What’s beyond question is that his vast influence over pop music doesn’t seem to have made Drake any happier. Whether this is laudable evidence of artists having become unafraid to show their vulnerability or merely a load of unbearable whining is a matter of some debate. It’s that his patent brand of melancholy, poor-me solipsism seems to have become pop music’s default mode of expression.
It’s not just that he features on three singles in this week’s Top 40, one at No 1, another a former No 1 and the third – a gloomy confection of off-key synthesizer and muffled female vocals erroneously titled Pop Style – a track so uncommercial that it’s tempting to wonder if it really has any business being in the charts at all. It’s a statement that’s hard to disagree with: at 29, he could make a reasonable claim not merely to be the biggest crossover star in hip-hop, but the defining pop artist of the moment, citing the current singles chart as evidence. By his own account, he is a man apparently troubled by many things, but a crippling sense of modesty has never been among them. This counts as one of Drake’s more understated assessments of his own talent and success. The musical backdrop is sparse and eerie – its two-chord hook marooned over a scattering of vaguely gothic-sounding electronics – but the mood is self-congratulatory: “Doin’ well, dog,” he keeps repeating, with the air of a man who might be nodding his head and smiling as he says it. M idway through Drake’s fourth studio album comes a song called Still Here.
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