The lights dimmed. The crowd hushed. A silver car gleamed center stage at New Orleans’ Caesars Superdome. Samuel L. Jackson, cloaked as Uncle Sam, smirked into the mic: “Salutations!” The air crackled with anticipation. Kendrick Lamar, fresh off five Grammy sweeps, stood poised to make history. But as the first bars of Not Like Us thundered, the Super Bowl’s halftime show didn’t just break the internet—it shattered expectations.

On February 9, Kendrick Lamar became the first solo rapper to headline the Super Bowl halftime show. Yet within minutes, critics branded it the “worst halftime show ever” (Daily Mail US). Lamar opened atop a car, weaving hits like Humble and DNA with unapologetic jabs at Drake. At one point he launched into peekaboo but not without teasing fans with what they were probably waiting for. ““I wanna play their favorite song but you know they love to sue,” the 37-year-old said while referencing Drake.

The New York Times’ Jon Caramanica was one of the people who lent their voices to the growing dissent. In an article headlined, “Kendrick Lamar Uses His Super Bowl Halftime Show to Settle a Vendetta,” the journalist wrote at least 200 words pointing out everything that went wrong during the Lamar show.

The Pulitzer prize winning rapper tweaked lyrics from Not Like Us—a diss track central to Drake’s defamation lawsuit against Universal Music Group—removing lines like “p-doph-le” and the n-word, but kept lines like “Say Drake, I hear you like them young.” 

Backed by dancers forming a red, white, and blue flag, Lamar’s choreography screamed patriotism. The crowd?

Mostly silent. The performance wasn’t just art—it was a legal tightrope. Days earlier, Lamar won Grammys for Not Like Us, which Drake claims defames him as a “certified p-dop–le.” Despite omitting the explicit term, Lamar doubled down on innuendo. “He won’t back down,” a source told The US Sun. Legal experts weighed in. Yet Lamar’s defiance electrified fans.

Serena Williams, once linked to Drake, was spotted crip-walking to the track. Samuel L. Jackson’s theatrical intro—“Too loud, too reckless, too ghetto”—framed Lamar’s set as a rebellion. SZA joined for Luther and All the Stars, her crimson outfit blazing against Lamar’s blue-jeaned grit. But political undertones simmered.

A protester waving a Palestine flag stormed the stage, swiftly tackled by security. Cameras missed it; the crowd didn’t. “Storytelling. I think I’ve always been very open about storytelling through all my catalog and my history of music,” Lamar had told Apple Music days prior. Critics argued the story got lost in spectacle.

“Turn this TV off”: a finale that fueled fury

As Lamar closed with Tv Off, one fan tweeted: “He should have told us that at the beginning of the performance.” The backlash was swift. “That was the worst halftime show ever,” trended, eclipsing even the Eagles’ historic 40-22 win over the Chiefs. Yet Lamar’s camp stayed defiant. “He’s elevating the game,” wrote a fan. Critics weren’t swayed. “Where was the joy?” asked some. But Lamar’s vision was clear.

Elevate hip-hop’s “true art form” beyond “catchy song or verse.” Yet reviews split. “It puts culture at the forefront,” he’d insisted. Detractors called it disjointed. Supporters hailed bravery. A fan noted, “He turned dissent into drama.” Meanwhile, Drake’s lawsuit looms, alleging UMG exploited “inflammatory allegations” for profit.

Lamar’s Grammy-winning track, with 194 million Spotify streams, remains a legal grenade. But his gamble split the room. Was it a flawed masterpiece or a misfire?

The numbers tilt toward legacy: Not Like Us topped Billboard for 14 weeks, and his Grand National Tour with SZA sold out in hours. Yet the halftime show’s polarizing reception underscores a truth: Provocation has a price. As Drake’s lawsuit trudges on, Lamar’s halftime act—a mix of defiance and dissonance—remains a Rorschach test for culture.

In the end, Kendrick Lamar didn’t just play the Super Bowl. He challenged it. Love it or loathe it, the conversation—about art, audacity, and accountability—is just beginning. And as the lights faded, one thing was clear: Hip-hop’s king had reignited the throne—on his own terms.