Kendrick Lamar’s Super Bowl Show Wasn’t Just a Performance : It Was a Warning ... A Revolution Televised at the Great American Game - Part 1
- Kari Thomas
- Feb 12
- 17 min read
Kendrick Lamar’s Super Bowl LIX Halftime Show wasn’t just a performance - it was a statement, layered with political undertones, industry callouts, and cryptic imagery that set conspiracy theorists and analysts alike on fire. As one of the most politically conscious artists of his generation, Lamar has never shied away from using his platform to speak on issues of race, power, and control. But this time, he did more than just perform - he crafted an intricate visual and lyrical puzzle. One that blurred the lines between entertainment, protest, and conspiracy.
From the moment Lamar stepped onto a stage designed to resemble a giant PlayStation controller, the audience was hit with a dual message : a direct nod to gaming culture, but also a possible reference to the control and survival themes of Squid Game - a show built on the idea of the powerless being manipulated for the entertainment of the elite. Was Lamar suggesting that the music industry -or even society at large- operates on similar principles? Was this an artistic representation of the illusion of choice?
And that was just the beginning.
With Uncle Sam whispering cryptic lines in his ear, Serena Williams making an eight-count appearance packed with layered significance, and a protest moment that wasn’t broadcast live - every second of this show demanded a closer look.
This wasn’t just a halftime show. It was a message. And we’re about to break it all down.
The PlayStation - Squid Game Connection: Unmasking the Symbolism
The PlayStation controller stage design at Kendrick Lamar's Super Bowl LIX Halftime Show is an incredibly loaded piece of imagery. At first glance, it seems like a simple homage to gaming culture or a reference to pop culture’s obsession with gaming - but as we dig deeper, it's easy to uncover layers of potential political and social commentary.
From the way Sony’s grip on both gaming and music sets the stage for cultural dominance, to the eerie parallel with Squid Game's fatal stakes, Lamar’s performance encapsulates the tension between the individual and the system. And when we bring Drake into the mix - an artist whose career has been so heavily shaped by Sony - it becomes clear that Kendrick’s performance is about more than just a visual choice ; it’s about creating a dialogue on control, manipulation, and the game itself.
Let’s look a little deeper into these…
PlayStation as a Stage for Power Dynamics :
When the PlayStation controller emerges as the central stage motif, it’s hard to ignore its symbolic potential. The controller is essentially a tool of control. It gives the player the ability to navigate a virtual world, and often, players become participants in hyper-real worlds, where their choices shape their reality - sometimes, the line between control and manipulation blurs. What if this stage is pointing to the ways we, the masses, are all controlled by these larger structures? Could the controller be a visual metaphor for how society is managed by powerful forces?
This all gets deeper when we consider the connection to Squid Game, the global phenomenon that’s been a cultural touchstone since its release. The show’s premise revolves around games where players risk their lives for a chance at wealth, often governed by manipulative forces behind the scenes. The stage’s PlayStation motif might be sending a subtle message about how our lives are like these games : seemingly random, violent, and ultimately controlled by unseen powers, but played on a larger, far-reaching system.
Could this connection reflect the power dynamics that Kendrick is exploring in his performance - how the powers that be manipulate the masses through subtle means? The visual link between PlayStation -a symbol of entertainment and control- and Squid Games -with its disturbing depiction of class struggle- creates a haunting intersection that questions the true cost of the game we are all part of.
Drake and Sony : The Music Industry’s PlayStation Connection
The PlayStation controller isn't just a gaming reference ; it’s also an entry point into a much bigger conversation about Sony's dominance in the entertainment industry. Sony is not just a tech giant ; it owns a massive chunk of the music industry as well. With that in mind, let’s consider the link to Drake.
Drake’s relationship with Sony is well-documented - his record label, OVO Sound, is heavily partnered with Sony Music. Drake, who himself has spoken about feeling like he's been playing the game, represents the apex of success within the entertainment industry, where music, marketing, and technology converge. The PlayStation controller could be a direct nod to Drake’s position as a product of this all-encompassing entertainment machine. The “game” he's playing isn't just about chart-topping hits - it’s about navigating the complex corporate structures that control media and culture, much like how the players in Squid Game are playing in a system that’s rigged against them from the start.
So, when Kendrick uses the PlayStation controller as a stage motif, there might be an acknowledgment that both he and Drake (and by extension, all artists under Sony's umbrella) are part of the same “game.” But unlike Squid Game, where survival is the goal, the real stakes for these artists are about staying relevant and maintaining control over their artistic output in an industry where corporate giants wield the controller.
Uncle Sam’s Lines & Their Implications : Political Commentary on the American Game
Before we dive into Uncle Sam's lines, it's essential to understand the symbolic weight that Samuel L. Jackson, the actor behind the iconic portrayal, carries within the context of American history. Jackson is more than just a Hollywood legend - he’s been a vocal figure in discussions around race and culture, especially in the face of racially charged moments throughout much of American history. His involvement in the Super Bowl LIX Halftime Show as Uncle Sam adds an additional layer of meaning, linking the performance to deep-rooted struggles for racial justice and the legacy of Black resistance.
Jackson's personal connection to pivotal moments in American history further underscores the gravity of his portrayal of Uncle Sam. Notably, he served as an usher at the funeral of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. - a historic event that marked the loss of one of the most significant figures in the fight for civil rights. This act alone places Jackson in a long line of people who have been on the frontlines of racial struggle, witnessing and participating in the evolution of America’s relationship with race.
His long career, filled with roles that challenge stereotypes and give voice to marginalized perspectives, cements him as a cultural heavyweight. By casting Jackson as Uncle Sam, Kendrick is not just referencing an American symbol ; he’s acknowledging the man who has often used his platform to critique and reshape the narrative around race, power, and identity in America. In doing so, Kendrick amplifies the tension between the image of American patriotism represented by Uncle Sam and the realities of systemic inequality and racial struggles that Jackson’s own life has reflected.
With this in mind, let’s examine the powerful lines that follow - delivered by Jackson as Uncle Sam. These lines are not just words : they carry the weight of America’s long-standing racial tensions and the persistent struggle for equality.
"This is the Great American Game"
This line immediately sets the stage. Uncle Sam frames the whole spectacle as the American game - a system that dictates how people must perform, what they must value, and who gets to win. By calling it a "game," Uncle Sam reveals the entire structure as a set of arbitrary rules that determine who succeeds and who is left behind. It’s a reminder of how America often reduces complex issues to simplistic, competitive dynamics - where the stakes aren’t always about fairness, but rather about who can best play the game.
"No No No. Too Loud. Too Reckless. Too Ghetto. Do You Really Know How to Play the Game? Then Tighten Up."
Uncle Sam’s criticism here cuts deep, tapping into the way American society often dismisses Blackness and working-class culture as "too loud," "too reckless," and "too ghetto." The implication is that to succeed within this system, people are expected to conform to a narrow and palatable version of respectability that fits within the expectations of those in power.
This line speaks directly to the way Black culture has been co-opted by mainstream media, yet still faces backlash when it steps outside the boundaries of what is deemed acceptable. Uncle Sam isn’t just questioning whether Kendrick can "play the game" - he’s questioning whether Kendrick can do so without challenging the very structure that defines success in America. It’s a subtle yet powerful reminder of the double standards Black artists face in the entertainment industry and society at large.
"Ahh. I See You Brought the Homeboys With You. Cultural Cheat Code. Scorekeeper, Deduct One Life."
This moment further underscores the tension between authenticity and respectability. Uncle Sam acknowledges Kendrick’s "homeboys" - but tries to diminish their power by labeling them as a “cultural cheat code.” It’s a jab at how culture is often commodified, where elements of Black culture can be celebrated in a diluted form but are still dismissed when they come from the wrong sources or don’t fit within the box that mainstream culture has created. But here’s the twist: Kendrick flips this idea by invoking "cultural cheat code" in a way that shows how Black culture isn’t just something to be consumed - it’s a code that can unlock success in ways that go beyond what the system allows.
The "scorekeeper" is the institution - the authority that controls success in America. But when Uncle Sam says, "Deduct One Life," the stakes escalate from mere failure to something far more sinister. This isn’t just about losing status ; it’s about losing life. In America, Black lives have historically been devalued, and this line emphasizes the lethal consequences of stepping outside the prescribed norms. The dehumanization of Black people is framed here as a direct result of the system that penalizes them for simply existing as their true selves.
By calling out the "cultural cheat code" and "deducting one life," Kendrick and Uncle Sam aren’t just critiquing a game of success - they’re revealing the stakes of a rigged system that doesn’t allow for authenticity unless it’s controlled, commodified, or even erased. This line powerfully underscores the ways Black culture has been both exploited and punished, reflecting the very real dangers of living outside the expectations imposed by a racially biased society. It’s not just about succeeding in America - it’s about surviving it, and the cost of survival is often your very humanity.
"Yeah! That’s What I’m Talking About. That’s What America Wants. Nice... Calm... You’re Almost There... Don’t Mess This—"
Uncle Sam’s initial enthusiasm seems like a form of approval, but it’s an approval that’s hollow and based solely on conformity. Uncle Sam is acknowledging Kendrick's performance, but only in terms of how it fits the neat, marketable image that American culture is comfortable with. This “America” here is less about the people and more about the system - the political, economic, and social structures that control the narrative and dictate who gets to succeed and in what ways. These words reflect the tension between authenticity and the pressure to "play nice" within the rules of the system. Uncle Sam wants Kendrick to "calm down," to be less disruptive, and to fit neatly into the box that America has carved out for artists - one that doesn’t ruffle too many feathers or challenge the way things are. This is the moment where Kendrick is told he’s "almost there" because he’s playing the game, but the warning not to "mess this up" reveals how easily the system can strip him of his success if he steps outside the accepted boundaries.
And then a shift happens. A transition into one of Kendrick’s most powerful lines of the performance.
"It’s a Cultural Divide, / I’m Gonna Get It on the Floor. / 40 Acres and a Mule, / This Is More Than Just the Music. / They Tried to Rig the Game, / But You Can’t Fake Influence."
Uncle Sam’s attempt to rein Kendrick in is abruptly interrupted by Kendrick himself, who goes from playing by the rules to breaking them wide open. The "cultural divide" he refers to is the disconnect between the performance of respectability and the unfiltered reality of his experience and his community’s reality.
The line "40 acres and a mule," ties directly back to the historic promise made to formerly enslaved people, a promise that was never fulfilled. Kendrick is reminding America that the promises of equity and justice have always been incomplete. This moment in the performance is an exclamation point on the failures of the system that tries to control and suppress Black influence. And when he says “this is more than just the music,” he’s making it clear that his message transcends his art. The music is merely the vehicle, but the message it carries - about history, injustice, and resistance - is what truly matters. This line reinforces the idea that Kendrick’s voice is not just entertainment, but an active part of the cultural movement for change, giving him a platform to highlight the persistent struggles of Black Americans.
The statement "They tried to rig the game, but you can’t fake influence" is a declaration of independence from the system that tries to control Kendrick’s narrative and image. It’s about power, influence, and the unshakeable truth that Kendrick and his culture can’t be suppressed or manipulated by external forces, no matter how hard they try.
Kendrick’s interruption of Uncle Sam is a symbolic act of defiance - a refusal to be constrained by the limits that the system (embodied by Uncle Sam here) tries to impose on him. As Uncle Sam begins to tell him how to play the game, Kendrick interrupts with a declaration that pushes the conversation from superficial success to the heart of the struggle. The timing of Kendrick’s cut-off is deliberate and revealing. He’s not just rejecting Uncle Sam’s advice to “calm down” and “play nice.” He’s drawing a hard line between the fabricated, shallow version of success Uncle Sam wants and the deeper, revolutionary call for social justice and change.
This wasn’t the only time Kendrick’s lines blew the lid off the performance. After Uncle Sam’s final attempt to box in the revolution - trying to guide Kendrick into a controlled, palatable version of resistance - Kendrick flips the script. He rips the mic away from the "great American game" and straight into the chaos of real rebellion. No more playing nice or bending to anyone’s agenda. Kendrick’s words are a raw, untamed force, cutting through the polished illusions of media and power. This is where the revolution shifts from a neatly packaged concept to something dangerous, something unapologetically real. Kendrick doesn’t just take the stage - he owns it, dropping the gloves and throwing punches at the systems that try to sanitize real change.
“The revolution about to be televised. You picked the right time, but the wrong guy…”
When Kendrick opens his performance with “The revolution about to be televised. You picked the right time, but the wrong guy," he’s not only claiming his own revolutionary moment - but also invoking a direct call back to Scott-Heron’s famous line. The key difference? Scott-Heron's statement was an assertion that the media would never capture the true essence of revolution - that the change would happen outside the sanitized gaze of the television camera, in the streets, in movements that went unnoticed by mainstream outlets.
By flipping it with “The revolution about to be televised,” Kendrick is both acknowledging the media's role in shaping public perception and confronting it head-on. He’s saying that this revolution, his revolution, will be broadcast loud and clear, but it won’t be controlled by the same systems that Scott-Heron critiqued. Instead, Kendrick is taking that power back, shifting the narrative, and positioning himself as the figure who will redefine what gets televised.
In this line he is making a deliberate, high-stakes declaration. The phrase “the revolution about to be televised” references the idea that mass media, for all its power, can’t control the movement of true revolutionary change - it’s always going to be in the spotlight, but whether that spotlight illuminates the truth or simply sanitizes it is a different story. This line suggests that a revolution, no matter how necessary or urgent, is something that can easily be manipulated by those in power to fit their own narrative—media outlets and elites who package dissent for easy consumption.
The second part - "You picked the right time, but the wrong guy." - adds a sharp personal twist. It's a statement not just about the broader socio-political moment, but about Kendrick himself. He’s positioning himself as the figure who will not be controlled. He’s saying that now is the right time for revolution, but those who are in power have misjudged who they’re up against. The "wrong guy" isn't just about Kendrick rejecting the role they've assigned to him - it's a declaration that he won’t play into their hands. Instead, he’ll rewrite the rules and push the limits of the conversation.
The transition into Squabble Up (a track that’s both a physical and emotional brawl) emphasizes Kendrick’s willingness to get in the trenches of resistance. “Squabble” in this context refers to conflict - not just personal, but collective. The song’s raw, aggressive energy mirrors the defiance he expressed in the opening lines. Where the revolution might be televised, Kendrick is showing us that the real work happens in the gritty, messy realities of resistance. "Squabble Up" aligns with this idea, delivering the soundscape of a protest that doesn’t fit into a neat box - it’s chaotic, loud, and full of raw energy.
This track reinforces Kendrick's stance against co-opting the revolution into something palatable for mainstream consumption. It’s not about a clean, controlled image - it’s about unfiltered conflict and standing strong, even when things get messy. The rawness of the song punctuates his message : revolution is never neat, and it’s never pretty.
After Uncle Sam’s admonition to Kendrick, saying, “Tighten up”, the scene shifts dramatically back to Kendrick and his dancers in the formation of a flag - split in half, surrounding him in the middle. It’s a visual that’s almost like an attempt at appeasement. In this moment, Kendrick seems to humor the request to “tighten up,” embodying that controlled, almost submissive space Uncle Sam wants him to occupy. But it’s short-lived.
The tension builds as Kendrick’s dancers march forward, their formation advancing with precision. The flag -split in half- is a visual sign of division and it looms over the stage. And then, the harsh, jarring sound of a mouthed gunshots breaks the stillness “BlratBlratBlrat” shocking everyone into action. It’s a sharp reminder of the brutal stakes of the revolution Kendrick is igniting. This energy shifts as Kendrick transitions seamlessly into DNA. The opening lines, “I got loyalty, got royalty inside my DNA,” feel even more charged in this context. The “loyalty” Kendrick speaks of isn’t just to any flag or nation - it’s a loyalty to his roots, his people, and the unyielding truth of his experiences. It’s a loyalty that can’t be faked or silenced, unlike the ideals Uncle Sam attempts to enforce. The song serves as both a personal affirmation and a societal declaration of power, identity, and resistance.
But then, in a moment of reflection - perhaps caught between the weight of his message and the intense emotions surging through him - Kendrick suddenly falters. As he’s about to say “I wish I was dead…” - a potentially bleak admission of the toll revolution and resistance can take on a person - he stops himself. There’s a palpable snap back into focus as Kendrick quickly cuts the sentiment off with a “hold up”. This brief but crucial pause is filled with weight. It’s as though Kendrick is reminding himself not to fall into despair or the deeper, darker thoughts that often accompany such fierce resistance. Instead, he redirects his energy, reasserting control over the narrative, and moves forward with the strength and urgency that defines him.
After "DNA," the energy shifts again as Kendrick transitions into "Euphoria." It’s a stunning moment, one that underscores the contrasting emotions running through the performance. The song encapsulates the euphoric highs of rebellion, of living in defiance, yet it’s impossible to ignore the underlying tension that the performance continuously teases.
This leads us into “Man at the Garden,” with its haunting line, “Flip a coin, you want the dangerous me or the famous me?” Here, Kendrick is wrestling with two identities: the artist fighting for his truth and the figure commodified by fame. The internal conflict is palpable, and it’s in this moment that Uncle Sam reappears, his voice reminding Kendrick of the rules : “I see you brought your homeboys … Deduct one life.” The line’s chilling implication is that the cost of defying the established system isn’t just symbolic - it’s personal, it’s visceral. To stand up, to live truthfully, means risking your very existence.
This stark reminder of the stakes is almost immediately followed by the playful, yet biting “Peek-A-Boo” section. The switch in tone is jarring but intentional, as Kendrick steps out of the intense social commentary for a moment of levity. However, it’s a clever juxtaposition, a moment to underscore just how fickle the entertainment industry can be. Right after “Peek-A-Boo,” Kendrick segues into a brief moment where he teases performing his audience’s “favorite song,” only to cut himself off with a knowing chuckle : “But you know they love to sue… yeah, that song.” This is a direct reference to his ongoing legal issues with Drake, one of the industry's most commercially successful artists. It’s a wink to the legal battles that have clouded Kendrick’s career - a complex and ongoing fight for artistic ownership and personal expression. This line is a reminder of the behind-the-scenes struggles, the tension between the commercial side of music and the creative rebellion Kendrick represents.
After this playful moment, everyone in the audience is primed for Kendrick to launch into “Not Like Us,” anticipating another aggressive anthem. But in a brilliant move of unpredictability, Kendrick flips the script. Instead of a typical crowd-pleaser, he transitions into “Luther” and “All the Stars” featuring SZA. The choice is layered with meaning: “Luther” evokes the legacy of the legendary singer Luther Vandross, while “All the Stars” is a song deeply rooted in themes of unity, self-realization, and the personal struggles that come with rising to stardom.
This is SZA’s moment to shine. As the song unfolds, her presence on stage, paired with Kendrick’s, is more than just a musical collaboration. It’s a visual and emotional statement about the intersection of their voices and the importance of black artistry in both the mainstream and revolutionary contexts. SZA’s vocal performance is both haunting and empowering, adding layers to the song’s exploration of self-worth, the price of fame, and the fight for agency in a world that constantly tries to define you. Kendrick’s choice to bring her into this moment speaks volumes about their shared struggle for authenticity in an industry built on spectacle.
After SZA’s emotional and powerful performance on “Luther” and “All the Stars,” the tone shifts once more - and Uncle Sam makes his return. His voice cuts through the energy of the moment with an all-too-familiar directive : “This is what America wants. Nice, calm… don’t mess this up!”
It’s a chilling contrast to the raw emotion Kendrick and SZA just shared. While Kendrick’s music and SZA’s vocals echo the themes of self-realization and unity, Uncle Sam’s line tries to reel things back in - once again demanding control over the narrative. This moment is an unmistakable reminder of the constant pressure to conform, to fit into the neat box of what the mainstream expects. “Nice” and “calm” are the keywords here - they represent the sanitized version of success that America loves : palatable, marketable, and easily digestible.
But for Kendrick, this demand is not just about fitting into a mold - it’s about stifling his truth. The moment is a reminder of the tension that exists between artistry and commercialization, between revolution and compliance. Uncle Sam’s voice, in its patronizing simplicity, is the ultimate tool of control, trying to undermine the complexity and urgency of Kendrick’s message. “Don’t mess this up” is less a command and more a warning. It’s the system trying to silence the voice of dissent before it’s too loud, too powerful, too impossible to ignore.
…and this is where Kendrick decides to stop playing so nice.
It’s a Cultural Divide, / I’m Gonna Get It on the Floor. / 40 Acres and a Mule, / This Is More Than Just the Music. / They Tried to Rig the Game, / But You Can’t Fake Influence.
Even with all that Kendrick laid bare up until this point - the performance wasn’t finished. Not yet. Because after all the build-up, the power plays, the symbolism, and the warnings - he still had one final message to deliver. And when he did, it wasn’t just a song. It was a reckoning.
As the curtains fall on this portion of our deep dive into Kendrick Lamar's Super Bowl LIX Halftime Show, one thing is clear - this performance is far more than just a spectacle. It’s a multifaceted commentary on culture, power, and rebellion, with each scene offering a puzzle piece that demands careful thought. But we’ve only scratched the surface.
In the next part of our analysis, we’ll explore how Serena Williams’ brief, yet powerful appearance speaks volumes about influence and representation. We’ll unpack the role of Mustard, a key figure whose presence goes beyond what meets the eye. We'll examine the controversial flag protest, and the eerie moments of censorship that highlight the hidden manipulation of broadcast media. Then, we’ll take a closer look at a couple of striking still shots - one capturing the haunting image of dead dancers, and another that could reveal hidden patterns or even secret codes embedded within.
Stay tuned for part two where we will peel back even more layers of meaning - moving from the visible to the more hidden, and from the stage to the deeper message Kendrick is sending to the world. This revolution is just getting started, and you won’t want to miss what comes next. We will break down the last explosive moments of Kendrick’s halftime performance. From Drake’s call-out by name, to the meaning behind Serena Williams’ blink-and-you’ll-miss-it appearance - from the broadcast manipulation, to the chilling weight of Not Like Us - there’s still so much more to uncover.
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