Mrs. Morale and The Slightly Bigger Steppers

"Bro, I think Noname just made her Mr. Morale."

“finsta (n): a fake Instagram account so one can post ratchet pictures without persecution from sororities, jobs, and society” - Urban Dictionary, most likely written by a white person who grew up in a suburban, two-parent household

When I was in high school, I had a finsta. Not only did I have a finsta, I took it very seriously. I used to post ugly selfies, throw shade at people, and even talk about smoking and drinking. I understand if you can no longer support me upon learning this new information.

All jokes aside, if you remember this antiquated finsta era, you’ll also remember that the most important part of your finsta account was the name itself. Your finsta handle was an integral part to the personality that you carefully constructed for your closest friends (or the “cool kid” who took a shot with you at house party once so you added them with the hopes of impressing them and their closest friends). When I was 16, mine was perfect: lil_euzi_vert. Lil Uzi Vert was a popular rapper, I loved “Lil Uzi Vs. The World”, and it was a pun with my name. Then, naturally, I went to college, cared slightly less about what other people thought of me, and decided to make a new finsta followed by only my high school friends that I wanted to stay in touch with.

At this point, all I needed was a great handle. I cycled through a few names, changing them after a month or two once I got bored. One day, in 2019, I was listening to “Blaxploitation” by Noname in my dorm. Maybe I'm a hypocrite / Maybe I'm hypochondriac / I'm struggling to simmer down / Maybe I'm an insomniBlack. I quickly opened Instagram to change my finsta handle to insomniblack. Unfortunately, someone already claimed that name so I settled for insomniblvck, and it stuck. As weird as it may sound, insomniblvck (now my username for all social media platforms) has been a major part of my identity for the last four years. insomniblvck introduced me to people I consider among my closest friends now; insomniblvck was a critical agent of my political radicalization; and insomniblvck even got me a profile in the Wall Street Journal (that I will not be linking in this piece). And, as much as I don’t want to admit that I engage in parasocial relationships, Noname and “Room 25” can’t be divorced from the connection I have to the pseudonym.

The Woman Without A Name

I was first introduced to Noname when I was 13 years old on Chance The Rapper’s “Lost”. It’s the only song I still revisit on “Acid Rap” (even if it’s just to skip to the bar practice back flips, tragic actress on a movie with no screen, when the only time he loves me is naked in my dreams). The next year, she was featured on a much better album, “The Water(s)” by Mick Jenkins, where she was again a standout on “Comfortable”. In 2016, she released her debut album “Telefone”, one of my favorite rap projects of that year. She kept the hot streak going with a feature on the gospel behemoth, Chance The Rapper’s best song, “Finish Line/Drown”. By 2018, my expectations were astronomically high for sophomore album “Room 25”, and she somehow managed to exceed them all. “Room 25” is one of my favorite albums of all time, it’s a cinematic jazz-rap clinic detailing her relationships to fame, sex, love, Blackness, and capitalism with wordplay and technique miles above her peers. With only two albums under her belt, I throw Noname into any conversation about “the best rappers out right now”.

White Hip-Hop Heads Scare The Living Shit Out Of Me

I first listened to “sundial” on Thursday night and thought it was wonderful! It’s gorgeously produced, she has a wealth of bars that ranged from insightful to devastating to downright hilarious, and there were fantastic hooks thanks to the featured vocalists.

When I woke up on Friday morning, hopped on Twitter, and saw a post from a white music reviewer that read the following:

“Ah, so Noname made her 'Mr. Morale'. This won't cause the discourse to be a cesspool of bullshit, surely not...”

I wanted to throw up. It must’ve been the “Ah” at the beginning that made my blood boil. It had the repugnant smugness of a teenage boy with dangly cross earring hopping on Tik Tok to inform us that he “just wrote the Song of the Summer, bro” when it’s just a poorly-mixed pop-punk track that interpolates “Old MacDonald Had A Farm” and calls his ex-girlfriend a bitch. White people hear one hotep-adjacent verse on a rap song and go “this has *adjusts glasses* Kendrick Lamar vibes”.

I thought back to the gеnder is dimension one, we live in dimension four bar on “black mirror”. Kendrick Lamar showed us that he didn’t have that range on “Auntie Diaries”. He’s stuck in 2012 politics when the world is in 2023: Black Twitter said so. Noname is “the new vanguard”: she said so when while eviscerating J Cole in under a minute. Kendrick is out, Noname is in. Don’t fucking compare “Mr. Morale and the Big Steppers” to new my favorite album “sundial”, you idiot. Fuck you… right?

Well, it’s more complicated than that.

I Thot There Was One Elephant in This Room, There's Two

Elephant 1: I am not a fan of “Mr. Morale and the Big Steppers”. I think it’s Kendrick Lamar’s worst album to date due to awkward sequencing, an egregiously long runtime (relative to the complexity of the arc being presented), and an underwhelming resolution to that character arc that leaves more questions than answers. There are gorgeous moments for sure (“Mother I Sober”, “Father Time”, and “Rich Spirit”), but it really didn’t wow me.

Elephant 2: I am not properly equipped to discuss Jay Electronica. I’m not familiar with his discography outside of “A Written Testimony” (a 2020 album that I was underwhelmed by). And, more importantly, I’m not Generational African American and have zero affiliation with (or proximity to) the Nation of Islam. As a Black person who’s an outsider looking in, I have more critiques and questions than outright scorn. I can eye-roll at Jay Electronica “[telling us] Farrakhan sent [him]” on “balloons” all I want, but it would be out of relative ignorance. I’m also not going to editorialize on what I think Noname believes because she says she isn’t affiliated with the NOI, and there would be no reason for her to conceal that affiliation after “balloons”.

Two Men Choose Themselves, But Only One Is Sorry

To grossly oversimplify an 80-minute project, “Mr. Morale and the Big Steppers” is a loose concept album surrounding Kendrick Lamar’s experience in therapy, balancing the weight of aspiring to be Mr. Morale (the idealized version of himself with the capacity to be a savior of the masses) while living in the hedonistic reality of a Big Stepper (and how these stressors permeate into his romantic relationships, mental health, and more).

On the surface, “sundials” shares this thematic arc. Noname has internalized the systemic oppression that impacts her, and it’s tainted her perception of the world. On “namesake”, she ruminates over the seemingly-innocuous act of watching the Super Bowl. She critiques the NFL for its American military propaganda and active suppression of Black voices and doesn’t pull punches in naming Jay Z, Rihanna, Beyoncé, and Kendrick Lamar himself as complicit by partnering with the organization. Noname, however, insightfully inserts herself in this narrative with the lines go, Kendrick! go! / watch the fighter jet fly high / war machine gets glamorized / we play the game to pass the time / go, Noname! go! / Coachella stage got sanitized / I said I wouldn’t perform for them / and somehow I still fell in line, fuck.

“toxic” has a similar analysis, taking the seemingly-individualized experience of a partner cheating placing it in a greater context. There’s an added pathos to her defiance of traditional wifedom and motherhood when it’s injected with her witty commentaries on colorism and patriarchy (I'm like his little secret under the rug / like, I could almost be wifey but I ain't light skin enough as well as quiet is kept, I don't want your kid, she can have him / Send up a prayer for that girl and her savage). In the same vein, “boomboom” features a passionate and sensual chorus from singer Ayoni with the earworm make a wish, make a wish, make a wish, yeah / come make it tick, make it tick, make it tick, yeah; however, Noname’s first verse on the track delves into more sexual, pensive, and dark territory. Humorously horny lines like kissin' a poom-poom, pussy tasty like fufu cascade into more self-critical passages like ticky-ticky-boom-boom, all I ever knew until systemic stressors seemingly eclipse her original message with the lines a good cop murdered a bipoc / I'm black, I've been black, fuck what you thought / fuck what they taught. Suddenly, to curtail this descension into madness, Noname says the sweetest line on the entire verse: baby, come eat a Georgia peach for free, for real; however, with its placement right before “potentially the interlude”, it’s evident this love or lust is just a pipe dream. Noname’s peace will come in rejecting the indulges that actively suppress her, even at the expense of her own pleasure.

This is in direct opposition to the emotional climax of “Mr. Morale and the Big Steppers”. The penultimate track “Mirror” opens with Kodak Black (who, including this intro, is featured on the album three times) defiantly saying I choose me. This sentiment echoed by Kendrick later on the track, albeit mournfully, when he sings I choose me, I’m sorry. After nearly 70 minutes of outlining the personal trauma imposed by family, relationships, addiction, and systemic racism, Kendrick’s resolution comes in actively rejecting the Mr. Morale label. He and artists like him are not your savior, and the only way you can find peace is to do yourself a favor and get a mirror, that mirror grievance / then point it at me so the reflection can mirror freedom. There’s a brutality to his honesty and a remorse that comes with candidly telling a listening public (many of whom place him on that pedestal) that his self-improvement came with divesting from the fight again the same harsh realities his for-profit art was shaped by. Nevertheless, it’s a conclusion that feels dissatisfying and lazy to me for one reason: Kendrick knows that this Dr. Eckhart Tolle-inspired handbook to inner peace will not work for everyone, he’s amassed enough wealth to sidestep a lot of the stressors of the common man; however, if someone were to ask him about how this self-help technique is not one-size-fits-all, he can just say I choose me, I’m sorry. He gave up, he sold out, he’s remorseful about it, but can’t be bothered to fight anymore.

Noname toys with this exact conclusion on “potentially the interlude” claiming if [she] were just a little bit morе pretty / wrote a little bit likе Kenny / [she] would have a life worth livin' / [she] would be a happy one. This witty metacommentary goes past the sexist comparisons made between the two rappers since “To Pimp a Butterfly” and “Telefone”. Considering the similar arcs of “sundials” and “Mr. Morale…”, these lines refer to the self-care-centered path of least resistance Kendrick used to find inner peace, and the connection is further reified by her references to growth, potential, and self-improvement on the chorus. Noname knows, however, this is not viable for her; her love and improvement comes with broad community, acknowledging the collective traumas of Black people globally and fighting back in any way they can (through reading, war, art, therapy, sex, and more). That’s the only explanation for why Jay Electronica’s disjoint verse is on “balloons” in the first place. If you subscribe to the idea that the NOI is an organization with an inclusive vision for Black liberation (something that has been debated since at least the Civil Rights Era and I personally don’t agree with at all), there would be space for Jay Electronica in Noname’s revolutionary fight despite his bigotry.

My issue with his existence on “sundials”, however, comes with Noname herself not having critiques of the NOI and other religious fundamentalist groups throughout the album. It would have been interesting to see an underlying narrative about how to organize and interact with those you’re ideologically opposed to when you have the same end goal (not to mention that Jay Electronica is also a staunch capitalist and friends with Jay Z, who is referenced on “namesake”). She’s typically fearless in discussing Black people who don’t align with her views on liberation; she does it perfectly on the prior track “hold me down”:

that wasn't us, that was colonialism
we keep our babies fed, we don't beat and rape on our women, we good
we is Wakanda, we Queen Rwanda
first Black president and he the one who bombed us, yeah
makin' niggas rich, Black billionaire legit
slave market deficit, rise up, the price up

This oversight of Jay Electronica’s politics was reminiscent of Kodak Black’s presence on “Mr. Morale and the Big Steppers” where he plays a highly-troubled Big Stepper, succumbing to his darkest impulses at every chance. While it’s valid for Kendrick to find sympathy and even kinship with that, there was very little in discussing or disavowing Kodak’s actions on the project. Thus, when Kodak Black remorselessly yells I choose me at the beginning of “Mirror” with no dissection of his wrongdoings, it shows the selfishness and capitalistic individualism at the root of Kendrick’s promotion of self-care. On the other end of the spectrum, Noname seems to support the beliefs of any person who’s fervent about collective action, aligning herself with Jay Electronica despite his transgressions under these same guises of sympathy and kinship.

Luckily, “sundials” has a second religiously-influenced track highlighting the importance of community, and it’s the best song on the entire album. “gospel?” opens with glorious choir singing God will make a way / oh, yes, He will. The song, however, doesn’t drown in religious iconography and blind faith, it’s a call to action to keep revolutionary spirit and praxis—or, in the words of STOUT, the storm will come, well best believe, the sun will shine. $ilkmoney’s verse shows a perspective on God being an additional means of solidarity between Black people globally, ending his verse with baby, my Black is the truest / you pray for me, I pray for you back to imbue it. And, candidly, billy woods runs away with the entire song. His verse paints a victorious picture of Zimbabwe War of Independence, a liberation movement he was born into via his father. He showing the quintessential and aspirational image of “Black joy” (I remember stadiums so packed / the trees outside the gates heavy with Black joy / just to get a glimpse of the comrades / our boys back from the Bush) until the verse takes a darker turn midway. He finds beauty in the joy and even understands why they never say what happened after; it’s no surprise. Then, the song ends with bleak image of road blocks manned by mere boys and wide smiles and long black guns as international sanctions, anti-Marxist sentiments, and imperial projects still impact Zimbabwe well after the moment highlighted on the verse. It’s a heartbreaking reality check for sure.

After the emotional resonance of “gospel?”, the closing track “oblivion” reads more like a coda, where Noname, Ayoni, and Common (of all people) are at their most nihilistic, than an outright finale. One day, life on this plane of existence will all just end, and the revolutionary change they so desperately want to make will probably not come, but they still have to fight… and talk [their] shit. And talk [her] shit Noname does, flexing her rap skills, twerking, claiming she’s the God invented by Black God, and taking on all comers who try to best her both politically and artistically. It’s a fun verse on an incredibly dense 30-minute listen, but it doesn’t end there.

As said before, the most interesting takeaways from the album comes not in the text nor in the subtext, but in the metatext. In an album highlighting communal love and collective action, it’s an inspired decision to have both the finale (“gospel?”) and the coda (“oblivion”) finished by featured artists; Noname doesn’t get the final words because this isn’t solely her story to tell. In all honesty, Common’s verse is a bit underwhelming compared to Noname and Ayoni’s performances outside of a solid Keke Palmer reference (you a shepherd named Keke in the palm of her hand / the world be free, it was all in the plan). Nevertheless, the album itself would not feel complete with another chorus, and additional verse, or the 'cause I know a lot of these bitches like to bite / couldn't write their raps to save their li— line. This decision defiantly rejects notions of individualism. She can’t choose her. And she’s not sorry about it.

Until Next Time…

Right now, I’m currently working on a “Best and Worst Hits of 2022” double feature so that’ll be fun (even though 2022 was a mediocre year for popular music, and the playlist has been a bit tedious to get through). I was going to write a piece about “the Death of the Popular Monoculture” because people won’t shut up about Teenage Dream and 1989, but I’m going to put a pin in that for now. I’ll probably try to outline something and write it before “1989 (Taylor’s Version)” comes out.

until next time,

e