Drake Has a Beef Problem
Also probably some deep rooted confidence issues and an inferiority complex, but I’m not a psychiatrist and one thing at a time.
At this point, I am fairly confident that everyone’s favorite #6ixGod (shoots himself in face with rusty shrapnel) has a marketing department. A team of no less than three men (let’s face it, most likely women, truss me daddy) sprinkled around various OVO Toronto locales who’s sole purpose it is to fervorously scan the depth of the internet to determine which kind of pop-rap genre should Drake appropriate next, how many heart felt voicemails should he include on his next album and the length of each perceived sigh per radio single. Everything he has done up to this point has been meticulously planned out, sketched and charted in front of him like he’s a seven year old kid who’s helicopter mother is getting them ready for school. Drake leaves no stone un-turned, willing to become a meme for the gram if that means more listens and more stans. He’s a mediocre rapper cum impeccable marketing machine capable of seeing three steps ahead. Which makes it even more baffling that he fucked up like he did this weekend.
For those of you not in the know, on his 30th birthday, Toronto rapper released three singles via OVO Radio. One, a crooning pop ballad full of insecure braggadocio in the “they’re hating because I’m doing something right” mold, not very well shrouding the “please tell me you still love me” cry. The second one was a 21 Savage feature with an effort to related to the youths. Most important record however was “Two Birds, One Stone” where Drake finally appears to have mustered up the confidence to come at Pusha T after a 4 year silence in response to “Exodus 23:1.” (Maybe in 2020 we’ll get a Kendrick Lamar diss if Drake is still relevant).
Drake’s previous conflicts and bouts have all been meticulously planned out from start to finish, leaving virtually zero possibility of him losing. Meek Mill, despite what you may think of his Rollie is definitively a less popular artist. Joe Budden was very niche, and overall not relevant enough in 2016 to make a dent in Drake’s popularity. They were non-factors and you can chart the plot of both conflicts from start to finish. Drake winning. Now, he came at Pusha T.
If we stretch the “beef” metaphor in hip-hop, Drake delivers his well done. Planned out, scribbled over and over on a napkin until you can see through it when you hold it up. No line left unturned or market tested for maximum effort. Pusha T is medium rare, not for everyone, but the purists know that this is the way it’s supposed to be consumed, raw and full of flavor, passion and emotion.
Here’s the thing, you don’t just start beef with Pusha T, not even if you’re bored. One sole exception is that you actually decided living is not for you and you’re ready to shed your mortal coil, but Drake seems to be fake-enjoyng his life way too much for that to happen. You don’t beef with Pusha T in the same way as you don’t stick forks in electric sockets. Or take a swim in a lake known for it’s piranha population. Or go to known crip neighborhoods dressed up as a stop sign. Pusha T has been around forever, first as part of the Clipse, then solo due to non-rap related circumstances that facilitated the disbandment of the group.
He may not be a rap titan image wise, but he most certainly is lyrically. Pushing quotables since the early 00s, Push has the wry delivery and punchline mass of a heavyweight fighter. He dances across the tracks, weaving metaphors that lead back to his street life, which allegedly was a lot more complicated, once again, due to non-rap related activities.
Let’s play a game. One rapper has been in the game for over a decade, has a know affiliation (allegedly) with drug dealers and has built his career on aggressive punchlines that feel much like getting kicked in a solar plexus by a hyped up Bruce Lee. The other was on a TV show for teens as a child and has compiled a hip hop catalogue that sounds like a long winded drunk voice mail you send at three AM to your ex to tell her that you still really love her. Who do you think wins? More importantly, which one do you think is Drake?
The simple truth is, Drake is very much ill equipped for Pusha T in an actual rap battle. He is ready to measure Instagram followers, clubs plays at 1am (prime-time for beyond basic track distribution to keep you dancing) and the number of white girls per follower who ask him to do something heinous to them on Twitter. He is not ready to go line for line with the proprietor of the one of the most consistently devastating flows since the 2000s rolled around. Even in a popularity contest, Pusha is affiliated with Kanye and much respected in hip-hop circles. He’s like the elder-statesman of the game. The Andre Miller. The old dude at the Y who always gets the first run no matter how shiny and multicolored your shoes are young blood. While Drake is flexing for the gram, Pusha doesn’t seem to GAF about that. He just makes money and generates lyrical missiles to lob at his opponents.
Drake seems to be unconcerned however, needing to recapture the tidal wave of his popularity Apex from last year, connected in many ways by his methodical marketing ploy of a beef with Meek Mill. Since then, the rap game has changed. Kendrick Lamar probed Drake again, and then released a pseudo-album full of B-Sides. Beyonce continued to Yo-Yo the release model on a string like her own personal Pomeranian (although Beyonce is real af, she’d probably own a Corgi). Kanye West continuously flips not only his production methods, but also his delivery channels on their head. Chance the Rapper decided that making an album is not as important as making creative music in whatever shape or form that may be. Only Drake stood in place.
As well produced Views was, it was far from well rounded. It failed to take risks when risks were needed. It didn’t go far enough, or more aptly, it didn’t move at all. Far too long (81 minutes fam?) and far too uninspired to a point where you can plug songs off her onto Nothing Was the Same and some people may not even notice. Last year was a perfect whirlwind of circumstance. His impromptu release of If You’re Reading This It’s Too Late, coupled with virality of “Hotline Bling,” the perfectly timed Meek Mill beef and a “surprise” project with Future. It all culminated into Drake topping charts and playlists across the country, but it was also almost entirely and purely accidental. This year, he has no one left to copy except himself. His fan base gave him many a pass, even allowing to write like seven Caribbean vibe songs in what I can only presume was an attempt to lure back Rihanna. More importantly, it’s not that he has no one to push him, he has no one to copy but himself.
Most dominant artists have split off onto their own road, doing what people with talent often do, saying “Fuck The World, I’m making my own shit now” in 2016. Drake can’t say F-The-World, he needs the world. It needs to validate his efforts as an artist. And as such, with no one left to look to for inspiration, he looked to himself and found that maybe he should try something that worked last year, except this time he didn’t exactly picked the right opponent for the fight. And he might just get it.
In the end though, does it even matter? Drake fans are part of the most insufferable demographics around. They let him get away with releasing basically the same album for three years running. They let him take some major Ls that would in many other cases be classified as ‘soft.’ They let him paint a whole city Drake without as much as blinking an eye. They’re not about to let him lose to Pusha T. Even if Push lobs lyrical nuclear torpedoes north of the border and complete eviscerates the opposition, the 6ix and people who call Toronto that without even know the real reason behind it (the original six boroughs of the city), will strap on earmuffs, scream “lalalalalalalala” at the top of their lungs and anoint Drake and his sad puppy raps king of the world.
P.S. I should probably discuss the fact that Drake also managed to diss Kid Cudi in general and his bout with depression in particular. As someone who has had mental health issues and struggled with that stigma, all I have to say is FOH Drake. It takes levels of real emotional strength and vulnerability to admit to what Cudi has admitted to. It takes even more to go through with it. This makes Cudi the realest. Facing his problems head on and claiming responsibility for his actions and his emotional state. And it’s much more purposeful than recording 50 faux voice-mails to ex-girlfriends of two weeks or less who you broke up withe because of an internal conversation you’ve had with yourself about being a sad boy. Especially when your latest album is basically an 81 minute protracted sigh with a carribean island jam sandwiched in the middle.
