A Letter to Drake

So far this year I’ve been writing mostly about music you all should be listening to, or at least, music I’ve enjoyed listening to lately. Which isn’t really fair to all those artists who have released music that I haven’t enjoyed listening to recently. And who am I to discriminate? To all of these horrendous musicians, I apologize, but fear no more! My music racism stops here: following is a letter to Aubrey Graham, known mostly by his stage name, Drake, who just released his studio album “Take Care” on November 15.

Dear Aubrey,

Oh, you poor, poor child. If only you had stretched your prime, golden years on Degrassi into a more substantial career, because, in all honesty, you belong nowhere near the Hip-Hop profession. You could have been happily shooting season 28 with the rest of the old crew, but instead you’re producing worthless albums such as this one. Oh well, at least middle school girls now have your lyrics to use as material for their feisty teen anger.

Your opening track, “Over My Dead Body” is actually a beautifully crafted instrumental, full of powerful accompanying vocals, a soft and muffled beat, and a wonderful piano overtone. It truly embodies the nostalgic, quiet pride you are attempting to evince. Which is why it’s actually so hard to hear you, Drake, so pitifully ruin your own masterpiece. This song potentially could have been a revealing sentiment, but as soon as your oily voice appears, somehow clashing with your own beat, the song is destroyed. In the opening 30 seconds of your first verse you say, “Shout out to Asian girls- let the lights dim some.” Really? Who and what are you shouting out to Asian girls, if I may ask. Out of four consecutive lines, three end with the word “some.” Three! That’s not how rhyming works, pal, you have to find different words that sound the same. And no, it doesn’t count when you use “dim sum,” instead of “some.” That’s still the same word. You do this throughout the entire song. Three “again’s” in a row. Four N words. Two “from’s.” Maybe you had your Degrassi audition during this first grade rhyming lesson, I’m not sure, but you crucially need some help here.

The only song I enjoy shares the same name as the album. “Take Care” featuring Rihanna, is the only track that deserves to be classified as Hip-Hop. I always expect quality hooks from Rihanna, especially now as she is continuing her streak started by “We Found Love,” (yes, I like that song. Everybody likes that song) but “Take Care” exceeds her repertoire. Her voice powerfully secretes emotion and vulnerability; her soft passion coincides with the simple piano and hand-shaker beat to the point where it is almost palpable. You even manage not to completely and utterly ruin it, and I particularly enjoy how you change between rapping and singing, although your singing voice is far from gifted. If I force myself to only partially listen to the lyrics, this song gets a spot in my top favorite 50 songs. Of November. Also the Florence and the Machine cover is equal to if not better than your version.

A complete breakdown of every song (like D Prep’s heinous, praising, over exaggerated excuse for a review on Sunset in the Rearview) would probably result in me smashing my computer repeatedly against the wall from having to actually listen to every second of your album. Luckily for me, because of how dreadfully similar they are, I can accurately describe the remainder of songs in one general statement: they are not good. The only redeemable quality you have left is that you somehow feature Andre 3000 on the song “The Real Her.” Since it sounds somewhat like an Outkast song off of Aquemini, it starts off as a conceivably impressive song, but, true to your nature, you find a way to ruin it by offering Lil Wayne a verse as well. Andre 3000 is a legend. Lil Wayne serves no purpose on this planet.

Drake, I’m sorry. I don’t particularly enjoy doing this, and I want you to be a star just as much as the next twelve-year old, but you really need to show some improvement. There might be a slight possibility you have some actual talent buried deep, deep down somewhere, but in order to display it you have to stop pretending like you are a moron. You have a brain, stop writing these emotionless, ignorant lyrics. Get back to your “Forever” remix skill level. And if you really want to improve, leave Young Money and take Nicki with you. It’s either that or season 32 of Degrassi, your choice.

Respectfully,

Alex

PS. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LofSI8vfEZ4&feature=related