"Demos from To Pimp A Butterfly. In Raw Form. Unfinished. Untitled. Unmastered," Kendrick Lamar digitally pinned a week ago. That, and a link to eight woozy lo-fi jazz numbers, welcoming back Cornrow Kenny's manic vocal somersaults over sporadic sax and frenzied funk a year after the illustrious release of the Compton hero's Grammy-winning expressionist opus To Pimp A Butterfly. But his grand statement isn't finished. Besides a few additional gold trophies on his mantelpiece, thanks to merited acknowledgement for his artistic creation, not much else has changed. Kendrick Lamar still feels and thinks and creates the same. And when on record, his outtakes are as important as the original script.

Kendrick's untitled unmastered., a surprise mini-album of unreleased rarities and the genius bits of material we've heard from him via sporadic premieres on the Grammy stage and late night screen, stands well on its own as a cohesive gritty offering, but is better understood as an appendix to Kendrick's previous work, both sonically and conceptually. It's a heated conversation resumed after a brief interruption and an ongoing narrative inside his own head. Contemplative, self-interrogative and boldly critical. Numbered and dated

The same issues that tormented Kendrick pre-TPAB, plague him post. America's systematic racism and his own mental health are called into question as K.Dot continues his attempt to navigate through the world's changing perception of him, as his stock rises from Compton good kid to Grammy-winning rapper to political figurehead. He resents his wealth, fame and ego, and constantly considers his standpoints on faith, even opening the 34-minute miniature with a conversation with God, reckoning with him on Judgement Day. "I made To Pimp a Butterfly for you, told me to use my vocals to save mankind for you. I tithed for you, I pushed the club to the side for you. Who love you like I love you?" Kendrick raps, questioning whether his fame has made him a useful force or if he's still the insignificant man from Compton the American system initially viewed him, his family, his friends and black bodies just like him as. It's the headspace the record was recording in, delivered with fervent passion and an intersectional insight unequivocal from any other voice in music, while accompanied by full instrumentation with the urgent energy to match. Cymbals crash, jazz flutes flutter, piano keys and bass are rampant as he spits: "The flattery of watching my stock rise, the salary, the compensation tripled my cock size. I run through the stop signs, with no brake fluid, just premium gas."

But it's only been a week. There's a lot more to digest, pine over and absorb as we listen to an artist in his prime using his platform for humanist efforts. Kendrick Lamar has gripped the mic for over a year in a recyclable culture, where longevity is never promised. But fans and critics spent the rest of 2015 digesting his critical body of work and will ruminate now for the remainder of 2016. He continues to hold our attention as he makes sense of his own findings on God and race and legacy and perfection. We're listening. "Pimp pimp, Hooray!"