To put a rather fine point on it, Drake and Das Racist provide clear
examples of the broadening definition of rap: ethnically diverse, liberally
educated (two of the three members of Das Racist met while they were undergrads
at Wesleyan), and, in Drake’s case, confessional in a way that would have led
to some name-calling a decade ago. If the Das Racist guys are smarter (they
are), it would still take a fool to deny the pleasures
of Drake, superficial though they may sometimes be.
“But are they serious?”
That’s the question that’s dogged this Brooklyn crew since they dropped their exceptionally
daffy—and brilliant—single “Combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell” in 2008. The
mix tapes they gave away two years later didn’t necessarily settle the debate,
and the less-than-rapturous reaction to their first for-profit LP suggests many
have stopped caring altogether, which is a serious shame. Indian-American Himanshu Suri (aka Heems)
uses his first verse here to share the story of his immigrant parents: “1980,
from Delhi
to Queens/She had a pocket full of lint/He had a suitcase full of dreams/From
holdin' me to bagging groceries at the Pathmark/To scoldin' me for
drinking and driving in fast cars.“ Then a promise: “I ain’t backin’
out until I own a bank to brag about.” We’ve come a long way from the
combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell. Heems, along with fellow Indian-American Ashok Kondabolu (aka Dap) and Cuban/Italian/African-American Victor Vazquez (you can call
him Kool A.D.), are so self-aware and hyper-informed about the world around
them that their apparent contradictions and bone-deep irony sound like honest
reactions to information overload. They say Urban Dictionary is for “demons
with college degrees,” but make fun of themselves for all the poetry readings
and jam band shows they attended at Wesleyan long before you have the chance to.
Along they way, they prove that hip-hip is now as much the province of those
places—not to mention the posh dorm room—as the ‘jects, even if they would roll
their eyes at me for being so earnest about it. What does it all mean? Here’s a
clue: “If you wanna be me, you can be me/…you can look all day but you still
wouldn’t see me/If you wanna be you, you can do that too/And if you don’t, then
I don’t really know what I can tell you.” Call it alternative rap or psychedelic
rap or meta rap or whatever hashtag you can think of. Just don’t call it a joke. A-
I don’t begrudge Drake’s apprehensions about his own fame
and fortune; I wish I had his problems, but I’m sure I’d find plenty to gripe
about in the life he leads. I don’t even get annoyed when he drunk dials his ex
to tell her how all the sex he’s having is hurting his soul; that
nakedly pathetic Hail Mary is the most compelling moment here. Drake—along with Kanye
West—is a hip-hop confessor who pays little regard to the understood musical
definition of ‘hip-hop.’ But because he’s not exactly what you’d call deep, his
musical vision is a whole lot more engaging than his take on himself. The words
‘head case’ come up a lot in conversations about Drake, but his stakes are
penny ante even before the Kanye comparisons he begs for and suffers by. The
good news is that this follow-up to last year’s
Thank Me Later never sounds
anything less than terrific. Rapping and singing better than ever, getting the
most out of his Toronto pal The Weeknd, and co-opting snippets of songs by Lil
Wayne, Juvenile, and—on
the title track—
a Jamie xx remix of
a Gil Scott-Heron cover of
an R&B classic made famous by Bobby “Blue” Bland, Drake makes the case for the
aficionado as artist. His taste and skill are plain throughout, and the beats he gets from his go-to producer Noah “40” Shebib are luxurious. I just wish all the above made as strong a case for Drake's soul as it does his ear.
B+ 
