We talk about the soundtrack he curated and produced for the blockbuster film Black Panther, and we discuss what’s involved in an Oscar campaign, should “All the Stars”—his song with SZA from that soundtrack—be nominated. (“That would be crazy,” says SZA about a possible Oscar nomination, “but that’s everything that Dot does.”) Kendrick says that the TDE Championship tour—the lineup at the Garden included Sir, Ab-Soul, Isaiah Rashad, Jay Rock, Schoolboy Q, SZA, and Kendrick—has always been a dream: “To have our own tour, our own artists,” he says. “The model was Motown, Bad Boy, Roc-A-Fella, Def Jam, Aftermath.” Pulling up his long-sleeved t-shirt, he shows me the tattoo going all the way up his right forearm—“Hustle Like You Broke $”—which he says was something Top said: “Always have that mentality, don’t be lax.” We talk about the NFL and the national-anthem protests. He says he was a football fan, but now “I’m less enthused. It’s enraging; I think what Kap [Colin Kaepernick] is doing is honest, and it’s not just his truth, it’s our truth.”

Our talk continues to cover a variety of topics. I say that even though he lives in Malibu now (and moved his family out of Compton) he’s not showy, he’s not rapping about bling (he says his father had jewelry—he’d seen it, and it didn’t interest him), and he doesn’t boast the same way a lot of rappers do (I tell him that I love that he didn’t rhyme “Grey Poupon” with “Louis Vuitton”). Still, he calls himself “the greatest rapper alive,” and, he says, “I owned up to a lot of hours of just listening and studying and throwing thousands of pieces of paper away that were garbage. Hours of Top saying, ‘Nah, that ain’t it, you’re better than that,’ or me saying, ‘Nah, that ain’t shit.’ ” Are there enough hours in the day for him to do everything he wants to do? “That’s one of my phrases,” he says. “We need more hours! I look up, and it’s five in the morning, six in the morning, and I’m still in the studio. I need 26 . . . 27 . . . we good.”

Then, at 10:15 P.M., with a backdrop that says, “Pulitzer Kenny,” Kendrick Lamar takes the stage at the Garden for a raging 75-minute performance. Even with all of the lights, videos, lasers, and pyro, you cannot take your eyes off him as he delivers a breathtaking, joyful live set that proves he really does rap all those words without stopping for breath; a set that includes songs from his three major-label albums: good kid, m.A.A.d city, To Pimp a Butterfly, and DAMN., the album that won him the Pulitzer.

Kendrick Lamar’s work represents some of the most important music being produced today, period. He fits squarely onstage in the artistic community, like any other cutting edge, musical genius.—Dana Canedy, administrator, the Pulitzer Prizes

Rap is the biggest music out there, and it’s nice that it’s finally getting the recognition it deserves. For his album to make it onto that platform is great for all of us. Oh, and I’m also jealous.—Eminem

MAY 30, 2018: The Low Library, at Columbia University, in Manhattan, where the Pulitzer Prizes are handed out, isn’t very hip-hop—with the exception of the table of Kendrick’s friends and colleagues. The room has a cathedral-like domed ceiling and marble columns, and the vibe is academic. (Previously, Toni Morrison had told me that the Pulitzer “ought to shape up; their canvas is not wide enough—it’s narrow. So this means it’s wider.” And Pharrell told me that “this is the universe winking at us.”) Kendrick is wearing a blue shirt with a shiny gold pattern, tan pants, and Nike Cortez Kennys. He sits at table number one with his fiancée, Whitney Alford; Dave Free; Dana Canedy; her son and two of his friends; Gayle King; and CNN’s Don Lemon. Kendrick is clearly the star of the show—everyone is trying to take selfies with him. After the prizes are handed out, he races out with the TDE team, avoiding reporters but stopping to take photos with kids. Then it’s back into the van for the trek to Jones Beach, on Long Island, where the Championship tour will do another show. Backstage, Kendrick works out at his mobile gym—a pull-up bar and weights (he does between 500 and 1,000 push-ups a day)—and then he and I sit in a small room and talk about the Pulitzer Prize. “It was one of those things I heard about in school,” he says, “but I never thought I’d be a part of it. [When I heard I got it], I thought, to be recognized in an academic world . . . whoa, this thing really can take me above and beyond. It’s one of those things that should have happened with hip-hop a long time ago. It took a long time for people to embrace us—people outside of our community, our culture—to see this not just as vocal lyrics, but to see that this is really pain, this is really hurt, this is really true stories of our lives on wax. And now, for it to get the recognition that it deserves as a true art form, that’s not only great for myself, but it makes me feel good about hip-hop in general. Writers like Tupac, Jay Z, Rakim, Eminem, Q-Tip, Big Daddy Kane, Snoop . . . It lets me know that people are actually listening further than I expected. When I looked up at that man on the podium today, I just had countless pictures in my mind of my mother putting me in suits to go to school. Suit and tie, from the dollar store, from thrift shops, when I was a kid.” He recalls his seventh-grade teacher Mr. Inge, who turned him on to poetry: “It wasn’t a traditional English class,” he says. “It was more of an artistic exercise. He told us to ‘write something only you can understand, then pass it on to the next person.’ ” He tells me about the visit with his parents to the White House (“Obama reached out”). “My mother wore a black-and-brown dress; she made sure to wear her best.” And, he tells me, “it [took me back] to talking to my grandma, when she was alive, and I was always thinking what it would be like if we had a black president. She had some hope . . .”