When Drake tells us approximately 10 minutes into his new album that he’s “exhausted and drained,” it’s clear we’re supposed to sympathize with him. The revelation comes in the song “Emotionless,” just after the Canadian superstar has more or less confirmed widespread rumors that last year he secretly fathered a child. “I wasn’t hiding my kid from the world / I was hiding the world from my kid,” he insists, going on to describe the fatigue created by a culture in which “empty souls … just wake up and look to debate” the intimate dealings of celebrities like him. But the only reason the internet is obsessed with Drake’s personal life, of course, is because he’s been singing and rapping about it since he broke out nearly a decade ago. And here this dude has the audacity to complain about being tired before he’s even finished four songs on “Scorpion”? Imagine how the rest of us feel an hour and 20 minutes later, when he finally brings this 25-track double album to a close. Advertisement Released Friday, when it leaped instantly to the top of any streaming-service chart you looked at, “Scorpion” is sure to test the endurance of even the most committed Drake fan. Split into two halves (or “sides” as the musician calls them), the project showcases both Drake the hip-hop blowhard and Drake the R&B sweetheart. Whatever the setting, though, he clings doggedly to the same storyline, which basically amounts to: Drake has been maligned or misunderstood, and that hurt his feelings in a major way — but also he doesn’t care because there’s nothing anybody could do to bring him down (except for so-and-so doing such-and-such). The result might remind you of another thin-skinned bully with a very public platform if Drake didn’t steer as clear of politics as any A-list entertainer right now. (“President doin’ us in,” he raps almost as an afterthought in “Blue Tint,” and your first instinct is to wonder which gossip blog or famous ex-girlfriend he’s referring to.) Yet for all its tiresome megalomania, “Scorpion” is so beautifully rendered — from vocals to samples to features to beats — that Drake ends up pulling you over to his side, much like Kanye West did on his similarly vexing “Ye.” “Emotionless” sets those thoughts on the empty souls of the celebrity-industrial complex against a churchy snippet of Mariah Carey’s “Emotions,” which provides a tenderness the song wouldn’t otherwise have had. Ditto an appearance by Nai Palm (of Australia’s Hiatus Kaiyote) in “Is There More,” where her interpolation of a few lines from an old Aaliyah song gives some weight to his rich-guy hand-wringing about whether or not there’s “more to life than going on trips to Dubai.” “Scorpion” is full of vivid female vocals, both performed and sampled — a smart but cynical tactic (for a guy eager to show he’s not the womanizer his lyrics often suggest) that Drake deploys most effectively in “Nice for What,” which layers Lauryn Hill’s sped-up “Ex-Factor” over a hectic beat inspired by New Orleans bounce music. That’s just one of the regional styles that Drake, perhaps hip-hop’s savviest curatorial mind, nods to here; he also looks to the Memphis rap scene in “Talk Up,” produced by DJ Paul of Three 6 Mafia, and “Nonstop,” which samples an underground rapper from that city delightfully rhyming “smoking the chicken” with “bass is kicking.” But “Scorpion” also has sounds that suggest Drake and his expansive team of producers and songwriters were reaching for new territory, as in “Summer Games,” a gorgeous synth-pop ballad about the ways people play with one another on social media. Advertisement “You say I led you on, but you followed me / I follow one of your friends, you unfollow me,” he croons over a thrumming groove, “Then you block them so they can’t see you liking someone just like me.” Only Drake could make this into high drama. Even in the more familiar stuff, though, he exercises a remarkable attention to detail: Check out how he and the production duo of 40 and Nineteen85 carefully stitch together parts of a previously unreleased Michael Jackson vocal to have the late King of Pop accompany him in the moody “Don’t Matter to Me,” or listen to him savor the title word in “Finesse.” (It’s practically an instance of onomatopoeia.) “Scorpion” ends, no surprise, with Drake’s full accounting of the one thing he could be sure folks would stick around for: his unexpectedly becoming a parent with a woman he says he met only two times. “Sandi used to tell me all it takes is one time,” he raps, referring to his mother. Advertisement And for its first few minutes, “March 14” is uncharacteristically raw, with Drake peppering his frank single father’s lament with sharp images like “an empty crib in my empty crib.” But just as you’re wondering whether Drake might’ve broken through to some new plane of emotional maturity, the hard-knocking hip-hop track transforms into a plush R&B jam in which he quotes Boyz II Men to insist that he’s all alone and needs shelter from the rain. It’s as self-pitying — and as pretty — as could be. mikael.wood@latimes.com Advertisement Twitter: @mikaelwood<doc-sep>Drake Rap How popular is Drake? Not only did the Toronto rapper’s latest album, “Scorpion,” go platinum the day it came out — breaking streaming records on Spotify and Apple Music — but a recent study determined he is responsible for at least 5 percent of his hometown’s tourist economy. That doesn’t help lighten the mood on his sprawling new release, which finds the 31-year-old superstar trawling through his pathos over 25 songs that clock in at nearly 90 minutes. The many personae of Drake are all present: the ladies’ man, fighter, icon and, as he reveals on “March 14,” a new single father. That last one is what fuels the overwhelming sense of paranoia that runs through the material, which is split almost evenly between songs that find him rapping and singing. He casts himself in an elite world, where he interpolates Mariah Carey (“Emotionless”) and Lauryn Hill (“Nice for What”), and shares a microphone with Jay-Z (“Talk Up”) and Michael Jackson (“Don’t Matter to Me” uses vocal samples from an unreleased 1983 track). But at its heart “Scorpion” finds Drake, an artist known for his precision and candor, on unsure footing. Somewhere in this expanse there might be a decent album — one that could have existed with a little vision. Maybe Drake already knows this. On one of the album’s closing lines, he cops, “I’m changing from boy to a man, no one to guide me, I’m all alone.” More Information DRAKE SCORPION CASH MONEY $17.98 See More Collapse — Aidin Vaziri<doc-sep>Tarnishing the release of Scorpion was an appropriately venomous narrative. The telenovela-esque birth of a Graham heir, fathered in secret somewhere in the romantic French countryside, or possibly the standard hospital. In a vacuum, the birth of Drake’s son is nothing particularly unheard of, least of all in hip-hop; many rappers have children, some more than others, and seldom is progeny put on so public a pedestal. Yet Drake is different. For reasons, perhaps self-imposed, perhaps driven by his self-professed embracement of the “good-guy” role, the reveal of young Adonis seemed to play out like a television plot-twist, played to audible gasps and the visual of a smug Pusha T stroking his goatee, Satanlike. For many, even those dubbing themselves loyalists, Drake’s reputation took an irrefutable hit. Though few would dispute “Duppy” was a respectable first strike, public opinion soon came to favor the counter-riposte of “The Story Of Adidon.” It didn’t take long for the once adoring public to turn on Drake, and soon, October’s Very Own felt very much on his own. While a Drake record may have previously set the summer ablaze, it felt more akin to the scene from Toy Story, where Andy trades in the stalwart Woody for the post-modern delights of Buzz Lightyear. Ubiquity is a gift and a curse. Only when one reigns so mightily at the top, can the descent to the bottom be such a public affair; while the masses cherish an underdog, they’re often quick to forget their role in shaping such a figure to begin with. It’s strange to imagine Drake, with all his broken records, platinum plaques, and worldwide recognition, as an underdog. Yet Scorpion felt weighed down by a cumbersome set of expectations. Despite reports that the Pusha T beef was dead, some wondered if Drizzy had a response tucked away in the stash; anything remotely resembling pacifism reeked of defeat, even if the moral compass so clearly favored the higher ground. Maybe that’s why Scorpion still carried an aura of disappointment, despite being lined with many quality bangers. We’ve already come to understand Drake as a proud man, and one can only imagine backing down from such a scathing public shaming would prove difficult. In that regard, a viable alternative might have been to counter Daytona with undeniable quality; a clear sense of vision, meant to encapsulate Drake in all his artistic glory. Instead, the result was a double album, twenty-five songs deep. In the era of “stream-trolling,” such a move only served to give skeptics further stores of ammunition. To be fair, plenty of double albums have existed before “stream-trolling” kept eyebrows perpetually raised. To write the dual-sided project off as a vain attempt at capitalizing on increased streaming numbers only serves to strip away all semblance of creative agency. We already know Drake is a proven creative mind, and adding greed to his list of sins is only doing unnecessary disservice. Ostensibly, the divide exists to satiate both factions of his core audience, broken down most succinctly through the basic dichotomy of “rap” and “r&b.” With two sides to unpack, it seems fitting to start at the onset. Introductory cut “Survival” finds Drake sitting in his comfort zone, blending deadpan wit with trademark introspection. Unfortunately, his choice to completely ignore the fallout of “Adidon” puts fans in a difficult predicament. Those who feel connected to Drizzy’s story clearly want to know the emotional impact of such a public blow, especially from a man who has so openly worn his heart on his sleeve. If anything, distancing himself from Pusha’s taunts only serve to distance himself from those willing to hold up the safety net. Luckily, the Tay Keith produced “Nonstop” is hard enough to shake off the cobwebs. Channeling the minimalist swagger of Take Care banger“The Motto,” Drake rides the bassline, flaunting his honorary Bay Area membership pass with conviction. When he kicks into his “I’m a bar spitta,” rhyme scheme, it’s easy to remember what makes him such a compelling emcee in the first place, evoking memories of Cash Money veteran Juvenile’s singsong delivery. Despite “Nonstop’s” early placement, it feels very much like an album highlight, retaining the honor throughout the entire musical odyssey. From that moment on, Side A largely covers familiar ground, leading to the occasional moment of brilliance, largely evidenced by “Emotionless,” and the DJ Premier produced “Sandra’s Rose,” though the latter raises questions over why Drake channels Bart Simpson in calling his parents by their given names. And while there is something validating about hearing Jay-Z sneer “y'all killed X and let Zimmerman live, streets is done,” the sheen of the statement is not enough to match previous drops “Light Up” or “Pound Cake.” Is it enjoyable? Of course. But it still feels like treading water, when swimming is merely one element of the triathlon. Of course, he sings. There are some who still consider, perhaps naively, Drake to be a “pop singer,” simply because his biggest hits gravitate to radio. As if the man hasn’t put in work behind the mic. Still, the subdued, often emotional, 3AM-iMessage lamentations have become a staple of his persona. Therefore, it’s no surprise that Side B features plenty of entertaining melodic moments throughout its refreshing, if occasionally subdued runtime. Despite Side A feeling decidedly more immediate, Side B is arguably the more complete of the two. Like its predecessor, Side B starts off with strong, with the muted melancholy of “Peak” and the infectious sentimentality of “Summer Games,” which feels inspired by known Drake favorite Stranger Things. Despite being thematically reminiscent of an iconic Grease number, “Summer Games” has all the makings of a Drizzy radio banger. Though Side B largely slides lyricism to the side, Drake’s confident bouts of self-analyzing mansplanation inevitably delivers a few gems, like the ever-relatable “talk used to be cheap, nowadays it's free, people are only as tough as they phone allows them to be.” From that moment onward, Scorpion continues along the path, never straying into unpleasantness. Moments of nostalgia-fueled excitement arise upon hearing Nicki Minaj, Future, and Lil Wayne, each employed with restraint, more tools than collaborators.<doc-sep>Drake was hiding a child. He’d like you to believe he kept his son a secret to protect him from the slings and arrows of gossip blogs and internet commenters. On Pusha-T’s venomous diss track “The Story of Adidon,” he suggested Drake was biding his time until he could make his baby the centerpiece of a marketing campaign for his new line of Adidas clothing. His motives may still be up for debate, but the heart of it is undeniable. Aubrey Graham was hiding a child, and there’s no way for street-level philanthropy or for-the-ladies anthems to bandage the wound the revelation sliced out of his charming image. Scorpion, his fifth studio album, isn’t entirely focused on the significance of fatherhood. Many of its 25 tracks are built around standard-issue Drake themes—the audacity of rappers who dare speak his name, the psychic toll associated with dating multiple beautiful women at once, people who use Instagram weirdly—and the hyper-topical nature of the lines regarding paternity suggest they were added to the album at the last-minute. But fatherhood hangs over Scorpion all the same, casting Drake’s emotional immaturity into sharp relief. He’s never been more skilled as a technician or melodicist, and it’s remarkable how many of Scorpion’s 90 minutes are musically engaging. But the kind of juvenile navel-gazing that leads someone to write a line like, “She say do you love me, I tell her only partly/I only love my bed and my mama, I’m sorry” is less compelling when it’s coming from a 31-year-old father than a would-be college kid trying to make a name for himself. Paternity has been a long-standing source of anxiety for Drake, one that’s persisted as he’s become exponentially more famous. He was already sweating close calls on “The Resistance,” a gaseous Thank Me Later highlight that references a one-night stand who wishes she’d kept Drake’s baby. He bemoaned the paperwork that comes with superstardom on 2015’s “30 for 30 Freestyle,” talking about the paternity tests he’s legally obligated to complete for women he’s never slept with. And the issue resurfaced on this year’s loosie “Diplomatic Immunity,” a song released when his son was just a few months old: “I got the sauce and now shorties keep claimin’ preggo.” Scorpion invites you to pretend that becoming a dad hasn’t been one of Drake’s foremost concerns for the last decade. He makes the disclosure for the first time on the stunning “Emotionless,” coasting on top of an instantly recognizable Mariah Carey sample: “I wasn’t hidin’ my kid from the world, I was hidin’ the world from my kid.” He refutes Pusha’s claim that he’s a deadbeat dad on the opulent “8 out of 10”: “The only deadbeats is whatever beats I been rappin’ to.” To hear Drake tell it, he can’t be bothered to keep their spat going because he’s just too satisfied. “Kiss my son on the forehead then kiss your ass goodbye,” he taunts. “As luck would have it, I’ve settled into my role as the good guy.” Claiming the higher ground is a convenient way to elude the fact that Pusha had the last and most memorable word in their battle, but it doesn’t hold up under close inspection. On the odious “I’m Upset,” one of his worst songs ever, he sounds unenthused about the prospect of child support: “Can’t go 50-50 with no ho/Every month I’m supposed to pay her bills and get her what she want… My dad still got child support from 1991.” This from someone who’s settling into his role as the good guy? And it’s hard to overlook the fact that Drake’s still using his son as a tool—maybe not to sell sneakers and sweatpants, but to insulate himself from criticism over taking a decisive loss. If you can get past Drake’s toxicity, you’re free to luxuriate in Scorpion’s sumptuous sound. With glistening production from his favorites in Noah “40” Shebib and Boi-1da, and new faces like the young Memphis producer Tay Keith (the infectious “Nonstop”), Drake abandons the global pop dalliances of 2016’s VIEWS and last year’s More Life—releases that derived much of their vitality from dancehall, Afrobeats, and grime—to revisit sounds and structures from his earlier career. The tough-talking, rap-centric Side A toggles between the icy, anxious mood of 2015’s If You’re Reading This It’s Too Late and the rich production of 2013’s Nothing Was the Same; the sung tracks on Side B reach all the way back to the moody, nocturnal Take Care, though he sounds less like a lonely sophomore than a zaddy whose heart hasn’t totally frozen over. This means that Scorpion is the first Drake album to double back instead of chart a new course, and its conservatism is disappointing given the near-decade he’s spent at pop music’s vanguard. Splitting Scorpion into two distinct sides—rap and R&B—detracts from his pioneering synthesis of those two genres, but the best songs here don’t sound like retreads; they’re the most refined possible expressions of familiar aesthetics. Soulful, sample-centric cuts like “Emotionless,” “8 out of 10,” and the long-awaited DJ Premier collaboration “Sandra’s Rose” are pure comfort food, a reminder that Drake idolized Kanye West long before they became each other’s nemeses. On the other end of the spectrum, the frosted android choirs haunting “Elevate” and “Finesse” are as weird and thrilling as any beat you’ll hear this year; they sound like Oneohtrix Point Never demos, but they still have a place in Drake’s sound world. It’s on Scorpion’s Side B that Drake comes closest to finding his sweet spot, that inimitable zone where aromatherapy candles never burn out and champagne flutes are never left empty. The Michael Jackson “feature” on “Don’t Matter to Me” is a preposterous flex—consider how many artists have the funds to clear a sample like that—but it’s also the perfect exclamation point for a pop song with the warm throb of “Hold On, We’re Going Home.” On the sublime “After Dark,” he upgrades Thank Me Later-era slow jams with filthy, funny smooth-talking and assists from the late Static Major and Ty Dolla $ign, this summer’s most valuable utility player.<doc-sep>
Drake has spent the good part of a decade on a meticulous quest for hip-hop domination, and with it, his listeners' time. Flashy Super Bowl spots and "Saturday Night Live" appearances, mixtapes and playlists in the off months in between albums, eagerly timed singles corresponding with song-of-the-summer season — the rapper knows that attention is currency, far more valuable to him than the handfuls of cash he handed out to strangers in his "God's Plan" video. That's why it's entirely unsurprising that Drake's new album, "Scorpion," released Friday at midnight, is 25 songs. It's almost more surprising that all Drake albums aren't 20-plus tracks. Because there's nothing more prototypically Drake than believing listeners will happily spend an hour and a half listening to "Scorpion," and the rest of the day trying to process it. It comes from the same impulse that compelled the rapper to, in "God's Plan," buy a grocery store's worth of people everything in their carts. To Drake, "Scorpion" isn't just a new release — it's a gift, an entire extra album's worth of songs bestowed upon listeners with the expectation that we won't be able to look away. And to ensure that his new album would dominate the headlines the day after its release, Drake added the hot gossip that fans were hoping for — news about the child that Pusha-T alleged Drake was "hiding" in his diss track "The Story of Adidon." On "Scorpion," Drake isn't hiding anything related to his son, peppering in references throughout the album and dedicating a song to him, "March 14." “Yesterday morning was crazy," he raps, seemingly describing the process of realizing that he was going to be a dad. "I had to come to terms with the fact that it’s not a maybe / That (expletive) is in stone, sealed and signed / She’s not my lover like Billie Jean, but the kid is mine / Sandi used to tell me all it takes is one time / (Expletive) we only met two times. Two times / And both times were nothing like the new times / Now it’s rough times/ I’m out here on front lines just tryna make sure that I see him sometimes. It’s breaking my spirit / A single father, I hate when I hear it / I used to challenge my parents on every album / Now I'm embarrassed to tell them I ended up as a co-parent / Always promised the family unit / I wanted it to be different because I've been through it / But this is the harsh truth now." More:Drake responds to blackface controversy on Pusha T's diss track in long-running feud On "Emotionless," Drake flips Pusha-T's "hiding a child" claim, attempting to set the record straight. “I wasn’t hiding my kid from the world, I was hiding the world from my kid," he raps. "From empty souls who just wake up and look to debate / Until you staring at your seed, you could never relate.” Beyond the pot-stirring in "Scorpion," fans can expect a better album than his chilly 2016 release, "Views." While Drake is similarly fixated on rapping about his wealth, his enemies and his self-preservation, he seems to have shaken his dance hall fixation, reintroducing R&B as his sonic template of choice for many of the album's best moments. The bad news is that the gems are scattered throughout the album’s 25 songs, a whole six tracks more than the already-overlong tracklist of "Views." The album is split into a “Side A,” dominated by harder, gloomier "If You're Reading This It's Too Late"-style beats, with the notable exceptions of the now-familiar “God’s Plan” and the rousing Mariah Carey-sampling “Emotionless”; and a “Side B,” the more compelling, R&B-focused half of the album that features a collection of tracks primed for summer, including an unreleased Michael Jackson vocal on “Don’t Matter to Me,” handclaps and '80s synths on the nostalgic “Summer Games,” the goofy banger that is “Ratchet Happy Birthday” and the bounce-inspired tracks "In My Feelings" and "Nice for What,” the latter of which still manages to be listenable after endless loops on the radio. Drake could lose half of the songs on "Scorpion" and have an excellent album, but he doesn’t have incentive to cut any tracks, considering the massive streaming numbers "Views" did, thanks to its lengthy tracklist and inclusion of his previous singles.