Kendrick Lamar’s Halftime Show Is the Final Nail in Drake’s Coffin

Admit it: You could’ve imagined Drake doing this first. Aubrey Graham is practically built for the Super Bowl halftime show. His live performances have always felt Vegas-adjacent, and his catalog is massive, diverse, catchy, and largely inoffensive. Factor in his popularity—76 million monthly listeners on Spotify alone—and Drake seems like everything the NFL would want for the second Sunday in February.

Never one for modesty, Drake seemed to believe this himself. On last year’s “First Person Shooter,” he crafted a chorus around the idea that he’s as big as the Super Bowl by his lonesome. Sure, the line was a bit of a groaner (aren’t a lot of his lyrics?), but in October 2023, the idea of Drake taking the Apple-sponsored center stage didn’t sound so far-fetched.

Well, we can safely add the Super Bowl shout-out to Drake’s long list of regrets about “First Person Shooter.” On Sunday, his nemesis—the current prince of the music industry and the perma-mayor of Los Angeles—Kendrick Lamar, announced in his typically cryptic way that he’ll headline the Super Bowl LIX halftime show. It’s the capstone to a year that’s seen Kendrick ascend to the highest levels of pop culture. It’s also the final shovel of dirt on Drake’s grave.

To recap, in case you’ve been locked in the same bunker as Jim Downey: After years of a hip-hop cold war between Drake and Kendrick, the light provocations of “First Person Shooter”—where Drake and collaborator J. Cole had the audacity to suggest they were in the same class as Kendrick—kick-started an all-out nuclear attack.

First came Kendrick’s team-up with Future and Metro Boomin on “Like That”—which, despite K.dot’s promises to bury Drake, now feels like gentle ribbing. But after Drake responded, Kendrick broke out the big guns: “Euphoria,” a seven-minute evisceration of Drake’s character. “Meet the Grahams,” an open letter to Drake’s son, mother, and the rapper himself that reads more like a RICO indictment than a battle rap. And, of course, “Not Like Us,” probably the only no. 1 song in Billboard history built around calling someone a pedophile. It was the song of the summer by any reasonable measure (sorry, “Espresso”; sorry, Chappell and Charli) and immediately one of the best diss tracks ever recorded. (In May, three days after its release, we ranked it the seventh-best diss track of all time. In hindsight, we were off by five or six spots.)

On Juneteenth, Kendrick assembled an all-star cast of L.A. luminaries to dance on Drake’s grave at the Pop-Out show. At a sold-out Forum in Inglewood—as millions more watched on Amazon and followed along on Twitter—Kendrick performed “Not Like Us” five times, stopping occasionally to let the crowd stretch the “A-minor” line into what felt like eternity. If that wasn’t embarrassing enough for the crooning Canadian, Kendrick also brought out Raptors legend DeMar DeRozan to help celebrate. One can imagine Drake watching and smashing a crystal chalice against the marble floor of his North York mansion as OVO Fred runs to grab the broom.

The Pop-Out felt like a final victory lap for an artist who had vanquished his rival in stunning fashion. But now we’re almost certainly ensured at least one more run on an even bigger stage. In February at the Superdome, Kendrick will likely roll out a set that peaks with or culminates in “Not Like Us.” While we don’t know how he’ll handle some of the spicier lyrics (it’s hard to imagine the censors loving the “69 god” outro), we can only assume that 100 million-plus people will tune in to watch yet another Drake funeral. The biggest question is which L.A. football legends he’ll bring out. DeSean Jackson? Tyron Smith? Ronnie Lott?

It’s impossible to overstate what this feud has done for K.dot’s career. No one ever doubted his artistry or commercial viability. (The one Drake line that truly landed during the beef: “Kendrick just opened his mouth, someone go hand him a Grammy right now.”) But despite billions of streams and a fistful of plaques, Kendrick was always a step or two behind Drake in sales. (For perspective, Kendrick has 25 platinum-certified songs. Drake has 80, 31 more than Taylor Swift.) Kendrick was popular—he was big enough to make a guest appearance in the ensemble Interscope/Death Row halftime show in 2022—but the thought of him headlining one of these himself felt like a backpack rap fan’s fever dream.

This was fine, of course; Drake was chasing Elvis and the Beatles while Kendrick was chasing Tupac and Eckhart Tolle. Both rappers had their lanes, and they were clearly defined. But the beef in general—and “Not Like Us” specifically—has bridged that gap, if not obliterated it entirely. As of Sunday, Kendrick’s monthly listeners on Spotify—The Ringer’s parent company—stood at 68 million, a shade below Drake’s 76 million. Four months after its release, “Not Like Us” has shown massive staying power. (It was no. 12 on Spotify’s daily U.S. charts on Sunday, while “Like That” sneaked back in at no. 50. Drake, meanwhile, was nowhere to be found.)

Now, Kendrick becomes one of the most unlikely Super Bowl headliners we’ve ever had. He’s the first solo hip-hop artist to earn the coveted spot and just the fourth overall, after the aforementioned Dre-Snoop-Eminem old-timers gig, the cursed 2004 show (where Diddy and Nelly shared top billing with Janet Jackson and Justin Timberlake), and the Black Eyed Peas in 2011 (who, all due respect, qualify for this short list only on a technicality). He’s also one of the most vital and contemporary artists to ever take this stage: Aside from the Weeknd in 2021, the past decade of headliners has featured either safe pop plays (Lady Gaga, Maroon 5, Justin Timberlake) or legacy artists (Usher, Shakira and Jennifer Lopez, Rihanna—who, let’s face it, may never put out another record). Kendrick was the most interesting possible choice on the board. After the year he’s had, he may have also been the most logical.

For Drake, meanwhile, the announcement of Kendrick’s Super Bowl performance feels like another low point in his no good, very bad year. His back catalog is enough to keep him rich for the rest of his life, but his attempts to regain his footing in the past few months have fallen flat. His 100GB “data dump” and the three new songs that came out of it have gone largely ignored, as did his two collaborations with fellow pop pariah Camila Cabello. His most high-profile moment since bowing out of the beef with the disastrous “The Heart Part 6” has been a Ras Trent impersonation that people hoped was AI. The biggest artist of his generation is lost, knocked off his axis by an opponent he had been itching to face but was still totally unprepared for. The credibility he’s sought has seemingly slipped from his grasp forever, and his iron-clad grip on the mainstream has loosened as a result. He’s now the living embodiment of an old, wise proverb: Don’t start none, won’t be none.

Somehow, Drake’s become everything the NFL wouldn’t want to put under its brightest lights, a thought that seemed unthinkable 11 months ago. Maybe it’s time we now admit this: Despite the success, the accolades, and the catalog that seemed destined to one day anchor a Super Bowl, doesn’t it now seem like Drake is further away from that stage than ever?