Drake’s More life; More like slow death…

I don’t know about you, but I’m beginning to feel that Drake and I have a relationship that’s becoming more dysfunctional than a parent reading Valley of the Dolls, at bedtime.  The inevitable peaks and troughs of a musician’s career, on the whole, tend not to shake the staunchest of fans.  But Drake’s musical stock, soaring at one moment and plummeting the next, is causing a confusion only comparable to that of the Middle Aged attempting to use self service checkouts.  Views, an album packed wall to wall with gems, marked Drake as a risk taker with an ear to the World.  It was (and is) a delightful honey coated, African Diasporic infused serving – and then there was More Life…


Just in case you were wondering, this is not the bit where I painstakingly review each song. (I’ve already lost the best part of an hour thanks to Spotify ‘New Releases’, God knows I can’t lose another.) But, right off the bat, I knew that More Life and I would likely get off to a rocky start.  Owing to its declaration of being not an album, but a playlist.  Like the word ‘curated’ and everything else that seems to have trickled down from the world according to Hipsters; the label felt like a cynical attempt to hoodwink listeners into believing the project was anything but, an insubstantial and hollow offering.  Or was that just me?


I believe I am not alone in wishing to unsee the horror of Madonna, gnawing at Drake’s lips like a rabid St Bernard.  But, perhaps the pair’s lip locking was less of a kiss and more of a symbolic baton passing.  Drake certainly seems to have taken on the Madonna approach to hit making.  The approach being: when in doubt, seek out an underground black subculture hello Vogue and liberally sprinkle it over said album playlist, all for added cool factor. In his defence Drake has given Grime artists; Giggs, Skepta and Sampha an introduction to the world stage, and I give him kudos for this.  But I can not help but think in songs like No Long Talk and KMT Drake’s aim is not necessarily to showcase the brilliance of British artists, but to let the world know he is now culturally evolved.


Six songs into the playlist, I began to think that scientists may finally have succeeded in their bid to make time travel a reality.  Spotify repeatedly skipped past my song choice of Madiba Riddim taking me back to 2016’s Too Good.  Nope, sorry my bad, they just sound exactly the same.  Blem, too seemed to be woven from the tired fabric of rehashing, with its remarkable similarities to the 2009 hit Find Your Love.  Another crushing let down were the opening lines of Gyalchester, which are as follows: ‘Hermes link, Ice blue mink’.  The disappointment of a latte made with one espresso shot, and not the two you requested, sprang to mind. (And those were just the good bits)



I’m just kidding there were plenty of highlights, for instance Young Thug’s verse on Sacrifices and um… * Sound of crickets * Let’s just put it this way; if you’re looking to be whined to, intermittently then, look no further as Drake does this beautifully on Nothings Into Somethings.  In fact, More Life sees Drake transform the monotone complaint into an Olympic sport, requiring nothing but persistence and dedication.



Sadly, they do not yet award championship rings for whinging, nor do they award them to those who struggled through Drake’s 22 newest songs.  I know you won’t believe me, but I actually like Drake (all evidence to the contrary).  Nothing will make me get up out of my seat faster than hearing the first notes of 10 Bands.  Mr Graham in case you had any doubt, in the words of Tyra Banks; ‘I was rooting for you’.  We were all rooting for you.  But unfortunately, for me, listening to More Life, was a trying ordeal, to say the least.  Sort of like going through the process of euthanasia, only to find that you are in fact, still living…




  1. Cameron Armstrong · March 25, 2017

    I like the playlist.


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