of his game to a nation in distress on Superbowl Sunday. And real revolution or not, heads were turned and eyes were peeled during a performance that would have Donald Trump evacuating the stadium shortly after. Watching it live, it was hard not to feel like we’d already won the Super Bowl at its halftime show.
Before Kendrick Lamar’s performance (the first solo rap act of any halftime show to date) online speculation had prepared us for a couple things. Most obviously, the live evisceration of Drake with “Not Like Us”—already arguably one of the most notorious diss tracks in rap history. What could not be predicted, though, was the setlist—something he could’ve totally gotten away with phoning in. But if you knew Kendrick Lamar, you expected a whole lot more than broad appeal and a cold shoulder.
His performance was, at its core, a commentary on what it means to be a Black celebrity performer, especially here—on the stage of the NFL, an institution whose track record on racial justice is less than stellar, and especially now—with Trump behind bulletproof glass in the audience, watching a performance assembled by a group for which he’s rapidly dismantling protections.
Lamar’s “right time, wrong guy” commentary was a bold notice and certainly an aim for the heads who platformed him to begin with, exercising a large–scale sort of jester’s privilege in criticizing the very stage he stood on. This is how Lamar chose to reconcile the “here” and the “now.” And while it might weaken the statement for it to be made on the NFL’s dime, it couldn’t have been made so effectively anywhere else.
And so, doubling down, Lamar did not play the hits. Sure, we saw “Alright” performed the last time he was at the Super Bowl three years ago, but there was nothing at all from Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers, To Pimp A Butterfly, or good kid, m.A.A.d city, all albums with certified smashers. Instead, he used deep cuts from GNX, reworkings of lower–energy stuff like “man at the garden,” and even a new snippet from the unreleased “Bodies” (or “Tiramisu” —whatever you wanna call it). The setlist and sequencing were all carefully engineered for messaging.
I’m not in any position to do a full breakdown of the performance—in true Lamar fashion, the list of subtle references and symbolism could go on forever. However, there were two principal aspects of the show that made its politics undeniably loud and clear. The first was its framing: Samuel L. Jackson starred as Uncle Sam, the voice of the conservative American, goading Lamar at every step of the way. His interjections guided the act, leading it from one section to the next: “Too loud, too reckless, too ghetto!” he jeered, following a fiery “squabble up” performance. After a doo–wop cover of “man at the garden” with a group of Black men surrounding a light pole, he scoffed, “I see you brought your homeboys with you—the old culture cheat code!” before turning to the camera: “Scorekeeper, deduct one life.” This wasn’t a subtle jab in the slightest, though some details might have gone unnoticed; notably, the significance of Jackson playing the role.
Second, there were the visuals: exclusively Black dancers in exclusively American colors on a set arranged for striking imagery. Piling out of a Grand National, arranging into the American flag, crip walking on a stage of PlayStation symbols—all of it was about prioritizing Black presence, freedom, and iconography. This aspect of the performance was executed perfectly, as are all of Lamar’s aesthetic ventures, making for genuinely potent, disruptive, and timely art for Black America.
As a quick aside, the show’s musical performance was well executed. SZA especially killed it, excluding the subpar mixing. You could barely hear her at some points, and Lamar’s mic was quiet too. If there was any true flaw to the performance, it was the audio quality, and I don’t blame any disappointed viewers who felt it lacked the punchiness they were expecting.
“Not Like Us” was the dance on Drake’s grave. And damn did it feel extra personal at the halftime show. The shot of Lamar’s devilish grin to the camera as he blurted “Hey Drake” will be cemented in hip hop history (and, already, a thousand TikTok edits). That, on top of appearances by SZA and Serena Williams—two of Drake’s exes—and tens of millions shouting “A Minor” in unison, made for a celebrity assassination unlike anything we’ve seen in recent years.
But the diss was never just about the beef—in the hours after its release, “Not Like Us” became an anthem for Lamar’s dominance in hip hop culture entirely. So, taken in the context of the halftime show’s already ultra–political nature, it’s hard to not see the song’s inclusion as a victorious, dance–party indictment on American hegemony in general.
But let’s also get one thing clear—while it’s easy to be viewed as protest art, the halftime show was not an actual protest, nor a powerful tool for change. Although some enthused Gen Z reactions might say otherwise, this was still the Super Bowl, funded by the NFL and broadcasted by Fox. Hoping for a “televised revolution” is shortsighted at best—realistically, the show was about as radical as the situation allowed for. Lamar needed to balance complex revolutionary aesthetics, a broadly satisfying arrangement of hits, and a Drake beef touchdown all at once.
Although, he could’ve gone harder by sacking the personal stuff entirely—major radio host Charlamagne and other folks feel the same way. Cutting out the most America–centric verse of “Not Like Us” felt like a strange split of priorities. Plus, the songs with SZA were, as the New York Times wrote pretty aptly, “pointedly nonideological.” The “two for them” kind of detour, although Lamar remained self–aware (Uncle Sam’s sweet reaction was unmistakably critical), was a definite half–measure.
Lamar’s radical legitimacy was overshadowed even as the performance was happening. In an act of actual protest, one of his dancers pulled out Palestinian and Sudanese flags (he was chased off but let off with no charges). And, while this isn’t necessarily groundbreaking, I also want to thank whoever at Apple Music picked Ghais Guevara’s “The Old Guard is Dead” to lead into the show after a 20–0 lead in the first half. The airing of a song by a Black militant activist from Philly was as crazy of a dub for us as you could ask for.
But let’s not forget that Kendrick Lamar isn’t new to grand, overt statements for massive audiences. He performed in chains for the 2016 Grammys. He rapped in a bloody crown of thorns for Glastonbury 2022. By comparison, his halftime show was tame—nothing close to actual revolution, just a play about revolution—and I think he knows this. Under the current administration, we shouldn’t be looking up at celebrities to lead the charge on change. So, in addition to using powerful aesthetics to reiterate Black presence and joy, Kendrick Lamar’s most resonant message was delivered at the end, the most compelling call–to–action possible on a stage so massive: “turn the TV off.”
