2015 Revisited: The Lasting Impact of To Pimp a Butterfly and I Don’t Like Sh*t

In 2015, Kendrick Lamar and Earl Sweatshirt stood at the forefront of hip-hop’s artistic evolution. Both were young, immensely talented, and deeply introspective artists shaping the genre in vastly different but equally important ways. That same year, Kendrick released To Pimp a Butterfly, an ambitious, jazz-infused exploration of Black identity, fame, and systemic oppression. Shortly after, Earl dropped I Don’t Like Sh*t, I Don’t Go Outside: An Album by Earl Sweatshirt, a claustrophobic, self-produced diary of depression, isolation, and self-destruction. These two albums, though sonically distinct, remain defining works in hip-hop history, helping shape the decade that followed.

Now, ten years later, Kendrick and Earl have solidified themselves as leaders in their respective lanes– Kendrick as hip-hop’s prestigious poet, exploring vast concepts with unwavering lyricism, and Earl as one of the underground’s guiding forces; a figure committed to cryptic lyricism and self expression. Their paths may seem separate, but both have reshaped how we experience hip-hop: Kendrick by elevating the art form with grand narratives and intentionality, and Earl by pushing the boundaries of introspection and raw, unfiltered expression.

While both To Pimp a Butterfly and I Don’t Like Sh*t, I Don’t Go Outside are now revered as classics, their initial receptions were mixed, largely due to the risks each artist took. TPAB was a sharp departure from Kendrick’s previous album, good kid, m.A.A.d city, which had balanced cinematic storytelling with radio-ready hits. Instead of refining that accessible formula, Kendrick dove into free jazz, funk, and spoken word, crafting a dense, politically charged album that felt more like a statement than entertainment. Some fans and critics were initially caught off guard, with complaints that the album was too experimental, too preachy, or lacked the immediate appeal of his previous work. However, as the years passed, its significance only grew, with many now considering it one of the greatest hip-hop albums ever made.

Similarly, Earl’s IDLSIDGO was a stark contrast to his 2013 debut, Doris, which had moments of high energy and collaborations with the Odd Future collective. Instead, IDLSIDGO was stripped down, dark, and deeply personal, with production that felt intentionally murky and minimal. Fans expecting the playful wordplay and dynamic beats of his earlier work were met with a raw, confessional album that resisted easy consumption. Some dismissed it as too insular, too monotonous, or too difficult to connect with. But over time, IDLSIDGO became recognized as a defining moment in underground circles, proving that hip-hop could be deeply personal and still resonate on a large scale.

In 2015, Kendrick Lamar tweeted that Earl Sweatshirt was his favorite rapper, a simple yet powerful co-sign that highlighted the deeper artistic parallels between them. Both artists prioritize storytelling, introspection, and sonic experimentation over industry trends. Both have also expressed discomfort with the pressures of fame, preferring to let the music speak rather than constantly feed the content machine.

Lyrically, both To Pimp a Butterfly and IDLSIDGO reflect their creators’ mental states at the time. Kendrick, struggling with survivor’s guilt and the weight of being a voice for his people, crafted an album that interrogated the nature of success, Black trauma, and personal responsibility. Earl, retreating inward after the death of his grandmother and the breakdown of friendships, created an album that felt like a journal entry, raw, dark, and painfully honest. Kendrick’s TPAB channeled jazz, funk, and spoken word, heavily inspired by legends like Gil Scott-Heron and Miles Davis. Earl, on the other hand, leaned into the lo-fi aesthetic of underground rap, his sound more indebted to MF DOOM, Roc Marciano, and the minimalist, confessional style of Ka. But both albums, despite their different scopes, reflected the psyche of Black artists navigating their inner demons and external realities.

A decade after To Pimp a Butterfly and I Don’t Like Sh*t, I Don’t Go Outside, their influence on hip-hop, and hip-hop’s influence on the world, is undeniable. These albums reinforced the idea that rap could be both deeply personal and universally impactful, that vulnerability and radical honesty could shape the direction of a genre often pushed toward surface-level commercialism. They proved that the most meaningful music doesn’t chase trends but sets them.

Now, with a new renaissance of creativity, lyricism, and intentionality led by artists like Kendrick, Earl, and others who prioritize depth over virality, hip-hop is once again redefining itself. The next ten years will be shaped by the choices we make, by which voices are amplified, which messages are championed, and which stories are given space to breathe. If this new movement continues to grow, hip-hop will not just remain the most powerful cultural force on the planet but will evolve into something even greater, a space where truth, artistry, and revolution take precedence over mere consumption.