“Karaoke” is probably the track he had in mind for Sade – of course, that was wishful thinking but in fairness to Drake, she would have transformed it from good to great. “Fireworks” opens up the album in lush style, an appealing piano groove featuring a slight contribution from Alicia Keys, lending nothing more than her name and a repetitive chorus (and what can only be described as inappropriate background moaning for a pregnant lady). He deserves to be judged by his musical contribution.) (Before we get to the music, however, a small caveat: I couldn’t give a flyer if Drake is black, white, mixed race, Christian, Jewish, Canadian, rich, poor, ghetto, suburban or – apparently worst of all – a former child TV star. Either way, TML is a clear continuation from his first effort, and the first three songs are designed to lead you from that to this. The uber-cynics would state that his lack of street-cred forced a complex bullshit back-story to be created, in order to distract everyone and let them focus on music. He was already in bed with Cash Money and well on his way to making it. The voices in my head whisper that he blatantly wasn’t unsigned and “So Far Gone” was really just an elaborate marketing coup. So to “Thank Me Later” – the confidently titled “debut” album from Canadian star in the making, Drake. Now you’re expecting me to tell you that when you lose, it’s horrible, the worst feeling in the world… It’s not. Naturally, I’ve played both roles: glorious victor, decapitated loser. And the worst thing is that you can’t even delude yourself: there is almost always a clear winner (more of that “almost” later), and both of you tap into that universal scoreboard. Since one can’t simultaneously date all of them forever, it’s fair to assume that relationships begin and end, with the inevitable moment when you “bump into your ex.” That split second when you see each other encapsulates a whole planet of emotions, feelings, memories: the floodgates of your time together are reopened… Alright, fuck that – REALLY, it’s about who WINS. Hell, I’ve probably had a slice of your share too.
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