IT’S THE — no, sorry, now we’re in serious mode…

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[7.44]

Iain Mew: A bar band are tuning up. Kendrick staggers to his feet, probably knocking over his chair, and rushes up to the stage to share his pain. People look up from their drinks in shock and suspicion, but he carries on regardless, barely even noticing them there or keeping things together. He repeats himself imploringly until the band are forced to play along and kick up a tune to go with him, and his compelling performance starts to win everyone over. BJ steps up, pushes him aside with a look which says “I know I’m much better than that” and turns in a technically impressive enough performance to wake up the muso drummer. Everyone else sighs and goes back to their drink.
[5]

Brad Shoup: “And we know than in all things God works for the good of those who love him.” BJ and Kendrick decided to Crashify the concept; we strain to spot all of Chekhov’s guns before the picturebook gets closed. Kendrick sticks to the conversational register, cracking and obsessing over phrases, doing the dramatic work that should have rendered the sax unnecessary. BJ ends up pulling feature duties on a first-billed’s salary, which is nice work if you can get it.
[6]

Jonathan Bradley: The story is less absorbing than the subtle flourishes in the arrangement: the way the wandering bass and jazzy piano noodling could be a diegetic accompaniment to Lamar’s monologue, ostensibly easing off the emotional tension even while it ratchets it up with incongruity. Or the way Lamar hides the cracks and strains in his voice just poorly enough to make them seem unavoidable. Or the way the mise-en-scène coheres into a fully developed song when the boom-bap drums arrive, with BJ’s smooth vocal in tow, and melts just as rapidly into background again when they leave. Rap as storytelling, sure, but also rap as soundtrack, or just rap as the ever-present backdrop to life. “His Pain” creates a space that’s empty enough to fall into.
[8]

Alfred Soto: The cocktail piano and standup bass signify a yearning for class and distinction, both of which I’ll accept if Lamar and BJ offered something besides musical taxidermy. Besides, the music can’t support the repetition of lyrics, let alone scant ones.
[6]

Jer Fairall: “Sign O’ The Times” refitted as a spiritual crisis courtesy of a smoky Marva Whitney and James Brown sample and a voice that intermittently cracks, evocatively, under the crushing weight of its subject matter. While the Prince song it calls to mind was a similar inventory of social ills, it still grooved and snapped where this simply meanders, the drum loop that kicks in about midway through never raising the pulse as much as drawing attention to the point at which it should all be wrapping itself up. I don’t think that this is supposed to be enjoyable to listen to, necessarily, but really, if you’re gonna be this much of a bummer, know better than to overstay your welcome too much.
[6]

Jonathan Bogart: Okay, yeah, I’m exactly the kind of bougie sap who falls for earnestly-muttered tales of Feeeeeelings over muted soul-jazz backings. But it ain’t soft if you do it right.
[8]

Sabina Tang: My first encounter with any rap — compellingly emotive, as here, or otherwise — over this variety of spare, percussion-less piano-and-bass jazz arrangement, for which I happen to be a regular sucker. Whether that testifies to BJ and Kendrick’s novelty or my listening-habits lacunae is moot: I could do with whole albums of this. The soul vocals are a spritz of soda in the already ice-cold drink.
[9]

Michaela Drapes: Those croaky breaks in Lamar’s voice are utterly devastating in the first few moments, then the samples from “Sunny” kick in, and it’s clear that this is a transmission from a world that I know is very, very real. Not the world of pretentiously bombastic posturing and aggression, mind you — but narrative ripped from a great American novel that hasn’t been written yet. Because every day, though it’s rarely ever clearly visible to me, a very real version of this dirge-like hymn to thug life plays out not far from where I’m sitting and writing this now. And most of my neighbors (myself included, I admit) try very hard not to think about that.
[9]

John Seroff: The spectacular “His Pain” is that rare sort of gospel devoid of didacticism, protests of fealty, undue rejoicing or promises of better days. What it celebrates instead is the unfathomable blessing of continuation, the complex and guilty joy of survival. It is a reminder that the question of “why me,” even in impossible times, can be asked with humility and wonder through pain. Over the blue strains of a Browner shade of “Sunny”, both musicians make the song cry. Kendrick Lamar does it with an Augustinian recitation of the fates of those close to him, of his sins, of an open prayer and an offering; BJ the Chicago Kid with a D’Angelic choir of one and thanks for avoidance of “dangers seen and unseen.” It is a long song with a simple looping melody, but those few notes provide a foundation for meaningful, lyric meditation. When I fish around for other tracks that plumb comparable depths of doubt, loss and faith under pressure, I think of classics: “T.R.O.Y”, “Mind Playing Tricks”, “Regrets”, “One Love”, “The Healer”. “His Pain” can stand proudly among those giants.
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