057 :: DRAKE

Featuring

ICEMAN by Drake, released by OVO in 2026. Listen

Transcript

There are many things not to like about Drake. He is, for instance, not a particularly good rapper. His singing, if you can call it that, is even less remarkable. Lyrically, his songs express a monotonous solipsism and casual misogyny that is tiresome at best and disgusting at worst. And yet, Drake is also kind of perfect. He may just be the epitome of rap.

I will explain what I mean by this in due course, but first, let us take a beat to just appreciate how nice it is to hear Drake rapping like this again – no hook, no chorus, not even any particular rhyme scheme, just Drake with his signature pseudo-stream-of-consciousness flow, uninterrupted for four minutes straight. If he were actually freestyling it'd be transcendent.

But this is not an ad lib, it's a heavily authored verse. And yes, it has its moments of brilliance – like the line we just heard, "I faced the way they paint me, but it hurts just like the Philly Eagles", which is a riff on both the characteristic face paint of Eagles quarterback Jalen Hurts and on the criticism Hurts frequently receives for being a quarterback that can both run and pass, which mirrors Drake's own criticism for being a rapper that can both rap and sing – all that, in a single line. It also has moments of bracing honesty, like when Drake interjects, "Well, maybe I'm best as the villain". But it is also full of moments of "why did he leave that in there?", mostly in the form of questionable similes, from the faux clever (e.g., "they envy me like Nevada"), to the dumb (e.g., "flippin' dough like Little Caesars"), to the cringe (e.g., "I'm greater than everybody like some shredded cheese").

But it's this "warts and all" quality that actually clinches it for me. Because what it shows us is that we're not getting any sugarcoating: what we're getting is just Drake. There is no artifice to his artistry; he is just authentically himself. And in my mind, it's this inimitable authenticity that has always set Drake apart.

Because hip-hop isn't like other forms of popular music. It's not so much about connecting with your audience as it is about impressing them. It's not so much about giving voice to some universal human experience as it is about presenting yourself, the MC, in all your individuality. But there's a contradiction at the heart of the genre, because the way you're supposed to express that individuality is through a form of linguistic acrobatics unlike how anyone actually ever expresses themselves. Which is to say: For an art form that's all about authenticity, the medium is fundamentally inauthentic. The more a rapper dazzles us with their dexterous flow, the farther away we seem from who they actually are. All too often, hip-hop presents us with a persona, not a person.

And so I love these moments when Drake's lines don't quite land, because they feel so real, like he's leaving everything in there and showing us his true self, in all its inconsistency and goofiness and banality. Drake is not the greatest rapper because he is the best at rapping (clearly). It's not even because he is the most popular or the most successful. He's the greatest because his greatness does not depend on anything other than himself: he's the greatest because he's Drake, and because that's what he always gives us.

Of course, the wonderful irony about all this is that Drake is, by all appearances, sorta boring as a person. But that's kind of to the point of what I've been saying: it's the authenticity itself that matters, not what that authenticity reveals. We're not being treated to genius; we're being treated to transparency, to an elision of any distinction between music and musician, between author and text. Drake's verses are generally not virtuosic or enlightening, but they can still be intoxicating in their own distinct way.

Often, and especially in stripped-down tracks like these, Drake's flow has this almost levitational quality, like it's unconstrained by the strictures of language. For Drake, any word can be made to rhyme with any other word, in the same way that, for Coltrane, any note can be made to sound in key. (A short list of rhymes from the song we just heard could include: Wilhelmina, really evil, Middle Eastern, and Village People.) But Drake's flow is always in the service of getting himself down on the page. Other MCs take the paper of language and turn it into origami. Drake takes the piece of paper and shows us that it's Drake.

I'm tempted to say that the artistic quality on display here is a certain sprezzatura, a studied carelessness or graceful nonchalance, an ability of the artist to conceal all artistry from their art. But – and I don't know if this is just me falling for the bit – but in my mind, Drake's carelessness isn't studied. It's just Drake. And that's what I love about it.

And that brings me to another point, which is this sense I've always had that Drake is most himself not when he's rapping, but when he's singing, or whatever you call what he's doing right now. As confessional as his solo verses can be, it's songs like this that, in my view, bring us closest to the real Drake, who's just a guy who loves a good jam. And you got to give it to him: this is a good jam. If I close my eyes I can see Drake bobbing his head with that pleasurable grimace he gets on his face – because it's what I'm doing too.

And now is as good a time as any to give credit to the production on these tracks, which is consistently unreal, serving up beats that are original, innovative, and daring, and yet still so dope and somehow immediately recognizable as Drake. And sure, Drake didn't make these beats, but he sure knows how to choose a producer. Sometimes I feel like what we get with Drake is the experience of someone who just knows how to appreciate a good groove, who's enjoying his own music as much as we are. And often, it defies all sense. I can't believe that one of the bona fide songs of the summer has a chorus that includes the line "beep-beep, baby" – but here we are.

I'm tempted to say that Drake is tapping into something reptilian in our brains, making music that speaks to us at a pre-rational, or pre-verbal even, level. Which is an astonishing thing to say about a form of music that gives such prominence to its lyrics. But why should music be subordinate to language and meaning? Maybe it's a fallacy to think that in order for music to speak to us the artist must have something to say. Because surely, what's most essential to music is the way it makes us feel, and again and again, Drake finds a way to make music that punches us right in the gut. And if anything, it's more impressive that Drake is able to do this without or despite of any content in what he's saying. After all, what sort of rapper needs words? It's words that need a rapper. And more than any other rapper out there, Drake makes words hit despite themselves, simply because he wants them to. Is it brilliant or idiotic? I still can't decide. But it is always remarkable and I can't look away.

Alright, like Drake, I've been droning on for a while now. Like Drake, I should've perhaps edited some of this down. But if Drake has taught me anything, it's to always put it all out there, leave it all in, just be yourself, and say what you have to say.

Liner Notes

I've been wanting to write an essay about Drake since long before I started The Year of Magical Listening, since at least 2013, when I first fell in love with Nothing Was The Same. Snippets of this episode's transcript have been sitting in my notes app since that time. It feels good to finally find a home for them.

Previously, I expressed my admiration for Drake via my one and only Tumblr account, Things Drake Has Rhymed, which I was thinking of bringing out of retirement simply so I could make a post for the amazing rhyme of "peach Bellini / it's panini / she a genie / Sydney Sweeney" from the HABIBTI track "High Fives".

It's possible that I can see Drake "bobbing his head with that pleasurable grimace he gets on his face" because that's precisely what he does in the "Janice STFU" music video.