I am a bit reluctant to admit it, but To Pimp a Butterfly is probably the best album of all time. It is the great American novel of this generation. It's a Pollock. It’s a Picasso. It’s a Monet with an impression so complex that you have to be outside of the stratosphere to see it correctly. Even then, you can’t tell if the image itself is out of focus or if your vision is blurry, forever questioning if you're viewing it the way it was intended to be seen. It cannot be compared to other albums. It’s simply unfair. It’s not music. It transcends far beyond that. After this release, I will no longer question if Kendrick is the greatest rapper of all time, but rather one of the greatest artists of all time. Kudos to his laundry list of producers. To write an accompaniment that appropriately matches Kendrick's unorthodox flow and quick-witted, quick on the trigger lyricism was surely no easy feat. The album could stand alone with only the accompaniment. The album could stand alone with only the vocals. Combine the two: the latest sacred text. To Pimp a Butterfly is nothing short of a religious experience. To Pimp a Butterfly is God granting your entry into Heaven. To Pimp a Butterfly is a buzzer beating swish through the net. Game over.