Last night, while everyone over at the Stranger Election Control Board was schmoozing with socialists and watching Jenny Durkan drink rosé at primary parties, I was heading out to see Kendrick Lamar (no guilt—tickets had been acquired months before, and my vote was sitting safely in a ballot box). And while participation in the primaries hovers at a disappointing 20 percent, let me tell you, voter turnout for Kendrick Lamar was LIT: a sold-out show at Tacoma Dome for his double-platinum triumph, DAMN. Here’s how it went down:
6:00 PM
WRONG.
8:20 PM
OK HERE WE GO!
8:38 PM
Just kidding. The almost-full parking garage is cash only. The nearest ATM at the Greyhound bus station is out of order. There’s another ATM at a bank six blocks away. A few minutes later, cash acquired, parking successful. Now the long walk towards that imposing dome in the distance.
And of course, I have to pee. Fucking arenas.
8:45 PM
Due to all the aforementioned ridiculousness, I miss both openers, although apparently D.R.A.M. performed his hit “Broccoli,” and Travis Scott rode a giant, animatronic bird, which my new friend from the bathroom line informs me, was “HYPE.”
“Can you believe we’re in the same building as Kendrick Lamar?! What do you think he’s doing RIGHT NOW?” she asks me.
“Um, drinking water, maybe?” I say, finding the most boring thing possible to say about the world’s, and perhaps all of history’s, greatest rap lyricist (hey, he has a big performance ahead, he needs to hydrate!) “Not waiting on line for the bathroom, that’s for sure.” I say.
She laughs. Save! And then we start talking about how hard it is to have to pee when you’re wearing a body suit that doesn’t have those little snaps on the crotch.
9:08 PM
And suddenly, the curtain folds in on itself in one dramatic, sweeping movement. There’s a split-second gasp of stunned excitement from every single person there, and then… BANG! Actual explosions go off. (Glad I hit that bathroom beforehand.) Kendrick launches into “DNA.” The crowd roars and the ol’ Tacoma Dome feels the strain of tens of thousands of feet bouncing like they mean it.
A martial arts dancer is on stage holding a sword, weaving around Kendrick’s words: My DNA not for imitation/Your DNA an abomination/This how it is when you’re in the Matrix. Martial arts metaphors are kind of a “thing” for Kendrick these days. He gave himself the name “Kung Fu Kenny” (after Don Cheadle’s character in Rush Hour) for the tour, and throughout the show, he plays segments from The Damn Legend of Kung Fu Kenny, a tale of a young warrior harkening back to Wu Tang and Kung Fu films from the ’70s.
.
10:03 PM
Because it’s impossible for anyone of this earth to flow the way he does. As if to answer my question, moments later he’s rapping “LUST” from inside a glowing, lit up cage that emerges out of a trap door in the middle of the floor. And somehow he manages to superhumanly and perfectly rap “PRIDE” while horizontally suspended in the air while attached to a dancer wearing all red. It’s elegant.
But Kendrick doesn’t really need anything or anyone else to be on stage with him to captivate. He knows this. His presence is masterful, controlled, and seething emotion with every line, and his battles are his own—alone on the stage, yet with us all.
11:15 PM
And everybody does. And it’s one of those really magical arena moments where you feel connected to the performer, and everyone around you by an all-too-brief and tenuous thread… but all I want to do right now is sit down—not to be humble, but to give my feet a break. I judge the small hordes of people already leaving, missing Kendrick’s epic encore of “GOD” just to get a jump on traffic. Because it’s not going to be that bad, right?
12:58 AM