The van sits at the curb on an ordinary street of single-story houses, and it is no prop: it is Kendrick Lamar's mother's van, parked in front of the family home where he grew up. This is the deluxe face of good kid, m.A.A.d city, a picture that looks less like an album cover than like a photograph someone left in a drawer for years.

But the standard cover is the one that stops people cold, and you can feel its absence here. It is a genuine childhood snapshot: a toddler Kendrick perched on the lap of one of his uncles at a kitchen table, surrounded by family. Every adult face carries a black bar across the eyes. Only baby Kendrick stares back, wide and uncovered.

He said the bars were there for personal reasons he would explain across the songs themselves. Look closer at what shares that table with him, and the album's title starts to make terrible sense.