Listening to rap records can be exhausting. On the one hand, I often find myself scrambling to keep up, trying in vain to catch every profound line and lyrical allusion before it slips away. I often listen with a printout of the lyrics in my hand, marveling at the dense Gordian knot of cadences, slang and poetic devices that underpin many great rappers' rhymes. And on the other hand, I often tend to overanalyze, diving deep into thematic concepts, life stories and critical reactions, searching for the genius inside every album, every track and every line. This over-analysis springs from a desire to prove to friends, parents and doubting readers that, beneath a tradition of vapid radio fodder that runs from MC Hammer all the way to Hurricane Chris, rap music is one of the truest, most vital art forms we have left.
My favorite thing about rap, however, is that each artist pushes those mental buttons, and pushes the rap game forward, in a different way. Run-DMC ripped rap from its sunny disco roots and dropped it on the hard streets of Queens, bringing boom-bap rhythms, gold chains and tough-guy posturing. The Wu-Tang Clan supplemented that gritty realism with a heavy dose of abstraction, using nine voices and a dizzying web of metaphors and slang to cast their native Staten Island as a battleground for ninjas and samurai. And Kanye West has brought rap to the front page, forcing the American mainstream to confront his persona and his music in all their fascinating contradictions.
So, you might ask, where does Drake fit into that continuum? Though his public spats with Chris Brown and his role in the popularization of the term "YOLO" might point to him as more Pitbull than Tupac Shakur, Drake has had a profound influence on rap since he entered the arena with 2009's "So Far Gone" mixtape. He's taken the status-flaunting and macho posturing that have long defined masculinity in rap and turned them on themselves, laying them alongside the insecurity, self-loathing and loneliness that others choose to paint over and reinventing the concept of "realness" for a new generation of rap artists and fans.
While Drake's new album "Nothing Was the Same" doesn't break much new ground, it's another impressive exhibition of Drake's unmistakable talents: smooth flow, impeccable beat curation and stark, fascinating emotional honesty.
When "Nothing Was the Same" hits the mark, it hits big. "Tuscan Leather" sets the tone early, a dizzying slab of words set over a disorienting beat, Whitney Houston's disembodied wails drowning in the song's gargantuan drums. "Heavy airplay all day with no chorus," Drake brags, reveling in the artistic freedom his fame has brought him. But "Furthest Thing" finds him regretting his meteoric rise for the relationships it's ruined and the unwanted attention it's brought him. The song leaps skyward after the bridge, riding a gospel-tinged beat supplied by frequent Drake collaborator Noah "40" Shebib.
Shebib supplies the haunted, subterranean rumble that underpins "Wu-Tang Forever," an extended metaphor painting the rap game as a jealous lover, and the woozy pulse of "Own It," which finds Drake transitioning from nostalgia to bitterness over a dying relationship. The two songs fit together perfectly, the metaphorical of the first enhanced by the emotional heft of the second.
The album's two singles, "Started From the Bottom" and "Hold On, We're Going Home," are both interesting fits for the album. The former is a sparse, beat-focused affair, all heaving synths and trap-inflected snares, while the latter is a sleek, muted club track, all pillowy synth pads, four-on-the-floor drums and sweet nothings, with not a rapped line to be found. I prefer "Hold On," but both showcase Drake's versatility and prove that he can succeed even when throwing out his formula and starting from scratch.
The liquid, sepia-tinged "Too Much" is the emotional center of the record and one of Drake's most accomplished songs to date. SBTRKT singer Sampha's soulful fallen-angel voice lends the song weight, and Nineteen85's buttery, warm beat is one of the album's best. Drake, however, blows both out of the water, meditating on his family, his childhood, his identity and his dreams. All the self-doubt and self-loathing is stripped away, and he finally seems to be comfortable with his life: "I'm quiet with it, I just ride with it/Moment I stop havin' fun with it, I'll be done with it."
As I said before, there's nothing particularly revolutionary about "Nothing Was the Same." But when you've found as much success as Drake has, sometimes subtle progress can be even more powerful than complete reinvention. Wherever Drake goes next, you can bet he'll be taking the rest of the game with him.
