Ahhhhh, raps.
One of the great artforms of our time, rapping provides perhaps the purest expression of emotion of any currently popular music form.
Case in point: Drake. Consummate rapsman. Greatest ever, by his own admission. The first song on his newest album, If You’re Reading This It’s Too Late, Drake says, “when I pull up on a [guy] watch that [guy] back back/I’m too good with these words, watch a [guy] backtrack.”
The moment these words emit from your speakers, a wave of endorphins are sure to wash over you. “Yes,” you will think, “Shady’s back.”
And not a moment too soon. When I think of the Drake’s last audioglyph, Nothing Was the Same, I think of the cover of the album, which featured a baby with an afro. That was cool.
After overcoming his formerly wheelchair-bound existence [which made me say, ‘Degrassi be kiddin’ me,’] Canadian Scalion of Rap, Drake decided to pursue his career in rhythmically speaking, like a voice poet.
That makes his decision to release this latest album without announcing it all the more unsurprising. By pulling a Beyoncé, Drake is no longer bound to his current label, the name of which I can’t remember right now, but that’s not important.
An exercise in history of raps, greats like The Tribe Named Questlove and [Guys] With Attitude are constantly evoked. The nuance pours out of Drake, so much so that it’s like he’s not even there.
This new album is a fever dream, and as I listen I look out through yellow eyes, puffing dank with jaundiced cheeks, and develop a sense of contentment. But then my mind wanders. Am I real? Is anything real, or is all reality an emphemeral joke meant to taunt us until we fade slowly, and unceasingly, into oblivion?
Full disclosure, I haven’t actually listened to this album. I looked at the song titles and kind of inferred what they would be like from there, based largely off nothing. I had not previously heard of Drake, nor his supposedly
glorious rap.
Drake is a great rap
‘n roller.
