Claims that hip-hop is dead have been ricocheting for decades, but on October 29th, Billboard reported that there were exactly zero rap songs in the top 40 of the Hot 100 chart, for the first time since February 1990. The drought arrived after Kendrick Lamar and SZA’s long-reigning hit “Luther” was quietly removed under Billboard‘s updated chart rules, which now eject older songs more aggressively: tracks below No. 5 after 78 weeks; No. 10 after 52 weeks; No. 25 after 26 weeks; and No. 50 after 20 weeks. “Luther” finished at No. 38 in its final week, ultimately failing to reach No. 25 after more than 26 weeks on the chart.
In other words: goodbye, “Luther.” Goodbye, hip-hop.
But the headlines don’t tell the whole story. The song spent 13 consecutive weeks at No. 1 on the Hot 100 earlier this year, giving Lamar and SZA their longest chart-topper, as well as the second longest-running hip-hop song of all time, behind Lil Nas X’s “Old Town Road.”
Within two weeks of its departure, Megan Thee Stallion put hip-hop back in the top 40 with her latest single “Lover Girl.” But it makes sense that the last enduring rap song in the coveted upper echelon of the Hot 100 would come from Lamar, the artist who has spent the last 20 months influencing the genre and pop culture alike.
Prior to K-Dot’s lyrical and character assault of Drake, hip-hop was in a strong place, commercially. Per Billboard, hip-hop’s overall market share in 2020 was near 30 percent, a peak for the genre. In 2023, that number slipped to just over 25 percent, and as of late October, it was hovering around 24 percent.
But commercial success is not always equivalent to creativity and substance. While the genre reached its market peak five years ago, hip-hop’s creative vitality steadily eroded under Drake’s lengthy, chart-dominating reign, which prioritized ubiquity, shallow collaboration, and self-mythology over substance. Drizzy’s hits and alliances may have helped maintain his personal fiefdom, but these factors have also shaped an insular, reiterative industry ecosystem that has failed to sustain hip-hop’s broader cultural depth.
We, as hip-hop listeners, have repeatedly been fed junk food since Drake’s ascension, when we’re actually starving for a substantive, hearty meal. In 2024, Kendrick Lamar reached his wits’ end.
K-Dot’s appearance on Future and Metro Boomin’s “Like That” landed like a sonic boom last March. It was a harbinger of the chaos to come; a preview of the renewed blooming of the rap field. We had to listen intently to understand every barb that was directed toward Drake, and discussions of healthy lyricism rebounded to the forefront.
For the next couple of months, Kendrick dropped diss track after diss track, humbling Drake and electrifying the culture in the process. On February 2nd of this year, Lamar scooped up five Grammy Awards for his final nail in Drake’s coffin, “Not Like Us”: the big categories of Record of the Year and Song of the Year, as well as Best Rap Song, Best Rap Performance, and Best Music Video. This collection of wins underscored a rejuvenating interest in hip-hop’s health, from a critical standpoint. (When old white guys are handing off the biggest awards of the night to a rapper, you know something special is afoot.)
