Arguably rap, arguably R&B, Drake has entered a whole new style of his croon. In what The Guardian calls “bleating,” Drake does a lot of sing/speaking here on his controversially named new mixtape. Entitled, If You’re Reading This, It’s Too Late, which reads like a suicide note, Drake does a lot of his classic melancholy shtick of “singing in the shower,” about lost love and long nights at the club. For someone who declares himself a “legend,” shout-out’s his status as equal to Kanye & Jay-Z, or would like to be considered credible in the rap world, I barely consider him listenable. I might even go as far as to say that he doesn’t rap at all here. I know that the definition of “rap” is evolving, with songs like, “CoCo,” “Bitch You Guessed It,” and “I Don’t Fuck With You,” starting a new, what I consider horrible, sub-genre, but goddamn is Drake annoying on this mixtape.
The production is pretty good, as Boi-1da & Noah “40” Shebib resume their roles as the main producers of Drake’s work, but I wish it just wasn’t Drake saying the same things over and over again on it. Sure, I haven’t really ever been a Drake fan. My favorite tracks on Nothing Was The Same, were “Hold On, We’re Going Home,” “From Time,” and the two that Sampha featured on. For an album that most except for die hard Take Care fans would say was his best project, I liked about half, and apparently mostly the parts that weren’t him. For If You’re Reading This, It’s Too Late, it’s all Drake, the whole time, and I can’t take that much Drake, though some tracks shine through the filth, like “Legend,” or the most ‘upbeat’ track, “Jungle.” Maybe it’s his self-absorbed/self-indulgent ego, but I simply don’t care enough about Drake to take a 17-track melancholy record of his so-called problems.