Drake’s presence, for better or worse, is both impactful and everlasting. That’s what he reminded the world after he not only delivered his highly anticipated ninth album, Iceman, but bombarded us with two more albums, Habibti and Maid of Honor, two years shy of his highly publicized lyrical lashings from Kendrick Lamar and months after losing his lawsuit against Universal Music Group (UMG) for Kendrick’s “Not Like Us.”
No rapper should have been able to recover from such humiliating defeats, publicly, but here we are. For many hip hop fans, Drake’s presence and music fill many voids. One being the idea that rap should always be led by a muscle-bound, patriarchal male figure with unlimited crossover appeal and can make easily accessible rap music—an archetype pioneered by his predecessors, LL Cool J, Nelly, Ja Rule, The Game, and 50 Cent. In an era that’s actively proven that rap’s true superstars are the ones that go beyond rap’s “traditional” lens (i.e., Megan Thee Stallion, Cardi B, Playboi Carti, NBA Youngboy, ect), people still crave that singular dominating archetype, regardless of whether it’s still needed.
None of these three albums is groundbreaking for the sophisticated hip-hop listener. That doesn’t mean they’re bad, as they are each solid in their own right. Iceman contains Drake’s best technical rapping in years. Maid of Honor is loaded with clear anthems for the ladies and continues Drake’s penchant for elevating newcomers like Iconic Savvy and Stunna Sandy. Finally, Habibti is a sign of what Drake’s music may sound like in the near future.
Drake’s music is pop music personified; good enough to appeal to the widest, most basic group of people possible. Iceman, for instance, carries themes of revenge and spite from suffering humiliation on such a grand stage. Some may consider him as holding on to sour grapes, but it’s far more relatable than people are ready to be honest about.
Since his mixtape days, Drake’s greatest strength has always been his gift to tap into the rawest, basic, and sometimes ill-advised instincts that we feel, but pretend that we’re morally above them. From “Marvin’s Room” to “Make The Pay,” pettiness has always been at the forefront of his music, like how it’s at the forefront of our own consciousness, whether we realize it or not.
For all intents and purposes, Drake has a flip-flop approach, especially when it comes to his female audience. One side of his hand gives admiration and appreciation, like the bulk of Maid of Honor, but the backhand of that is him constantly asserting his dominance and constantly speaking of them as if they’re a commodity rather than autonomous human beings. He gives the ladies all the bops, jams, and Sexxy Red verse to keep them dancing, while offering nothing to uplift them. This separates him from the likes of LL Cool J and Ja Rule because even they carried a degree of admiration and respect for women in their music, though not always perfect.
Drake these days seems to favor men far more than women, particularly since he owned up to his misogyny on For All The Dogs. Then there’s Iceman’s cover art and his long speculated (yet unconfirmed) ties to white supremacy. Online, many have compared the hand donned with Michael Jackson’s sparkly glove, posing holding the “OK” sign, to the official gang sign of white nationalism. While one could argue that it pays homage to a famous picture of Jackson 5-era MJ holding the OK sign, unlike the racist hand gesture, it’s not visibly poking out three fingers; the way it has been used makes the image more damning.
Since the album’s release, the Trump Administration’s social media accounts have posted a doctored image of the Iceman cover holding a diamond-studded MAGA chain. A 17-second video was later posted using his song “Make Them Pay.” Days later, Drake has not denounced the administration for using his music, despite many famous musicians doing so.
Drake never publicly supported the Trump administration or Donald Trump, compared to many of his peers (or rivals). But what has been evident is the decreasing proximity to Black people. In the years since “Not Like Us” dropped, Drake increasingly worked more with white streamers, content creators, and manosphere bros. It’s why some are quick to view the Iceman album cover as an unofficial dog whistle for white supremacy. While his impact continues to fill a polarizing space in hip-hop and pop, it raises important questions about authenticity, representation, and the ways he navigates societal criticism.
As he continues to try to craft his narrative in the music industry, the blurred lines between his artistic expression and social responsibility provoke discussions about accountability in hip-hop. The evolution of his brand reflects not only his personal journey but also the shifting dynamics within the genre, challenging fans to reconcile their affection for his music with the broader social implications of his actions and collaborations. How he responds to these challenges moving forward will undoubtedly influence his stature in the industry and the legacy he leaves behind.