Drake Review: A Bucket of Yuck…mostly


Take Care

Drake, Take Care, Cover Art, Album

I hate Drake.  I don’t hate Drake because he is a marginally-talented-ass-clown who can’t write lyrics and has a shitty flow.  I hate Drake because he is a marginally-talented-ass-clown who can’t write lyrics, has a shitty flow AND consistently pollutes some of the better beats and potential guest spots in the game merely by his presence.  Drake is the President’s Day of Holidays.  Drake is the Kia Sedan of automobiles.  Drake is the prescription painkillers of illicit narcotics use.  In almost all situations, Drake is the milquetoast cousin of what is good and right with the world.  He flows like rancid syrup, and sings like he wants to be the soundtrack for a middle-schooler’s first handy (just like the Degrassi-alumni that he will always be).   As a further note, Drake refers to himself as Drizzy occasionally.  Spoiler alert:  This goes over about as poorly as you think it would.

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Wale Review: A Breath of Hip-Hop Fresh Air


Wale, Ambition, Cover, Art, Gangster

There has been this absurd narrative floating around, basically lauding Wale for resurrecting from the dead to release a second studio album. It’s not like the guy completely shat the bed on his debut or anything, it was just an utter commercial failure. In essence, this narrative is propagating the theory that the only hip-hop albums of any value are those with mass commercial appeal.
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