Not your typical halftime show: The political message behind Kendrick Lamar’s performance

From the set list to the visual choreography to Lamar’s verbal quips, the performance used the setting of a uniquely American stage to deliver a heady warning to the American public about the political state of the nation.

Art by Jeanine Huang/The Barnard Bulletin

By Suhani Kapoor

April 23, 2025

Sunday, February 9, sometime around 8:15 p.m., history was made.

Listen, I have my thoughts about Super Bowl Sunday. While the thought of watching grown men tackle each other for three hours is not necessarily appealing to me, the overall fanfare (billion-dollar advertisements, celebrity appearances, and a competitive atmosphere) that surrounds the day is not completely lost on me. The existence of a grand, star-studded musical performance proves to be quite attractive as well. So, while I may not understand the mania that leads people to destroy cars and rampage the streets after a victory, I am not immune to the idealism of the event. Hence, once a year you will find me tuning into the NFL to indulge my daily dose of pop culture by watching the advertisements and, most importantly, the halftime show.

This year’s halftime show, which featured Kendrick Lamar and special guest SZA, was far beyond what I had expected. As I sat down to watch two of my favorite artists rock the stage, I was slowly left speechless as I realized I was being called to revolution. I am willing to bet that most people were not expecting such a message, almost as much as I am willing to bet that many did not even realize that they were experiencing incredibly heavy political commentary. 

From the set list to the visual choreography to Lamar’s verbal quips, the performance used the setting of a uniquely American stage to deliver a heady warning to the American public about the political state of the nation. La pièce de résistance? Notably in attendance at the event, for the first time in history, was the current sitting president: Donald Trump. 

Lamar’s call to revolution is not innate, though. Every single choice that brought the production together was incredibly deliberate: symbolism drips off the screen as he prances around stage, and the visual elements of the performance almost speak louder than Lamar is rapping. 

The show opens with the sound of a video game selection menu, with rapid beeping that follows the lights as they bounce around the game controller shaped stage. The stage, both physical and symbolic, that Lamar stands upon is undoubtedly crucial to the performance. The Super Bowl stage is quintessentially American. Unlike in other sports and their World Cups or World Series, football has an inherently and singularly American interest. The Super Bowl stage, then, is symbolically an American stage: it represents the American people. The controller design implies that America is currently engaged in a game. The implication is solidified as the lights hone in on a particular “button” of the controller and the camera pans to Samuel L. Jackson dressed as Uncle Sam. Uncle Sam, who is America personified, grandly welcomes viewers to the stage of the “The Great American Game.” 

As viewers wonder what “Great American Game” they are watching, the camera cuts to Lamar crouching on top of a car, quietly rapping the lyrics to an unreleased song. The image is jarring because it is completely unexpected for such a large American stage. Previous Super Bowl performances featured sparklers, acrobatics, and tilting stages. Lamar denies the American audience the typical grandeur of the halftime show, instead letting them into his private thoughts, his unreleased songs. Lamar creates a connection with the audience by trusting them to hear his unreleased music, a connection that allows him to separate himself from the propaganda of the Super Bowl and the loudness of celebrity life. Lamar puts himself into the position of a confidant, a friend who is about to let the audience in on a secret. As he continues to rap, a group of dancers, uniformly dressed in red, file out of the car he is standing on top of. Lamar stands up to a building beat, and right as it drops boldly states, “The revolution is about to be televised, you picked the right time but the wrong guy.” 

Jaw dropped. I cannot begin to explain how shocked I was when I heard that line for the first time. My spine straightened and I was suddenly on the edge of my seat. The image is shocking and puts to rest any idea that the game Lamar is discussing is football. In front of the current president, Lamar verbalizes revolution, telling his audience of confidants to pay attention to what’s important in the world, rather than the “wrong guy.” 

Rather than focusing on people like himself — celebrities brought about to distract people with grandeur, sparklers, acrobats, and tilting stages — Lamar points to the “revolution” occurring in the current political “time” as the event to be focusing on. The “right guy” to be paying attention to was undoubtedly the president sitting in the stands. In today’s politically charged atmosphere, where polarization characterizes governance and capitalistic greed seems to run rampant and unchecked, Lamar bolsters the audience to not be subservient to entertainment, but rather to be informed about “revolution.” 

The song shifts to a famously boisterous song, “Squabble Up,” as more dancers join the stage, this time dressed in all white ensembles. As Lamar dynamically performs “Squabble Up,” encapsulating the stage in the rhythm and flow of the song, more dancers begin to flood the background. Dancers dressed in blue join the ensemble, and the troupe starts to line up uniformly along the stage, reminiscent of military marches. With Lamar continuing to demand for someone to “Squabble Up” and get ready to fight, the dancers begin to march across the stage in opposing directions. At this point, the clothing choice for the dancers is obvious — wearing red, white, and blue, they represent the American flag. They represent America moving in two directions as polarization begins to tear the country apart. The uniform marching is a stark contrast to that idea, representing the belief of each side, regardless of the direction they are going, that they are being patriotic and loyal to the country. 

It is also worth mentioning the order in which the colors filled the stage. First to appear were the dancers dressed in red, then those in white, and lastly the ones in blue. The red on the American flag represents bravery, the white purity, and the blue justice. It seems quite intentional that the colors appeared on the screen in that particular order, almost as if Lamar was pointing out how the country values a sense of “bravery” or nationalism above everything else, and, even worse, how the country’s apparent need for “purity” overrides its sense of “justice.”

To add to the heavy commentary, Lamar’s performance of “Squabble Up” is interrupted by Uncle Sam, who is standing angrily, stating that Lamar’s performance of the song is “too loud, too reckless, too… ghetto.” He goes on to ask whether Lamar “really know[s] how to play the game” and tells him to “tighten up.” 

Before analyzing the meaning of his spoken words, it is imperative to understand the reference that is being made by having Samuel L. Jackson portray Uncle Sam. Although some might know Jackson as Nick Fury or Jules Winnfield, the reference made is to his character Stephen in “Django Unchained” (2012). Stephen, an enslaved man who is deeply loyal to his repulsively racist owner, is one of the film’s antagonists, going against his people by following a brain-washed ideal of white supremacy. Jackson’s portrayal of Uncle Sam is distinctly similar to that of Stephen in terms of cadence of speech, tone, and the actual words he says. Like Stephen, Jackson’s Uncle Sam is a Black man working against his own race to be “American.” 

The words he speaks characterize this as well; he tells Lamar to stop being so “ghetto” and that his loudness works against the “American game.” By questioning whether Lamar knows how to play the game, Jackson’s Uncle Sam makes the point that in order to thrive in American society, minorities must not be “too loud” and must “tighten up” to fit the ideals of the powerful. 

In response to Uncle Sam’s remarks, rather than “tigthen[ing] up,” Lamar makes an even bolder statement. The camera swings past Uncle Sam to Lamar and his dancers, who have arranged themselves quite accurately as the American flag, down to the split in the middle. Lamar stands between the dancers, causing the split, allowing there to be a left and right side of the American flag. The meaning is clear: America is divided.

To top it off, Lamar proudly performs his song “Humble,” which serves as both a fan favorite and a reminder for the American public to stay humble amidst the feuding world and the anger that clouds today’s political landscape. 

Lamar goes on to play “DNA,” a reminder that he is American at heart and that the criticism that he is verbalizing is because he knows the country that he deserves and belongs to. As Lamar performs, he illuminates the stage, bringing a presence that ropes in the audience and gets the crowd moving to his rhythm. The rhythm does not stay flowing for too long, though, as Uncle Sam makes a return to comment that Lamar is using a “cultural cheat code” and to tell the “scorekeeper” to “deduct one life.”

This remark from Uncle Sam is particularly interesting because not only does it address the frequent accusation of “victimization” made against minorities, but presents a certain “scorekeeper,” as if there is one person keeping “score” in America, willing the nation to bend one way or another; someone with the power to “deduct” a life. The suggestion of that sort of fascist regime in America is a bold one to make in front of anyone, but especially in front of the country’s leader. If you agree with one point made in this article, let it be that Lamar is incredibly brave, braver than most artists or even politicians who have a platform today. 

Lamar continues with “Peekaboo,” dancing around on the x-shaped part of the game controller stage. As the song fades out, Lamar teases his infamous diss track “Not Like Us” by stating to the camera that he would love to play the audience’s “favorite song” but that some people “love to sue.” Although not a political statement, the line is a witty diss at Drake and his ongoing lawsuit against “Not Like Us” under the charges of defamation. For the hype it brings to the crowd, it had to be mentioned. Nice move, Kendrick. 

The stage is then stunned by the one and only SZA as Lamar and SZA perform “Luther” and “All the Stars.” SZA and Lamar’s duet is objectively amazing (I mean, did you see SZA’s dance moves?!) and is my favorite part of the show, as I have an emotional attachment to the song “All the Stars,” but it is also quieter, more tame, and more aligned with the halftime show tradition. Uncle Sam says as much at the end of their performance, exclaiming “That’s what America wants! Nice and calm!” He then warns Lamar about making another statement, saying, “Don’t mess this up.” The commentary is jarring as it forces the audience to consider whether they enjoyed the duet because it was “nice and calm” or because of its musicality. Lamar forces the audience to consider the idea that minorities are “loud,” “abrasive,” and “crass” and to reflect on what those ideas actually serve to do, which is to mitigate the impact and power of minority communities.

And, of course, in true political advocacy, Lamar ignores Uncle Sam’s warning and does indeed “mess it up.” Lamar gets messy by playing “Not Like Us,” bringing the Drake drama (and Drake’s ex, Serena Williams!) onto a national stage. But before he does that, he makes arguably his most powerful statement yet. As the camera pans away from Uncle Sam, Lamar is seen with his dancers, boldly stating, “It's a cultural divide, Imma get it on the floor.” When the backup dancers ask if he’s “really about to do it,” Lamar responds, “Forty acres and a mule, this is bigger than the music.”

To anyone unfamiliar with U.S. history, after the Civil War, it was said that formerly enslaved people would be given land and sustenance as reparations for their trauma and to help them build a new life. The message was advertised by saying that they would receive “forty acres and a mule.” However, after President Lincoln was assassinated, Andrew Johnson’s administration took back that promise and refused to give them their dues. This broken promise has led to a disparagingly large wealth and land ownership gap between white and Black Americans today, and the phrase “forty acres and a mule” now represents broken promises made to minorities. 

Now, it is strikingly clear that Lamar is trying to get minorities to rise up. By citing “forty acres and a mule” and stating that “this is bigger than the music,” Lamar tells his audience to look beyond the songs and entertainment and to remember all the broken promises made to them. Lamar reminds the audience to not get so involved in the gilded distractions of the media that they forget what they are owed and how they should be treated. He goes on to say that “they tried to rig the game, but you can’t fake influence,” further reminding the audience that all the distraction and power in the world cannot stop the power of the masses, so the audience needs to look past “the music.” 

The idea that “the game” is rigged is furthered by the visual implication of the dancers around Lamar falling to the ground, except for the ones in the inner circle, who remain alive and standing. The powerful, Lamar shows, are trying to control everyone else and protect only themselves. But “influence,” he reminds the audience, cannot be faked. Power lies in unity.

To end his hefty performance, Lamar closes out with the song “TV Off,” a last address that slyly tells the audience to turn the distractions off, to “turn the TV off” and focus on the political and economic crisis going on around them. Nothing is “bigger” than social justice, and Lamar instructs the audience, with whom he has built such a connection with, to turn their distractions off and not be passive watchers as history unfolds. Just as he made history with his performance, Lamar’s parting message to viewers is to go out, be loud, mess up the system, and make history.