Drake is always anxious about something, but his concerns are probably not the same as yours. On his debut full-length album Thank Me Later, the Canadian rapper worries that his friends are after his money, that his remarkable success might change his relationship with his mentor Lil Wayne, that the tabloids are stalking him and that Rihanna won't return his phone calls. "While all my closest friends are out there partying, I'm just making all the music that they party to," he raps, though its often hard to imagine anybody partying to this record. Especially in its opening stretch, Thank Me Later is a sober, insular listen, recalling Kanye West's 808s and Heartbreak at its loneliest, right down to the sulking synths and distant drum claps.
Drake's sad-clown routine is a tough sell. It's never quite clear why we should pity the model-dating, Sprite-endorsing 23-year-old child-star-turned-rapper, who since his abrupt breakthrough last year has been ubiquitous on pop and urban radio (Milwaukee's V100.7 recently played four songs by or featuring Drake in a 45-minute period; no doubt other stations have broken that record).
It's a testament to either Drake's disarming sincerity or his skills as an actor that he frequently manages to weave a compelling character study from his bourgeoisie concerns. "I know way too many people here right now that I didn't know last year," he frets on his current hit "Over," as dramatic orchestral swells close in on him. The words are those of a vain star daunted by his social calendar; the lofty fanfare, however, suggests epic existential torment and life-or-death intrigue.
As a rapper, Drake gravitates toward dated, off-topic cultural references (including callbacks to the 1996 movies Set It Off and Black Sheep) and hammy zingers that he accentuates with the self-satisfied delivery of a cigar-chomping vaudeville comedian. "Everything is Kosher/ Two thumbs up/ Ebert and Roper," he raps in an exaggerated, nagging drawl, red-flagging the punchline lest anybody somehow miss it.
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Drake also sings, mostly in an unhurried, heavily Auto-Tuned monotone. His voice is flat and unimpressive, but unlike his mediocre rapping, he is seemingly aware of his vocal limitations. That he sings anyway explains much of his appeal. In verse, he's an arrogant narcissist. In chorus, he's a vulnerable soul putting himself out there, warts and all. When he raps, he begs for our sympathy. When he sings, he earns it.
