Kendrick Lamar - Somebody That I Used To Know -... Info

We live in an era of the “mashup” and the “cover,” but some artistic collisions exist only in our collective imagination. One such phantom track that refuses to leave my brain is this: Kendrick Lamar performing a rendition of Gotye’s 2011 indie-pop masterpiece, “Somebody That I Used to Know.”

The beat wouldn't be the bouncy, twee xylophone of the original. Mike WiLL Made-It would flip it. That iconic dun-dun-dun-dun would be pitched down into a low, thrumming 808 sub-bass—something that sounds like a panic attack in a car with the windows up. Kendrick Lamar - Somebody That I Used To Know -...

That would be a funeral for a former self. What do you think? Could Kendrick pull off the melancholy of Gotye, or is this a bridge too far? Drop your dream mashup in the comments. We live in an era of the “mashup”

He wouldn't sing about a romantic partner. He would sing about Whitney (his fiancée), or Top Dawg (his former label head), or even the old Kendrick —the “Compton Humble” persona he killed on To Pimp a Butterfly . “I saw you walkin' down the street at the Grammy party / You looked right through me like I was still writin' in the dark / You said ‘K. Dot, you sold your soul for the industry arc.’ / Nah, baby. I just grew up. You stayed in the park.” The chorus would hit differently. Instead of a whimper, it would be a growl . Kendrick doesn't do passive resentment. He does biblical fury. “Now you're just somebody that I used to know... / But you forget the blood we bled to build that road / You took the picture frame, but left the crucifix / Now I'm standin' at the altar with a loaded paradox.” The Kimbra Verse: A Necessary Counterpoint In the original, Kimbra’s bridge is the killer: “You say that we are nothing but you still hold my hand.” That iconic dun-dun-dun-dun would be pitched down into

In the Kendrick version, this verse wouldn't be a female singer. It would be —perhaps sampled from a voicemail left by a real person in his past, or voiced by SZA in her most wounded, accusatory register.

But the exercise matters because it reveals a truth about both artists: It’s about the horror of looking at a face you once kissed, or a city you once repped, or a version of yourself you once loved—and feeling absolutely nothing except a dull, metallic ache.

Kendrick Lamar has spent a decade singing that exact ache over jazz beats and funk basslines. To hear him sing it over those four iconic xylophone notes? That wouldn't just be a cover.