Rappers love gangster stories. They see themselves in the struggle between power and paranoia, in wondering whether the people eyeing them in public spaces are only coveting their wealth or scheming to make off with a piece of it. When Drake says, “It’s too late for all that lovey-dovey shit, I’m your brother shit, all that other shit” in a song called “Mob Ties,” he is dreaming of clearing house like a don growing weary of tolerating erratic business connects. When Bad Bunny references Ray Liotta’s prison tracksuit from Goodfellas in the gruff new song “Mercedes Carota” — “¿Tú eres bandido? (No, no) / ¿Tú mata’ gente? (No, no)” — he is selling the same assertiveness. This is a strikingly different tone than the excitable spirit of both artists’ bigger hits: “One Dance,” “Passionfruit,” “Tití Me Preguntó,” “Dákiti.” But Drake and Bunny, two of the most streamed acts on the planet, are just meeting an audience where it is. Their latest projects, For All the Dogs and nadie sabe lo que va a pasar mañana, offer dark wish fulfillment to the brokenhearted, betting the farm on resonating with a generation of aggrieved men who are willing to part with their hard-earned dollars to learn from a guy who flexes his fuck you money, answers to no one, and suffers no indignity. In this climate of celebrity pump-and-dump schemes, motivational seminars, and misogynist Manosphere podcasts, it pays to be the villain.
The melancholic irritability flowing through Dogs and nadie is a crossing of unique trajectories. Drake crafted his first mixtape Room for Improvement in his time off from shooting Degrassi: The Next Generation, stressing over crushes and career ambitions in early staples like “Special” and “Successful.” Bad Bunny found his voice while emulating his favorite singers in a beachside town outside San Juan, rapping about love and revenge in gems like “Soy Peor” and “Chambea.” Chart hits made international trend watchers and playboys out of both men in their mid-20s. As the music evolved, the business portfolios expanded via Drake’s Nike deal and Bunny’s WWE career and partnership with Adidas.
But Dogs and nadie suggest that these wins and opportunities might not be worth the grief they cause. By referencing and portraying classic gangsters, Drake and Bunny are reining in the experimentation of prior works, isolating a formula for which the outsized arrogance of the crime boss reveling in the pride that goeth before the fall is a useful framing device. Drake employs Scarface’s “You need people like me” speech in “Daylight” to set the scene for a verse where he denies involvement in a murder while boasting about having a shooter who’s as effective as the Phoenix Suns’ Devin Booker. The chorus of nadie’s “Monaco” supposes a living Pablo Escobar would approve of Bunny, and the video ends with a blessing from Al Pacino. On both albums, sinister, melodic trap tunes and detours into R&B and dance music meet raps now riddled with defiance and disinterest. “I told Jimmy Jam I use a Grammy as a doorstop,” Drake raps in the J. Cole collaboration “First Person Shooter.” “Hoy me depositaron, a los Grammys nominaron,” “Monaco” yawns, unfazed by the criticism money and accolades attract. “Otra vez me criticaron y ninguna me importaron.”
It’s odd, aspiring to be a kingpin. Things rarely go well for them.That air of impenetrability is a bit of a front, though. These men are untouchable but they keep tabs on people who hurt and annoy them and constantly taunt adversaries we’re meant to see as irrelevant. nadie’s dark and plodding “Telefono Nuevo” interrupts verses about sex in parking lots and private jets to liken tough guys in Psycho Bunny to the mobster from The Simpsons: “Esto no son los Simpson, cabrón, tú no eres el Gordo Tony.” The strip club spending and G-Wagon drives in Dogs’ “Fear of Heights” land after a verse swearing people have made too big of a deal out of Drake’s feelings for his exes but also making sure people think this rant is specifically about Rihanna: “I’m anti, I’m anti / Yeah, and the sex was average with you / Yeah, I’m anti ‘cause I had it with you.” It’s strange to watch two artists renowned for their love songs edge the mushy stuff out of the picture, leaving admirers of their hopeful, horny 2018 collaboration “Mía” mostly to pick over the broken bones of ailing friendships and doomed relationships.
Surprisingly, romance is the area where these albums most resemble the street legends they invoke. “I live like Sopranos, Italianos,” Drake boasts in Dogs’ “Gently,” with Bad Bunny in tow. It’s a more honest analog than maybe he planned on. He’s gloating about sex and international flights, but the posturing in the songs about relationships throughout the new album mirrors that of the seasoned professional who, by nature of job-related stress and uncertainty, has mercurial, selfish demands for the people closest to them. Complaining about the immaturity of women in their 20s from the midpoint of his 30s — “I feel like y’all don’t need love,” he groans early on the SZA team up “Slime You Out;” “You need somebody who could micromanage you” — and sending darts at A$AP Rocky, Drake leans into Tony Soprano’s inconsistencies: seething as his younger comare Irina begins dating a local politician, causing worse problems for himself than sucking it up and moving on would’ve. Irina can only ever have a portion of his time and understand only part of his story, but his possessiveness is consuming, outlasting the affair itself. Dogs depicts a free spirit — “Tried Our Best” cuts to the chase: “Leave you at home if I wanna have a good time / Peace of mind / Leave you at home, bein’ honest with you sometimеs” — seeking total commitment from women who might otherwise be sowing their wild oats or starting families.
nadie is much more concerned with matters of the flesh. Bunny’s symbolic return to a crew cut and trap beats feels retrograde, but he’s trying to freak the tough-guy image, flexing on his modeling credentials in “Vou 787,” offering prime real estate to the talented queer rapper Young Miko on the Tego Calderon flip “Fina,” and promising a free car if a woman will eat his ass in “Telefono Nuevo.” nadie’s appetite for spite is just as voracious. The title track speaks harshly of an incident in the Dominican Republic where he threw someone’s phone into the ocean after being asked for a selfie, explaining that he did it because he didn’t think they were a real fan. The ex suing over his use of the “Bad Bunny baby” drop she claims to have recorded in her phone catches a stray in “Los Pits,” a soaring, playful performance otherwise about shaking off negativity that manages to sneak in a subliminal diss for Shakira. It’s Bad Bunny at his purest, living up to the mix of sweetness and mischief literally lurking in his stage name. The inability to get out of even this celebration of self-sufficiency without being petty calls back to the intro, where Bunny has lost love and money, but the desire to kill everyone never leaves him.
Similarly, the most memorable melodies and verses in Drake’s Dogs are burdened by the chilliest lyrics. “I could have you on payment plan til you’re 150,” he sings in a lilt before SZA shows up to “Slime.” On the wounded, yearning “Drew a Picasso,” Drake dives out of his own head and into the living room of his ex and her ex-husband: “I’m the one that you was wishin’ for when you was married / That tale wasn’t much of a fairy / Christmas it wasn’t that merry / You a trophy to me like the Larry.” This stuff used to stick out in the catalog. You knew that the “Best I Ever Had” and “Fancy” man was really hurting when the angry “Marvin’s Room” and “Trust Issues” dropped, that the “Hold On, We’re Going Home” singer must’ve been through something for the pained rant at the end of “Diamonds Dancing” to come out of him. These are no longer exceptions in the catalog now that he’s settled into the crotchety mindset of Certified Lover Boy’s “Pipe Down”: “So, I don’t get how you’re yelling at me / How much I gotta spend for you to pipe down?” And nadie’s return to the sound of Bad Bunny’s mid-2010s breakthrough suggests that he sees the benefit of locking into a specific sound, a concerning development for someone whose work seems delightfully allergic to the existing conventions. In revisiting ground he’s already covered he runs the risk of settling into the numbing consistency that has earned complaints that Drake’s music hovers in a holding pattern.
They could both paddle around this sound and character years to come, subsisting on microwaving mob talk, acting out revenge fantasies for listeners outside the tax bracket that allows you to really tell everyone what you think of them. Bad Bunny and Drake zeroed in on a certain zeitgeist. Schadenfreude and viciousness are endemic; everywhere it seems like people have more and more time to spectate and luxuriate in the suffering of others. Disruptors enjoy the love once reserved for world-builders in the era of Donald Trump, Elon Musk, and Ye, where capriciousness and rudeness scan as authenticity, and causing a divisive commotion is a common promotional tactic. It’s odd, aspiring to be a kingpin. Things rarely go well for them. Tony Montana pushes his friends, family, lover, and business associates away and dies a horrible death after calling the shots one too many times. (Tony Soprano, uh …) Drake and Bad Bunny have revealed the minefield of terrible experiences fame subjects them to, growing agitated and sour under scrutiny and evoking timeless tales of paranoia. How do you get guys to lighten up when their coldest impulses are celebrated over miles of casual and adoring fans and a dedicated cottage industry of drama recappers? Would you risk the bag?
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Bad Bunny and Drake Are Making Offers Fans Can’t RefusencG1vNJzZmivp6x7t8HLrayrnV6YvK57wKuropucmnyjrcNmma6mnq56pb7ApJxmrpmhuaK1zaxloaydoQ%3D%3D