Drake – Take Care (REVIEW)

November 15, 2011 15 comments


Take Care of Drake’s bank account by heading to iTunes.

The line between who Aubrey “Drake” Graham is and what Aubrey “Drake” Graham does is razor thin. Drake’s personal life works in direct tangent with his professional life. Separating the two hurts not only the product, but the man himself. Last year’s debut, Thank Me Later, was suffocated by the same tether of fame and high expectations, but Take Care places the Canadian rapper/singer/actor in the peculiar position of comfort in his surroundings.

As a sophomore album, Take Care grows organically from its luxurious roots. Peppered into the melodrama is silky smooth production, candid confessionals, and the aural aroma of a lovingly occupied bedroom. There’s a much more mature and adult Drake permeating through the pores of this LP, but much of that mature and adult Drake is restrained by the professional life that has anchored most of his creative progress to this point.


There’s a suspension of belief that is required to enjoy a lot of the subject matter on Take Care. The character Drake puts on is one of romantic savant. The type of guy who, on “Doing It Wrong”, can utter the line, “When a good thing goes bad it’s not the end of the world. It’s just the end of a world that you had with one girl”, assisted by the eerily pornographic harmonica of Stevie Wonder, without shedding a single flake of dignity. I don’t buy it. All I hear when he spews a line like that is the soft whisper of a woman’s voice reciting “Drake: Television for Women”.

Conversely, there’s also the Drake that objectifies women to the point of disgust. Most notably on everyone’s favorite player hater’s anthem “Marvin’s Room”: “Cups of the Rose, bitches in my old phone. I should call one and go home…” If you’ve ever needed a definition for “objectifying”, there you go. On “Practice”, Drake somehow found a way to turn the ultimate ass gyrating anthem into a ego-maniacal romp where he proclaims, to the young woman he’s addressing, that all the men she’s slept with previously were “practice” for him. Even on a more introspective platform, he’s somehow found a way to become less likable with more exposure.

I understand that criticizing this particular rapper for being obnoxiously soft, while still easily coming off as a douchebag, is a cop out, but it affects the impact of his lyrics when you’re cringing after nearly every bar. Fortunately, Drake isn’t alone in his delivery. What makes Take Care such a warm and cozy affair is that it’s produced so tightly to concept. Where Drake’s lyrics would deter me from enjoying a track like “Shot for Me”, the deep synths and atmosphere keep me immersed. “Crew Love”, featuring my least favorite blog darling, The Weeknd, is an oddly structured ode to Drake’s buddies over at OVOXO and YMCMB (acronyms are the new words). But, it works because of long time collaborator and beatmaker, Noah “40″ Shebib, and his ability to create tension out of nearly nothing. Adding percussion, removing bass; 40 is the most consistent aspect of Drake’s career.

Much of the best production is relegated to ballads. Although, the emphasis on the slow tempo seems more ostentatious than natural. So much of the same ground is covered in so many of the same ways. “Cameras” (number two of three Weeknd features) has a lean-sipped crawl to it, and Drake’s melodic groan on the hook is infectious. I’ve never seen Drake as a truly capable R&B singer. His voice struggles when isolated from the safe dissonance of Take Care‘s beats. And, as much as I’m annoyed by The Weeknd’s music, Abel’s voice, as a contrast to Drake’s, reveals fundamental vocal delivery issues. Still, “Cameras” stands as a highlight for me.

Generally, just one of those moments is plenty, though. Tracks like “The Ride” and “The Real Her” (featuring a fully phoned-in Andre 3000) seem like needless carbon copies. “We’ll Be Fine” is classic Drake: big hook, solid verses, and Birdman, on the bridge, trying to squeeze some swag out of the friction his hands generate. But follow-up, “Make me Proud”, or “Umso umso umso umso umso proud of you” fails because… Well, come on. What were you expecting from, what must be, the contractually obligated Nicki Minaj cut?

The title track, with Rihanna, has a sort of Caribbean/Afro-beat feel to it (in the loosest terms, of course). Calypso is, ironically, closer to Ri-Ri’s roots than anything she’s releasing now. Unfortunately, that doesn’t come together for a compelling track. The Gil Scott-Heron/Jamie xx sample is intriguing, and would work a lot better if there weren’t an entire Drake song wrapping its arms around it. It’s actually so out of place that it shows the major issue with Take Care as a whole: It’s jam packed with filler. No little neo-soul gems like “Karaoke” from his debut. Every idea is drawn out to their breaking point.

All irony aside, this album seems like minimalism at its most maximal. 80 minutes of Drake is, let’s be honest, far too much. Yet, amidst the fluff, Take Care certainly has it’s moments. And, I’ll just come out and say it, “Lord Knows” is one of, if not the best, hip-hop song of the year. Rick Ross could’ve had indigestion all over this track and I’d still blast it in gated communities. I love this beat, you probably love this beat, and we are forever in debt to Just Blaze for releasing this audio energy into the universe.

Elsewhere, as juvenile as “HYFR (Hell Yeah Fuckin’ Right)” is on paper, Drake and Lil Wayne surprisingly do it justice. “Underground Kings”, the inevitable ode to Houston’s finest, doesn’t get hung up on its concept too much to prevent it from being enjoyable in any setting. “Headlines” — “body catching” treats aside (*suspension of belief*) — is an apt single that Drake handles well. My favorite ballad comes late, though, on “Look What You’ve Done”. It’s a touching and earnest villanelle to Drake’s mother and Uncle. Drake’s storytelling, and flow, coupled with a lounge-worthy beat from Chase N. Cashe — as well as the epilogue from Mrs. Graham herself — make this a true human moment, and a genuine treat.

Drake isn’t afraid of his emotions. Actually, he often embellishes them for cheap gain. But, whether I like him as a person or not, his music supports that, and that’s an admirable feat for someone in his position. Yes, the album is a half an hour too long. Yes, the rapping and singing alike are still a weak point. And, although I got much more of Drake on this album than is reasonably necessary, I also got much more of Aubrey Graham. For better, and for worse, that’s a level of vulnerability that I’m willing to commend.

7.0/10