When Drake Bites, It’s A Crime But When Kendrick Lamar Does It, It’s Art?

What’s good for the CPT is good for the Six

Pablo Picasso is widely credited with the idea that “good artists copy, great artists steal.” Where along that spectrum do artists who genuinely collaborate fall, building with others to become more than the sum of their parts? The most popular songs of the last century have been crafted by dozens of producers, session musicians, and songwriters with input and inspiration from muses, entourages, and popular media.

Only recently has the validity of these artists been called into question with the widespread recognition of ghostwriting, which makes me wonder — what’s the criteria for acceptability? How come certain artists are chastised for drawing on other creatives for inspiration while others float through their career unscathed?

Kendrick Lamar has grown from between the cracks of the Compton sidewalks to being a globally recognized superstar with unanimous love and everything short of his own action figure. Along the way, he met, worked, borrowed and sometimes stole from other artists of all tiers and it hasn’t affected his soaring popularity.

Earlier in his career, when Kendrick began rapping in his alien voice, the average listener must have thought it was a brilliant foray into voice manipulation. In reality Anna Wise, one half of Sonny Moon, had been a mainstay in the TDE flophouse for some time, well before the rest of world heard about KDot from Compton. Her haunted, airy vocals coated the walls of Brooklyn coffee houses and NYU dorms filled with Nag Champa. Even extraterrestrials heard her imitating their voices for years before she met the West Coast crew.

After a few projects, Anna began getting name-checked in the credits. Good Kid, M.a.a.D. City put her on the map but Kendrick has never spoken of her influence or their connection, despite their familial proximity. Somehow, despite borrowing from an emerging talent’s artistry to compose a small slice of his worldwide character, her impact on his career remains in the margins.

Countless other musicians surround KDot and the TDE orbit with immense influence on his projects. Terrace Martin and his soulful vibes have been a mainstay on his projects but, again, the general audience doesn’t care when Kenny leaned on an emerging talent for inspiration. I’m not saying it’s a good or a bad thing, just that it continues to happen and nobody seems too angry about it.

On the other hand, Drake cannot so much as rap four bars without some Floridian thugbot with 600 SoundCloud plays proclaiming The Boy jacked his flow. Historically, Aubrey has a track record of picking up on trends early. His “Versace” remix dominated a summer when Migos were still rapping to get out of the trap; a million light-years away from the “Bad and Boujee” squad of today. Abel may or may not have inspired and co-written Take Care when creative stimulus was at an all-time low in the Six. The most obvious, but over used, example of all the examples is everybody’s favorite “R.I.C.O” verse with help from Quentin Miller.

Kendrick Lamar and Drake employ similar techniques to surround themselves with talent that plugs them into upcoming waves from around the world. The difference is only one of them gets raked over the coals for an entire calendar year because of it. Drake, in the most bizarre part of the equation, almost always provides more credit than necessary for the original artist and has put countless people onto podiums, some before they were ready.

The idea of ‘suspended disbelief’ requires fans to temporarily dock their criticisms so they can enjoy the theatrical performance in front of them. It’s always easier to do this when we believe the performer and their performance is authentic, but when they make it easy to see where the mask starts, it breaks the fourth wall. Kendrick has a hell of a backstory. Drake has his own, albeit slightly less compelling when contrasted against the ethos of other hip-hop legends. It seems like this is one of the only shortcomings he might have in his fight to be top dog. Fans regularly use it against him as their singular answer to why he can’t run this rap s**t.

When we circle back to the original point, it seems when Drake borrows from artists, even if we allow other Top 5 artists to do the same, we chastise him because he has a less compelling backstory. The leniency usually afforded to the man on the throne disappears and, instead, he gets blamed for borrowing from those who influence him. In actuality, some detractors are mad a kid who didn’t grow up slinging amidst a hail of hollow tips runs the culture.

If borrowing from other artists negates your entry into the hall of fame, then someone needs to get Jay Z on the phone. If you follow his associations and entourage growth, you can trace a linear but lagging path between who pops up around him and his flow. At first they just appear in the crew but have no musical output, which is when Mr. Carter studies their flows and keeps himself attuned to the streets in their presence. When he’s done and onto the next one, they step into some hollow shoes and get their own chance to shine, if they can innovate and make it happen.

What is our criteria for greatness if we allow our most legendary artists to gain inspiration, influence and ideas from other artists?

From Jaz O influencing Jay to get his “Hawaiian Sophie” rapid-fire flow on to the OG jocking Young Chris for an entire era of his career, Shawn Carter was a notorious biter. In an interview with Complex, Chris admitted the pendulum swings both ways. “We all in the studio, things rub off on each other, that’s just how it happened,” he said. “I might have learned things from him, he might have learned things from me.”

In 2017, Jay is opening venture capital funds and Young Chris’ latest mixtape has just over 2000 downloads.

Do we need to open up the can of worms from the Doctor on the West Coast? While he is too busy counting his $3B acquisition check to worry about a hip-hop Hall of Fame, the writing credits from his biggest records all point to young artists penning the hits for him and nobody seems to be bothered.

So back to the point — what is our criteria for greatness if we allow our most legendary artists to gain inspiration, influence and ideas from other artists? In most creative industries, this is an assumed and respected practice. The interesting contrast between the Toronto and Compton rappers jousting for top dog status in the game in 2017 reflects our interest to unsheathe a double-edged sword: but only one swing at a time.

It’s unnerving to see a genre which prides itself on crafting greatness from scarcity would shred an underdog who followed the same blueprint his elders laid out for him. Humans are tribal and none of us exist in complete isolation. We internalize stimuli from everything around us, whether it’s the smell of cotton candy on a walk across the Santa Monica Pier or the sounds of the screeching A train barrelling through the heart of the city on the way home. If a busker plays a soothing melody on the other end of either of those journeys, it might just need a few tweaks to become the next best thing the world has ever heard. That’s completely acceptable. It’s time for hip-hop fans to grow up and respect the songwriting process. The greatest to ever do it are still hands-on throughout the whole proceedings.

Objectively speaking, we can’t have it both ways. Either Kendrick and Drake are swagger jacking, flow biting marionettes or the two greatest artists of our generation are brilliant ethnographers. They’ve perfected the ability to absorb global culture and distill it into sonic gold. Picasso knew what the arts world was about in the 1800s — how come we’re still having the same argument?

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