Great albums are about more than the music. When they really hit, just mentioning their names evokes memories and elicits “Remember when…” conversations. good kid, m.A.A.d city — released on October 22nd, 2012 — is one of those albums, which is why its 10-year anniversary is a very big deal.
Kendrick Lamar became a household name on the strength of everything he did on this album, while possibly becoming the voice of a generation at the same time. He got into our bloodstreams through touching topics that meant a lot to him, while hoping we related. I related in a way I never predicted and 10 years later, I understand how important just one song was because it truly changed my world in a way no piece of music ever has nor probably ever will.
Addiction sucks. I’m pretty sure I’m not blowing any minds with that little revelation, nor am I the last person to ever make that observation. “Swimming Pools (Drank)” is my favorite Kendrick Lamar song. It works as a club record while also speaking about the ills of alcoholism and the problems stemming from addiction. Our vices don’t have to be drugs or alcohol, and when you don’t drink or smoke, those weaknesses that make you feel like Pookie or Bubbles might seem harder to find. But we’re all human, and we all have our vices. For me, that addiction was a toxic relationship. Kendrick’s 2012 single helped break me down and build me back up.
Relationships are tough, and sometimes ending them is even more challenging. My partner and I were together for six years, but it felt like 10, and I don’t mean that in a bad way. She watched me graduate college, helped me get through an insane job hunt, and when my mom died, I reached out to her first. I felt like she was the only one I needed by my side. She helped me deal with this thing called life. But all that good either blinded me to the bad or made me weigh it less heavily.
Lies became simple misunderstandings. Over time, her actions that usually evoked hellfire and brimstone barely elicited a finger point. I let many transgressions slide while ignoring my increasingly terrible mood and self-esteem dropping faster than pouring rain during a thunderstorm. When someone cheats on you and breaches that trust, it tends to mess with you, and, based on my emotional makeup at the time while dealing with my mother’s death, I was in a fog, so sue me.
Kendrick’s song details what it’s like tiptoeing that line between “I’m drunk” and “I’m dependent” and how scary that is for someone with a history of alcoholism in their family. Thankfully, that’s not a trait in my genetics. Still, that fear of succumbing to something when you feel like it’s your only outlet is just a tad too relatable. Or just needing something — or someone — to make things feel better, even if it’s for a fleeting moment.
Life is all about those collections of moments that add up to something greater while doing all we can in hopes that those moments become brighter and more meaningful. While on that journey, we cling to anything that will help us get there, no matter how detrimental it is on our personal Richter scale. It got to a point where I became co-dependent on her and our relationship. That’s not exactly looking at a bottle’s bottom, but it was close enough for me.
Arguments ended in slammed doors, hurt feelings, plenty of tears, and God knows how many late-night solo drives to clear my head while figuring out my next move. I was surprised at how a vacant parking lot can quickly transform into a sanctuary where the silence is only pierced by music played on repeat. I yelled at the top of my lungs and got angry at everyone except myself for the situation.
The cycle constantly repeated itself. As I said, breakups are tough because sometimes the band-aid can’t be ripped off; it must come off slowly because a quick yank can hurt just as much as the initial cut. During that ripping-off process, I grew out my hair, shed enough pounds to look like a brand-new person, and finally listened to Biggie’s “Going Back to Cali” in its proper context: walking through LAX.
But that didn’t stop me from picking up the phone when she called and completely disregarding everything that every friend ever warned me against. However, it didn’t start that way.
Like any addiction, you try to quit cold turkey and convince yourself you don’t need it. Sometimes when she called, I just let the phone ring and put it on silent. When I felt extra bold, I even hit the ignore button to feel better about myself. I’m only human, though, and occasionally, I answered. She asked about me, complained about the new guy — yeah, that happened — or, to my amazement, even asked why I was ducking her. And like a good little addict, I listened intently, answered every question, and lost my temper a time or two, which made everything worse for me. I felt split in two, with my other half looking at me in a mirror and yelling at me to snap out of it.
When Kendrick’s conscience starts talking to him and telling him everything he already knows, it’s what makes the entire ordeal tragic. “If you do not hear me, then you will be history, Kendrick/ I know that you’re nauseous right now, and I’m hoping to lead you to victory, Kendrick.” Your conscience knows better, so, in essence, you know better. No matter what anyone told me, I refused to put down the metaphorical bottle.
“Block her number,” they shouted. “Nah, I can handle it,” I replied. “Throw away anything she ever bought you,” they yelled. “I need the memories, and the sneakers are still on point,” I said with a smirk. “She’s no good for you,” everyone said in unison. “I know her better than you,” I whispered. Then on a night in 2012, another voice said, “Dude, you’re not happy, and I don’t even recognize you anymore.” I listened because, this time, it was me doing the talking.
It was my first time hearing “Swimming Pools (Drank),” and the emotions hit me like a freight train. All I remember is driving somewhere and tears coming down faster than I could hold them back. I was a wreck, and the song helped me finally admit that. I wasn’t who I used to be, nor was I the person I needed to be at that moment. I put the song on repeat and let it do what any sound detox system does. I became addicted to the security of an insecure situation and the idea of having someone in my corner — regardless of how unstable they were — because it was better than the alternative.
2012 was an emotional year for me, but “Drank” was my turning point. Well, it was the start, at least. God put it in my lap at the right time, and I was in the correct space to hear it. As the days turned to weeks and the weeks turned to months, she and I talked less. I thought about her less often, and eventually, I didn’t feel like I needed her to be whole. It wasn’t an instant recovery because addiction doesn’t work that way, but ultimately, I felt like myself again. Honestly, I felt better.
I got lost, found my vice, dove in it headfirst — I’m a terrible swimmer — and found my way out through a musical lifesaver. No matter what happens with Kendrick for the rest of his career, I’m eternally grateful for that night in 2012. It made me a fan of his as long as blood is blue in my veins.
good kid, m.A.A.d city Artwork:
