Album Review: Drake, ‘More Life’


Scoff all you like, O ye rap purists, but you have to hand it to the man: Aubrey Drake “Drake” Graham has, in his own way, revolutionized hip-hop. With albums like Take Care and Nothing Was the Same, he orchestrated a marriage of rap and R&B sensibilities that hitherto had never been heard before. He rapped. He sang. He was profoundly, often uncomfortably, open about his private life. And everyone loved/loathed/secretly liked him for it. More Life, the latest tell-all tome from our young up-and-coming hero, is a sprawling, colorful sonic panoply that constitutes some of the most varied and enticing work he’s created in his career. It highlights the Toronto native’s strengths as a rapper while providing an exciting new platform from which to flex them.

Ultimately, More Life turns out to be a refreshing return to form following last year’s interesting but mostly lackluster Views. That album, paired with the prior year’s subpar Future team-up What a Time to Be Alive, made some fear that Drizzy, following an unprecedented winning streak, was finally beginning to lose his touch. Fortunately, Mr. Graham is nothing if not resourceful, and he changes things up a bit with this release, turning it into a celebration of black culture and the various musical forms it has begotten.

Don’t get me wrong – the Drake we’ve come to know and love/loathe/secretly like is still very much present here. He’s still reveling in his outlandish success and telling off all the haters nipping at his OVO Jordan-clad heels (“I mean, I keep the fuckin’ lights on in the building/Man, my record deal should be $500 million”). He’s still stressing out over work, doubting himself, wondering who he can trust (“I cannot tell who is my friend/I need distance between me and them”). He continues his never-ending search for that sweet spot between his hedonistic lifestyle and being a more sensitive, caring companion to the women in his life, with Rihanna, Jennifer Lopez, and Serena Williams being among the key culprits this time around (on one track, he even goes so far as to interpolate J.Lo’s “If You Had My Love”). At the same time, Drizzy has frequently proven that he’s at his best when he’s also at his most unpredictable, and More Life documents his evolution as a musician and as a person. If Views saw Drake fumbling for new ways to say what he wants to say, More Life confirms he hasn’t run out of juice just yet.

This reinvigoration is largely attributable to the project’s 31 (!) co-producers, who help instill it with its slapdash, globe-hopping motif (is it any wonder why it’s called a “playlist”?) Musical styles vary from track to track, keeping things interesting when the classic Drake formula threatens to slag. That’s in addition to the various high-profile guests (as well as a couple relative newcomers) Drake brings on board – and whom he wisely lets grab much of the spotlight. UK grime star Giggs makes two mind-obliterating features on the 808-heavy “No Long Talk” and “KMT,” brashly delivering such gems as: “I’m a black man, government earner/Could’ve just slapped man, but he wanted it further/Batman, da-na-na-da-na!” His fellow Britons Skepta and Sampha each get their own tracks, with the former unleashing the same ruthless, erudite flows found on his brilliant 2016 record Konnichiwa, and the latter using “4422” to croon about his relationship timidities as well as to shout out his Morden birthplace and his family’s roots in Freetown. South African DJ Black Coffee and British singer-songwriter Jorja Smith (another alleged love interest) endow “Get It Together” with a bouncy sex appeal, while lush, shimmering Afrobeat guitars and long synth tones bring a taste of Nigeria to the Wizkid-influenced “Madiba Riddim.” A few of Drake’s trap-slinging pals from the South – Quavo, Travis Scott, 2 Chainz and Young Thug – offer some competently jocular assists for “Portland,” “Ice Melts” and the somber, introspective “Sacrifices.” Even Yeezy and Weezy come along for the ride.

And then there’s the dancehall influence. Drake flirted with island rhythms on Views with the hit singles “One Dance” and “Too Good,” but here, he takes it to another level. He peppers many of the tracks with Caribbean soundscapes and Jamaican patois. He talks of being so “Blem” that he “might just say how I feel,” calling his lover’s ex a “wasteman” and warning her to “move from me with the passa.” The lush, tropical “Passionfruit” finds our man at his most vulnerable and tender, with a sunny backdrop flowing throughout as he softly expresses his anxieties about keeping a relationship together (“Listen/Harder buildin’ trust from a distance/I think we should rule out commitment for now, ‘cause we’re fallin’ apart”). Later, we hear tinny steel-drum hits punctuate his angry rebukes towards two-faced well-wishers on lead single “Fake Love.” It’s important to note that Drizzy never copies his influences directly or resorts to pastiche, but rather lovingly incorporates these styles into his own signature sound to create something new and uniquely stunning.

Drake himself often takes a noticeable backseat to his cohorts on a number of these tracks but is by no means phoning things in. When he does appear, he sounds completely rejuvenated, uncorking some of his most exhilarating, self-assured flows to date. Right out of the gate, he goes in on his manifold foes (in particular, one Meek Mill), offering them the fatal challenge of a “Free Smoke”: “Lot of n****s goin’ bad on me/Please, one at a time/I wanna move to Dubai/So I don’t never have to kick it with none of you guys/I didn’t listen to Hov on that old song/When he told me pay it no mind/I get more satisfaction out of goin’ at your head/And seein’ all of you die.” In this context, the title, a well-wishing catchphrase popularized by Vybz Kartel, becomes a bit of a double-sided mantra, echoed by Drizzy as much to himself as to the rest of the world.

Still, amid all the taunts, he isn’t afraid to do some genuine soul-searching on several tracks, admitting that much of his anger may stem from his own insecurities about himself. He bemoans the loss of support from friends and family on “Lose You” – “Winning is problematic/People like you more when you workin’ towards something, not when you have it…How they go from not wantin’ me at all/To wantin’ to see me lose it all?” Mom Sandi appears in voicemail form at the end of “Can’t Have Everything,” admonishing him to remember that, “when others go low, we go high.” By playlist’s end, his wrath seems to have cooled down a bit – or, at least, he’s a little more at peace with his situation. “Scary whenever I close my eyes at night,” he muses on album closer “Do Not Disturb.” “Wakin’ up to public statements about my private life/I can never sleep ’til morning on all my quiet nights/But you can rest assured that my mind is right.”

More Life is definitely a lot to take in and may be best digested in a few sittings, but there’s certainly a heck of a lot to love here. Drake melds his many influences into an intoxicating, irresistible aural smorgasbord; sometimes the seams are quite visible, but that only adds to the project’s charm. All in all, Drizzy seems to be learning more about the person he is, and in spite of his serious tone, he hasn’t sounded like he’s having this much fun with a project in quite some time. Here’s hoping that when he returns from his retreat to his “regular life” in 2018 to “give us the summary,” his inventive spirit will continue to thrive. More Life, indeed. (8.5/10)


More Life

OVO Sound / Young Money / Cash Money / Republic // March 18, 2017

Produced by Drake, Oliver El-Khatib, Noah “40” Shebib, Kanye West, Murda Beatz, PARTYNEXTDOOR, et al.

Album Review: Homeshake, ‘Fresh Air’


Peter Sagar first made a name for himself as the nimble-fingered touring guitarist for indie slacker idol Mac DeMarco. As a solo singer-songwriter, he creates music that (spiritually, at least) follows a similar path to that of the scruffy, weed-loving, chill-as-hell DeMarco. But whereas DeMarco espouses goofy, psych-influenced slacker-rock, Sagar’s muse is a bit more subtle, as evidenced by the lazy, delectable, discreetly funky electronica (often erroneously classified as “bedroom R&B”) that has become his trademark.

Sagar proves himself a master of that craft on Fresh Air, his fourth opus under the nom-de-stage Homeshake. For each of the album’s 12 tracks (bookended by two short instrumentals), he crafts a gorgeous melody and plays it on a loop, letting it soak into your brain until it permeates your entire psyche. The album plays much like a series of vignettes, offering intimate glimpses into the life of a young person who keeps regularly stoned on both love and other substances – and all the complicated emotions and relationship snags that accompany that life. Sagar soundtracks it all with a winning combination of quiet-storm instrumentals, bargain-bin yacht-soul synthesizers, and his lethargic, slightly strained falsetto (which sounds like a cross between the Revolution’s Wendy Melvoin and Lisa Coleman and a more reserved, balladeering Prince). As he has on past releases, he effortlessly strikes a perfect balance between deep soul and incredible restraint. He incorporates styles of the past into his own distinct sound without merely borrowing them or resorting to pastiche or cliché.

The album opens with smooth, chill guitar grooves over a light and wispy synthetic beat as automated voices (literally) welcome the listener to the forthcoming experience. Then the percussion of “Call Me Up” starts its clicking and clapping, and Sagar instantly unleashes an irresistibly ethereal atmosphere driven by a woozy synth hook. “I can feel the pain within you,” he softly observes. “It’s turning your insides out/And filling you up with doubt.” The track depicts an idyllic young romance, wherein the two lovers are so connected that a sort of telepathy develops between them, and they each know how the other feels even when they’re in separate rooms.

Would that all human relationships were so simple. Throughout Fresh Air, Sagar navigates the troubled seas of interpersonal hecticism as he alternates between party-hopping and hanging at home, indulging in God’s sweet leaf. He rejects the advances of an unrequited lover over loop-de-looping synths on “Not U” (“Staring daggers, like you think that it could change a thing…Hope that this will be the last time that I hear from you”). The uptempo R&B jam “Every Single Thing” portrays a severe strain in communication, with bleak airport-terminal tones and striking chord changes accentuating the drama (“Thought it’d be easier/For me to think of her/I was dreaming when you spoke and not listening to you”). As many of us (Sagar, it seems, very much included) know well, it’s not easy to be a lover in this modern age of distraction, confusion, and uncertainty – and yet, we keep trying our best anyway.

Fresh Air also finds Sagar routinely demonstrating that he can establish tone and mood with the very best of them. “Getting Down Pt. II (He’s Cooling Down),” with its gently buzzing bassline and whispery drums, sounds not far removed from a Voodoo-era D’Angelo jam. On “Timing,” he uses a chilly minor-key synthscape to evoke the supreme ennui of his loneliness while whiling away the hours until his s/o returns home. As the weirded-out, glitchy outro sets in, we as listeners come to the consensus that lazing around the house has never been – and may never again be – this gorgeously dramatic.

It’s the second half of the album, however, where we start to behold the true depths of Sagar’s mastery as a musician and arranger. He’d like us to think he’s not even trying – the breezy grace of his arrangements certainly make it seem so – but deep down, he’s a fussy sonic perfectionist, striving to find the exact right combinations of sounds to illustrate the moods he envisions.

Pretty much any song on Fresh Air could qualify as a standout track, but high among the ranks stands “TV Volume,” which finds Sagar’s guitar purring funkily over a razor-sharp groove, the drums repeatedly start-stopping in time. It’s a subtle, sensual kick in the ass that’s so understated, it’s almost devastating. Immediately succeeding this quiet beauty is yet another standout, the robotic, pure-sex-exuding “Khmlwugh.” Descending chromatic synths hover atop steadily tiptoeing bass and a clap-trap beat as Sagar unfurls his mantra of “kissing, hugging, making love and waking up and getting high.”

And so the magnificent sonic journey continues to its serene end. The title track, a subdued, six-minute slow jam, is colored by sweet, silky guitar strums over the faint sound of a swirling wind. “So She” sounds more than a little like 50s/60s lounge-pop with a dash of bossa nova, like something Stevie Wonder, Caetano Veloso, Astrud Gilberto and Fagen & Becker might record after smoking a few together in the studio. Closer “This Way” is Sagar at his most unabashedly yacht-rock; he croons about chilling out at home with his main squeeze as shivery percussion and delicate, goofy “night-life” keys that rather deliberately recall Paul Davis’ “I Go Crazy” meander in the foreground. It’s a great summation of what Sagar does best – using snippets of the past as a soundtrack for snapshots of the present. “Come and sit and stay a while,” he breathes. “You can relax, it’s me/Feeling slippers on the frozen tile/So cold, living comfortably…”

The charm of Sagar’s scrappy yet immaculate concoctions is boundless – simple elements are expertly combined to form something truly grand. He weaves magical, intimate universes out of his guitars and synths, creating a listening experience that’s equal parts soothing and compelling. It’s certain to serve as the backdrop to a THC-haze-coated makeout sesh between young hipsters – and I mean that as the highest possible praise. Here’s to Homeshake’s most thrilling and intoxicating effort yet, and here’s to the further sonic triumphs certain to form in its wake. (8.6/10)


Fresh Air

Royal Mountain/Sinderlyn, February 3, 2017

Produced by Peter Sagar