No Frills Reviews

Drake – For All The Dogs

Before announcing an indefinite break from music, Drake teased this album as the return of the ‘old Drake’. Whether that’s the case really depends on your definition of who the the ‘old Drake’ is, and it’s not really clear whether Drake himself knows that. What this isn’t, is a return to form. This suffers from the same issues of most of his projects in the decade since Nothing Was The Same; too long, too many forced collabs, too many experiments in genre tourism, and far too much of the worst aspects of Drake’s character.

Rap beef/gangsta posturing Drake is almost always terrible, and there’s a bit of that here. But it’s misogynistic Drake that is the most off-putting. I’m not expecting clean-cut inoffensiveness but his mix of casual yet hyper-specific sexism, whilst also giving big whingey little bitch energy, makes for cringe-inducing listening. Flawed characters can make for great art, if there’s some contrast or recognition of the flaws, but everything wrong in Drake’s life is someone else’s fault. For a dude who is known for being extremely in his feelings, he seems incapable of any genuine self-reflection. And for all the self-glorification, he mostly sounds miserable. He makes himself and anyone that comes into his orbit sound like some of the most insufferable cunts imaginable.

Now, musically the album isn’t bad, the beats are nearly all fine-good, with the soul-tinged stuff being particularly strong (if somewhat let down by the lyrical content). There’s probably a perfectly decent half hour album in here somewhere, but it’s just a slog to get through in its entirety. There’s no real standouts to break things up and Drake has a tendency to drone on long after a track has run out of momentum. The album is almost 90 minutes and feels even longer.

I wrote in a Travis Scott review recently that he was a big star with very little to say. Drake seemingly thinks he has a lot to say, but really doesn’t. As much as anything he comes off like a bitter dude at the bar telling you that you’re better off single. It wouldn’t be so bad, but he’s nearly 40 now and the whole thing just comes off sad. With increasing success, he seems to have increasingly got lost in being a caricature of himself. That break seems well needed.

Best Tunes: First Person Shooter, 8am in Charlotte, Another Late Night, Away From Home

Class – If You’ve Got Nothing

This album from Arizonans, Class, feels like it could have been released about 40 years ago. It’s rooted in the sounds of that first wave of late 70’s punk and some of the power pop that followed. It feels very British; indebted to the likes of Buzzcocks and The Only Ones, with a hint of revivalism about it.

And I’m not saying this as a negative, because they’ve produced a pretty great version of that sound. There’s something doubly impressive about so clearly evoking a particular era without straight ripping off those influences. Every song here is packed with big choruses, hooks, riffs, and a barrage of machine gun drumming. And there’s an undercurrent of melancholia which can catch you off guard as they toss out lines almost nonchalantly, like “Another year sober, with nothing to show” and “Another nightmare, another human era” (this might actually be error, but either works).

This’ll probably be the only time they’ll get compared to Drake, but this is everything that Drake album isn’t; fast, fun, thoughtful, and fucking good.

Best Tunes: Behind The Ball, Coward’s Disaster, Inspect the Receipt, As If It’d Even the Score

The Atom Age – The Atom Age

Another album with a hand in rock’s past, but this looks back even further as it gives a punk injection to some of rock & roll’s earliest incarnations. Atom Age blast through frenzied takes on surf, garage and rockabilly; at times recalling The Cramps. Blast is probably the key word here; from the rapid-fire blast of drums and guitars that open the album, to the frantic vocal blasts from frontman Ryan Perras, to the first blast of horns which turn the intense energy into something approaching unhinged. At barely 23 minutes, this is a non-stop, high-octane ride with no time to contemplate filler.

Best Tunes: New Season, High Class Motherfuckers, Til Were Shakin