Albums : Drake : Nothing Was The Same
Albums : Drake : Nothing Was The Same
Listen To Drake : Nothing Was The Same
Let it be known that the Tough Drake era begins not this week, with the release of “Nothing Was the Same,” the first official Tough Drake album, but rather began all the way back on Jan. 6, 2012. That day saw the release of the video for “Stay Schemin,” a Rick Ross song featuring Drake and French Montana. The clip is a fuzzy Michael Mann rip-off, nighttime Miami reduced to blacks, grays and electric blues, oozing sinister energy.
In it, Drake dons a black sweatshirt, black jeans, black boots and a gold chain. He spends most of his verse staring hard into the camera, his eyebrows barely moving. He gestures brusquely with a bandanna in his right hand. And he delivers what is easily the most tart, harsh, menacing verse of his career: “Might look light, but we heavy though.”
This came not even two months after the release of “Take Care,” Drake’s masterpiece album of sensitivity and recrimination, and it read like an almost total repudiation of it. That album was a bloodletting of heartbreak and anxieties, while “Stay Schemin” was a firm punch to the jaw that became a staple at the same time as some purple songs from “Take Care.” Not only was Drake writing his own narrative, he was also writing his own counternarrative. It’s difficult to tell which of those is now the main plot — both are in play on “Nothing Was the Same” (Young Money/Cash Money/Republic), Drake’s third excellent major-label album, and the first to come as he is firmly ensconced in hip-hop’s top tier.
Before, he was an interloper effecting seismic change in hip-hop, thanks to his dismantling of the usual facades of acquisitiveness and fearlessness. Building on Kanye West’s template of ambivalence, Drake took Mr. West’s self-examination and stripped it of all its agitation, preserving only the emotional turmoil. He wanted success, and was aware of his more conventional competition, but his concerns were primarily internal.
But Drake is on top now, the genre’s stylistic standard-bearer and its most reliable and versatile hit maker, and his concerns have shifted accordingly. On “Nothing Was the Same” Drake broods like before, sure, but also puffs his chest in equal measure. He’s always used his music to send messages to women who’ve broken his heart, or whom he just couldn’t hold tight enough. Now he’s got something to lord over them, too.
The musical choices are familiar — hazy, often doleful post-soul and low-end-heavy hip-hop, largely moving slowly and with deliberateness. Most of the album is produced by Drake’s longtime associate 40, who’s sticking close to the sound that’s become their joint signature. The aching hit “Hold On, We’re Going Home” recalls “Find Your Love,” from 2010; “Pound Cake” is reminiscent of “Dreams Money Can Buy,” from 2011.
The most noticeable change in Drake over the last couple of years has been physical, not musical: suddenly he’s muscled, full of hard angles. The eyes remain soft, but everything around them has been remade. This is the externalization of the bravado that is now an essential part of his music — he’s bragged plenty before, but now it has weight. (It’s probably worth mentioning the New York nightclub altercation between Drake’s crew and Chris Brown’s crew in June 2012; when Drake spoke of it in a recent GQ interview, he had an ominous air, as if anticipating how things could get worse.)
But muscles aside, there’s no real physicality to Drake’s toughness. It’s a psychological evolution more than anything, the result of accepting his stature as reality, not just a dream. In the past, laying himself bare has been the most natural thing. But when you’re the object of ire and jealousy, the apt response is to flash teeth and snarl a bit.
The “Nothing Was the Same” tough talk began several months ago with the release of “Started From the Bottom” — like most of Drake’s opening album singles, it’s far more muscular than what appears on the rest of the album. It’s rousing and victorious — “There ain’t really much out here that’s popping off without us” — and also a bit malevolent.
That was one of several songs, dating back to “Stay Schemin,” in which Drake put up his dukes and prepared for a fight: the baleful “5AM in Toronto,” or his verse on the remix to “Versace” by Migos (“This year I’m eating your food and my table got so many plates on it”), or the joyful flexing on ASAP Rocky’s single, the unprintable title of which shortens to “Problems.”
These songs taken together are the equivalent of a shuttle burning through its rocket boosters before thrusting into space, a familiar Drake strategy. Such sturdy and assured early singles and guest appearances free him up to make an album heavy on catharsis.
That’s only part of what Drake’s done on “Nothing Was the Same,” but still a huge part. Sometimes the opposing personalities occupy the same song, as on “Furthest Thing,” part tender and part tense. But this album includes some of his most diaristic work, including “From Time,” which is full of scars: “Passive aggressive when we’re texting, I can feel the distance,” he says casually, as if exhausted. The song continues with melancholy piano flourishes by Chilly Gonzales, who set the reflective, miserable mood on “Marvins Room” on “Take Care.” (“From Time” also recalls Common’s wistful “I Used to Love H.E.R.” — and maybe that’s a quiet swipe at Common, who took some lazy shots at Drake a couple of years back.)
“Connect” is slightly rougher, more of a rumble than a mope. It’s about falling for a woman not worth falling for, and then falling again, and again, never learning a lesson: “The idea is so fun every time/At least we try for home run every time.” This is Drake at his eviscerating best, putting both himself and his partner under a microscope, then using the flaws as fuel:
When it falls apart, I’m always still down
To pick a million tiny little pieces off the ground
Wish you would learn to love people and use things
And not the other way around
There is a way Drake cuts through the structures of language that people create to better capture their emotions but really end up as hindrances. It’s unique in hip-hop, and rare in pop as a whole. He is raw, tender, direct.
That goes for his blustery side, too. “Wu-Tang Forever” is a rough-edged love song that samples the Wu-Tang Clan. It bleeds into “Own It,” a sort of extended interlude that drips feeling right down to Drake’s voice, which is processed heavily until it begins melting. (Similar is “305 to My City,” a formless, odd track on which Drake’s vocals slither like warm candle drippings.) Then, as if backing away from a lover’s embrace, comes “Worst Behavior,” the most chaotic and rowdy song here, which seethes with spite, with Drake invoking Mase’s casually swaggering verse on the Notorious B.I.G.’s “Mo’ Money Mo’ Problems.”
People still let Drake down — on this album, he talks about strained business-personal relationships on “Tuscan Leather,” and returns a few times to the subject of women he’s loved who’ve moved on and found happiness elsewhere. In places, now, he’s pushing back with ferocity. On “Pound Cake,” it’s his old classmates in the cross hairs: “Thinking back on how they treated me my high school reunion might be worth an appearance/Make everybody have to go through security clearance.”
On “Too Much,” it’s family members and old friends who receive a tongue lashing. When he performed it on “Late Night With Jimmy Fallon” this month, he began with a disclaimer: “Before I do this song, I just want to say to my friends and family, I want the best for everybody, and I love you all.” But during the song, he had the same eye of the tiger as in the “Stay Schemin” video — it was visceral, even a little uncomfortable.
There’s an implicit hip-hop competition taking place this year between Drake, Jay Z and Mr. West, whose severe left turn “Yeezus” is the only hip-hop album of the year that gives “Nothing Was the Same” a run for its money, even as it runs in far less accessible directions. That Mr. West showed up to perform at OVO Fest, the annual summer festival Drake hosts in Toronto, indicates, though, that whereas Drake once happily colored within Mr. West’s lines, he is making his own paintings now, and Mr. West can benefit from standing next to them. (For what it’s worth, there are definite echoes of Mr. West’s early production on the first two songs on this album.)
That may also be why Drake allowed few other people onto this album: it’s a meaningful time to stand alone, on top. To the extent that other voices invade this record, they do so respectfully — Sampha’s decaying pleas on “Too Much,” Trae the Truth’s Houston bona fides on “Connect,” Jay Z’s cool boasts on “Pound Cake,” and that’s about it. None of them disrupt Drake’s effortless triumph over mainstream rap excess.
On his recent “5AM in Toronto,” Drake gave himself an origin story: “My weight up/I refused to wait up/I started a new race.” And that’s true — by creating his own sound, and lane, he ensured no one could best him. And by being consistently innovative and great, he ensured that his outlier sound would take over hip-hop’s center. He’s winning under the new rules, and the old ones, too.
So Drake is defiant about his place in the pecking order now. “Paris Morton Music 2,” the final song on “Nothing Was the Same,” is all about that: “I’m the big homie/They still be trying to lil’ bro me, dog/Like I should fall in line.” Tough Drake isn’t having it.
Nothing Was The Same Review
“I’ve never been part of a year when so many legends are dropping projects,” Drake lamented in a recent XXL cover story. “How am I going to be seen?” The half-jewish, half-African American MC is not only aware of his competition, he’s out-and-out scared of them. And who wouldn’t be? With Kanye West proclaiming himself “the Steve Jobs of culture,” and Jay Z rolling with multi-billion dollar media conglomerates, that’d be enough to make a sane rapper recede back into the shadows to brood. But, the thing is, that opaque, champagne-laced place is exactly where Drake lives. Over the last five years, he’s slowly and surely been ushering virtually the entire rap game with him into this world. On “Tuscan Leather”, the opening track from his third LP, Nothing Was the Same, he says he’s “on a mission trying to shift the culture.” And, if an impressive 10 Hip-Hop/R&B No. 1 singles are any indication, this Canadian former child actor is doing a pretty damn good job.
Still, there’s a lot riding on Nothing Was the Same. It’s so easy to crack wise about Drake’s cushy, sensitive guy image (Don’t believe me? Do a quick Twitter search for “Drake crying”). He’s the antithesis of everything we’ve come to expect from our rap superstars over the last 30 years. He drunk dials his ex at 4:00 a.m., prefers making love to fucking, and can’t stop ruminating over age-old breakups with Hooters waitresses named Courtney. Drake is far from the first rapper to brandish his heart on his sleeve, but he is the first to craft an entire persona around this concept. What makes him so appealing and this album so unequivocally successful is that behind his tortured soul there’s a perceptible and refreshing humanity to everything he does. While Yeezy sets his sights on uber-aggressive polarization and Hova hawks cell phones, Nothing Was the Same is essentially an album of bedroom confessionals with a million dollar budget. Drake isn’t a monolith of culture beyond all reproach; he’s a regular guy who hasn’t quite figured his life out yet.
He’s getting there, though. 2011’s phenomenal Take Care showed Drake alone and dejected in his gold-plated mansion; on Nothing Was the Same, not only is his chin up, it’s in the clouds. On all-hook–no-filler single “Started From The Bottom”, he raps, “say I wasn’t hungry, never struggled, yeah I doubt it nigga.” He’s addressing his most common criticism head-on – yes, his past consisted of middle class suburbia and plush television sets, but just because he wasn’t slinging crack on ghetto corners doesn’t make his journey and tribulations any less valid.
The streets come up again on “Wu-Tang Forever”, where amidst some of Drake’s most poised rhyming to date, he confesses, “I find peace knowing that it’s harder in the streets, I know. Luckily I didn’t have to grow there, I would only go there ‘cause there’s niggas that I know there.” The audacity for one of the biggest names in hip-hop to so explicitly lay out that he’s not from the block is striking, the fact that he does it with such machine gun precision and skill is a revelation.
“Hold On, We’re Going Home” is the album’s emotional centerpiece. In a croon that’d give Marvin Gaye chills, Drake assures, “I want your hot love and emotion, endlessly.” There’s no rapping at all here, and Drake’s singing has never sounded better. It’s equal parts bleary-eyed anthem for every girl who’s ever left a club alone at last call and bottom-lip-biting R&B banger. Is he just trying to get into your pants before the end of the night? Probably. But you’re going to cry on each other’s shoulders first and feel better about your problems the next morning.
Drake’s usual partner in crime, Noah “40” Shebib deserves much of the credit for Nothing Was the Same’s seamlessness. Some songs come equipped with two-minute outros and reprises, while others bleed into each other. In lesser hands it could’ve turned into a disorganized hodgepodge, but the album plays like a neatly pieced together puzzle. The arc comes to a close with “Pound Cake”, which also features the only A-list guest spot on the entire record, courtesy of Jay Z. It’s the sequel to Thank Me Later’s “Light Up”, but the contrast between the two tracks couldn’t be more stark. Where the living legend once offered sage advice to a rookie, this time he comes off like a dorky dad knocking on his son’s bedroom door (low moment: Jay rhymes “cake” with “cake” eight lines in a row). It’s here, standing shoulder to shoulder with giants, where it’s easiest to see how much Drake’s craft has improved since he broke onto the scene. He doesn’t need to lean on another MC; He’s honed his game to the point where he can make even one of the most decorated rappers look like a second-rate schlub.
At this moment, one of rap’s hottest talents is a guy who’d rather read you his diary than his bank statement. Nothing Was the Same wrestles Drake’s successes with his ever-lingering insecurities, and like some of the best music, we can see ourselves in these songs. It’s an exhilarating change of pace for the genre. Now pass the tissues.
Contact Drake
Website | Twitter | Facebook | Myspace | Vevo | iTunes | Amazon
Contact The New York Times
Website | Twitter | Faceboook | YouTube | Google+
Contact Consequence of Sound (COS)
Website | Twitter | Facebook | YouTube
Sources : Drake Photo | Listen To Nothing Was The Same | Drake Article | Nothing Was The Same Review
Purchase : iTunes | Amazon | Walmart
Listen To Drake : Nothing Was The Same
Let it be known that the Tough Drake era begins not this week, with the release of “Nothing Was the Same,” the first official Tough Drake album, but rather began all the way back on Jan. 6, 2012. That day saw the release of the video for “Stay Schemin,” a Rick Ross song featuring Drake and French Montana. The clip is a fuzzy Michael Mann rip-off, nighttime Miami reduced to blacks, grays and electric blues, oozing sinister energy.
In it, Drake dons a black sweatshirt, black jeans, black boots and a gold chain. He spends most of his verse staring hard into the camera, his eyebrows barely moving. He gestures brusquely with a bandanna in his right hand. And he delivers what is easily the most tart, harsh, menacing verse of his career: “Might look light, but we heavy though.”
This came not even two months after the release of “Take Care,” Drake’s masterpiece album of sensitivity and recrimination, and it read like an almost total repudiation of it. That album was a bloodletting of heartbreak and anxieties, while “Stay Schemin” was a firm punch to the jaw that became a staple at the same time as some purple songs from “Take Care.” Not only was Drake writing his own narrative, he was also writing his own counternarrative. It’s difficult to tell which of those is now the main plot — both are in play on “Nothing Was the Same” (Young Money/Cash Money/Republic), Drake’s third excellent major-label album, and the first to come as he is firmly ensconced in hip-hop’s top tier.
Before, he was an interloper effecting seismic change in hip-hop, thanks to his dismantling of the usual facades of acquisitiveness and fearlessness. Building on Kanye West’s template of ambivalence, Drake took Mr. West’s self-examination and stripped it of all its agitation, preserving only the emotional turmoil. He wanted success, and was aware of his more conventional competition, but his concerns were primarily internal.
But Drake is on top now, the genre’s stylistic standard-bearer and its most reliable and versatile hit maker, and his concerns have shifted accordingly. On “Nothing Was the Same” Drake broods like before, sure, but also puffs his chest in equal measure. He’s always used his music to send messages to women who’ve broken his heart, or whom he just couldn’t hold tight enough. Now he’s got something to lord over them, too.
The musical choices are familiar — hazy, often doleful post-soul and low-end-heavy hip-hop, largely moving slowly and with deliberateness. Most of the album is produced by Drake’s longtime associate 40, who’s sticking close to the sound that’s become their joint signature. The aching hit “Hold On, We’re Going Home” recalls “Find Your Love,” from 2010; “Pound Cake” is reminiscent of “Dreams Money Can Buy,” from 2011.
The most noticeable change in Drake over the last couple of years has been physical, not musical: suddenly he’s muscled, full of hard angles. The eyes remain soft, but everything around them has been remade. This is the externalization of the bravado that is now an essential part of his music — he’s bragged plenty before, but now it has weight. (It’s probably worth mentioning the New York nightclub altercation between Drake’s crew and Chris Brown’s crew in June 2012; when Drake spoke of it in a recent GQ interview, he had an ominous air, as if anticipating how things could get worse.)
But muscles aside, there’s no real physicality to Drake’s toughness. It’s a psychological evolution more than anything, the result of accepting his stature as reality, not just a dream. In the past, laying himself bare has been the most natural thing. But when you’re the object of ire and jealousy, the apt response is to flash teeth and snarl a bit.
The “Nothing Was the Same” tough talk began several months ago with the release of “Started From the Bottom” — like most of Drake’s opening album singles, it’s far more muscular than what appears on the rest of the album. It’s rousing and victorious — “There ain’t really much out here that’s popping off without us” — and also a bit malevolent.
That was one of several songs, dating back to “Stay Schemin,” in which Drake put up his dukes and prepared for a fight: the baleful “5AM in Toronto,” or his verse on the remix to “Versace” by Migos (“This year I’m eating your food and my table got so many plates on it”), or the joyful flexing on ASAP Rocky’s single, the unprintable title of which shortens to “Problems.”
These songs taken together are the equivalent of a shuttle burning through its rocket boosters before thrusting into space, a familiar Drake strategy. Such sturdy and assured early singles and guest appearances free him up to make an album heavy on catharsis.
That’s only part of what Drake’s done on “Nothing Was the Same,” but still a huge part. Sometimes the opposing personalities occupy the same song, as on “Furthest Thing,” part tender and part tense. But this album includes some of his most diaristic work, including “From Time,” which is full of scars: “Passive aggressive when we’re texting, I can feel the distance,” he says casually, as if exhausted. The song continues with melancholy piano flourishes by Chilly Gonzales, who set the reflective, miserable mood on “Marvins Room” on “Take Care.” (“From Time” also recalls Common’s wistful “I Used to Love H.E.R.” — and maybe that’s a quiet swipe at Common, who took some lazy shots at Drake a couple of years back.)
“Connect” is slightly rougher, more of a rumble than a mope. It’s about falling for a woman not worth falling for, and then falling again, and again, never learning a lesson: “The idea is so fun every time/At least we try for home run every time.” This is Drake at his eviscerating best, putting both himself and his partner under a microscope, then using the flaws as fuel:
When it falls apart, I’m always still down
To pick a million tiny little pieces off the ground
Wish you would learn to love people and use things
And not the other way around
There is a way Drake cuts through the structures of language that people create to better capture their emotions but really end up as hindrances. It’s unique in hip-hop, and rare in pop as a whole. He is raw, tender, direct.
That goes for his blustery side, too. “Wu-Tang Forever” is a rough-edged love song that samples the Wu-Tang Clan. It bleeds into “Own It,” a sort of extended interlude that drips feeling right down to Drake’s voice, which is processed heavily until it begins melting. (Similar is “305 to My City,” a formless, odd track on which Drake’s vocals slither like warm candle drippings.) Then, as if backing away from a lover’s embrace, comes “Worst Behavior,” the most chaotic and rowdy song here, which seethes with spite, with Drake invoking Mase’s casually swaggering verse on the Notorious B.I.G.’s “Mo’ Money Mo’ Problems.”
People still let Drake down — on this album, he talks about strained business-personal relationships on “Tuscan Leather,” and returns a few times to the subject of women he’s loved who’ve moved on and found happiness elsewhere. In places, now, he’s pushing back with ferocity. On “Pound Cake,” it’s his old classmates in the cross hairs: “Thinking back on how they treated me my high school reunion might be worth an appearance/Make everybody have to go through security clearance.”
On “Too Much,” it’s family members and old friends who receive a tongue lashing. When he performed it on “Late Night With Jimmy Fallon” this month, he began with a disclaimer: “Before I do this song, I just want to say to my friends and family, I want the best for everybody, and I love you all.” But during the song, he had the same eye of the tiger as in the “Stay Schemin” video — it was visceral, even a little uncomfortable.
There’s an implicit hip-hop competition taking place this year between Drake, Jay Z and Mr. West, whose severe left turn “Yeezus” is the only hip-hop album of the year that gives “Nothing Was the Same” a run for its money, even as it runs in far less accessible directions. That Mr. West showed up to perform at OVO Fest, the annual summer festival Drake hosts in Toronto, indicates, though, that whereas Drake once happily colored within Mr. West’s lines, he is making his own paintings now, and Mr. West can benefit from standing next to them. (For what it’s worth, there are definite echoes of Mr. West’s early production on the first two songs on this album.)
That may also be why Drake allowed few other people onto this album: it’s a meaningful time to stand alone, on top. To the extent that other voices invade this record, they do so respectfully — Sampha’s decaying pleas on “Too Much,” Trae the Truth’s Houston bona fides on “Connect,” Jay Z’s cool boasts on “Pound Cake,” and that’s about it. None of them disrupt Drake’s effortless triumph over mainstream rap excess.
On his recent “5AM in Toronto,” Drake gave himself an origin story: “My weight up/I refused to wait up/I started a new race.” And that’s true — by creating his own sound, and lane, he ensured no one could best him. And by being consistently innovative and great, he ensured that his outlier sound would take over hip-hop’s center. He’s winning under the new rules, and the old ones, too.
So Drake is defiant about his place in the pecking order now. “Paris Morton Music 2,” the final song on “Nothing Was the Same,” is all about that: “I’m the big homie/They still be trying to lil’ bro me, dog/Like I should fall in line.” Tough Drake isn’t having it.
Nothing Was The Same Review
“I’ve never been part of a year when so many legends are dropping projects,” Drake lamented in a recent XXL cover story. “How am I going to be seen?” The half-jewish, half-African American MC is not only aware of his competition, he’s out-and-out scared of them. And who wouldn’t be? With Kanye West proclaiming himself “the Steve Jobs of culture,” and Jay Z rolling with multi-billion dollar media conglomerates, that’d be enough to make a sane rapper recede back into the shadows to brood. But, the thing is, that opaque, champagne-laced place is exactly where Drake lives. Over the last five years, he’s slowly and surely been ushering virtually the entire rap game with him into this world. On “Tuscan Leather”, the opening track from his third LP, Nothing Was the Same, he says he’s “on a mission trying to shift the culture.” And, if an impressive 10 Hip-Hop/R&B No. 1 singles are any indication, this Canadian former child actor is doing a pretty damn good job.
Still, there’s a lot riding on Nothing Was the Same. It’s so easy to crack wise about Drake’s cushy, sensitive guy image (Don’t believe me? Do a quick Twitter search for “Drake crying”). He’s the antithesis of everything we’ve come to expect from our rap superstars over the last 30 years. He drunk dials his ex at 4:00 a.m., prefers making love to fucking, and can’t stop ruminating over age-old breakups with Hooters waitresses named Courtney. Drake is far from the first rapper to brandish his heart on his sleeve, but he is the first to craft an entire persona around this concept. What makes him so appealing and this album so unequivocally successful is that behind his tortured soul there’s a perceptible and refreshing humanity to everything he does. While Yeezy sets his sights on uber-aggressive polarization and Hova hawks cell phones, Nothing Was the Same is essentially an album of bedroom confessionals with a million dollar budget. Drake isn’t a monolith of culture beyond all reproach; he’s a regular guy who hasn’t quite figured his life out yet.
He’s getting there, though. 2011’s phenomenal Take Care showed Drake alone and dejected in his gold-plated mansion; on Nothing Was the Same, not only is his chin up, it’s in the clouds. On all-hook–no-filler single “Started From The Bottom”, he raps, “say I wasn’t hungry, never struggled, yeah I doubt it nigga.” He’s addressing his most common criticism head-on – yes, his past consisted of middle class suburbia and plush television sets, but just because he wasn’t slinging crack on ghetto corners doesn’t make his journey and tribulations any less valid.
The streets come up again on “Wu-Tang Forever”, where amidst some of Drake’s most poised rhyming to date, he confesses, “I find peace knowing that it’s harder in the streets, I know. Luckily I didn’t have to grow there, I would only go there ‘cause there’s niggas that I know there.” The audacity for one of the biggest names in hip-hop to so explicitly lay out that he’s not from the block is striking, the fact that he does it with such machine gun precision and skill is a revelation.
“Hold On, We’re Going Home” is the album’s emotional centerpiece. In a croon that’d give Marvin Gaye chills, Drake assures, “I want your hot love and emotion, endlessly.” There’s no rapping at all here, and Drake’s singing has never sounded better. It’s equal parts bleary-eyed anthem for every girl who’s ever left a club alone at last call and bottom-lip-biting R&B banger. Is he just trying to get into your pants before the end of the night? Probably. But you’re going to cry on each other’s shoulders first and feel better about your problems the next morning.
Drake’s usual partner in crime, Noah “40” Shebib deserves much of the credit for Nothing Was the Same’s seamlessness. Some songs come equipped with two-minute outros and reprises, while others bleed into each other. In lesser hands it could’ve turned into a disorganized hodgepodge, but the album plays like a neatly pieced together puzzle. The arc comes to a close with “Pound Cake”, which also features the only A-list guest spot on the entire record, courtesy of Jay Z. It’s the sequel to Thank Me Later’s “Light Up”, but the contrast between the two tracks couldn’t be more stark. Where the living legend once offered sage advice to a rookie, this time he comes off like a dorky dad knocking on his son’s bedroom door (low moment: Jay rhymes “cake” with “cake” eight lines in a row). It’s here, standing shoulder to shoulder with giants, where it’s easiest to see how much Drake’s craft has improved since he broke onto the scene. He doesn’t need to lean on another MC; He’s honed his game to the point where he can make even one of the most decorated rappers look like a second-rate schlub.
At this moment, one of rap’s hottest talents is a guy who’d rather read you his diary than his bank statement. Nothing Was the Same wrestles Drake’s successes with his ever-lingering insecurities, and like some of the best music, we can see ourselves in these songs. It’s an exhilarating change of pace for the genre. Now pass the tissues.
Contact Drake
Website | Twitter | Facebook | Myspace | Vevo | iTunes | Amazon
Contact The New York Times
Website | Twitter | Faceboook | YouTube | Google+
Contact Consequence of Sound (COS)
Website | Twitter | Facebook | YouTube
Sources : Drake Photo | Listen To Nothing Was The Same | Drake Article | Nothing Was The Same Review
Purchase : iTunes | Amazon | Walmart
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