With his people-pleasing skills, hip-hop's new global superstar worked the Manchester Phones 4u Arena like a politician at an election rally
Drake wants you to feel special. And you. And you, the girl over there in the pink top. And you, the guy waving the Canada flag. He sees you. At this very moment, you, in the grey shirt, are the sole focus of Drake's attention. And you as well, right up there at the top. Tonight in Manchester, Drake strains to reach every single part of the audience and make it feel wanted, desired. In a 21,000-seater arena almost completely packed to the rafters, this might seem a tall order, but hip-hop's current golden boy is not one to shy away from a challenge.
He's kicking off the UK leg of his European tour, promoting his third album, Nothing Was the Same, with 11 super-sized shows around the country. Four years ago, he reminds us, he made his first UK appearance in this arena, warming up for Jay Z who afforded him "this much" stage to work in.
Since then, Drake has been eclipsing Jay Z and his other idols – Lil Wayne, Kanye West – by establishing himself as the hottest commercial prospect in rap: Nothing Was the Same was the fastest-selling hip-hop album in the UK last year. A recent Rolling Stone article, which familiarised us with Drake's palatial compound outside LA and his obsession with large swimming pools, showed a man hungry to build on his success. "I'm ready to go to Europe now," he said, outlining his performance goals in the language of basketball. "I feel like people are tired of me doing 40, 50 points. I gotta go put up 100 in one night for people to say, 'Damn!'"
No expense has been spared for tonight's show. The curtain drops to reveal a gleaming orbital runway, tilted towards the crowd, with a band nested inside. On the back wall, a giant curved screen beams out celestial blues and reds (a nod to California light artist James Turrell). Flames belch as Drake rises up behind the stage on a hydraulic platform, like he's ascending to the deck of a starship.
Stalking around in a white baseball jacket, the 27-year-old delivers his lines with practised ease. "I could go for an hour on this beat," he warns on the opening track, Tuscan Leather, which brings us up to speed on his earnings – "I'm gettin' 20 million off the record"– and his ongoing mission to "shift the culture".
Taking a cue from Kanye West, the former child actor has introduced new levels of openness to hip-hop, a genre notoriously circumspect about discussing what goes on behind the braggadocio. Much has been made of the honesty in Drake's lyrics – about his disillusionment with fame and wealth, about his commitment-phobic love life – not least by Drake himself. "I'm honest, I make mistakes, I'd be the second to admit it," he quips on the opener. Later, on Too Much, he unburdens himself about his family, complaining that his mother is spending too much time cooped up in her apartment.
With longtime producer Noah "40" Shebib, Drake has created a sparse, often chilly musical landscape in which to set these tales of global triumph and domestic tribulation. Tracks such as Furthest Thing echo around the room sounding appropriately cavernous. However, the rapper has the conflicting urge to make this vast arena seem intimate. For much of the show, he confines himself to the tip of the stage, sectioned off by laser beams.
Towards the end, an enormous walkway is lowered from the ceiling. Drake hops on to it and circles the room. He picks out people in the crowd. "I see you, I see you," he calls, identifying each person by an item of clothing or – if female – how beautiful they are. The walkway goes up and down as Drake insists on focusing his attention on every tiniest sub-division of the audience. After 15 minutes he seems less like a hip-hop star, more like a politician rallying for re-election.
The schmoozing is offset by some of Drake's coldest, angriest tracks. After going out of his way to appeal to every life form in the building, he segues abruptly into Worst Behavior, which has him repeatedly spitting the line "Muthafuckas never loved us" over beats that sound like a drill to the skull.
Curiously, the transition doesn't seem all that jarring. Smooth-talking man of the people one moment, grumbling narcissist the next: it's all part of the package. Drake is at ease with his contradictions. What matters is putting on a show that will make people go "Damn!". By the end, he's down in the pit pressing the flesh. It might not be quite 100 in one night, to borrow his basketball analogy, but Drake scores very high for effort.
Rating: 3/5 Reported by guardian.co.uk 2 hours ago.
Drake wants you to feel special. And you. And you, the girl over there in the pink top. And you, the guy waving the Canada flag. He sees you. At this very moment, you, in the grey shirt, are the sole focus of Drake's attention. And you as well, right up there at the top. Tonight in Manchester, Drake strains to reach every single part of the audience and make it feel wanted, desired. In a 21,000-seater arena almost completely packed to the rafters, this might seem a tall order, but hip-hop's current golden boy is not one to shy away from a challenge.
He's kicking off the UK leg of his European tour, promoting his third album, Nothing Was the Same, with 11 super-sized shows around the country. Four years ago, he reminds us, he made his first UK appearance in this arena, warming up for Jay Z who afforded him "this much" stage to work in.
Since then, Drake has been eclipsing Jay Z and his other idols – Lil Wayne, Kanye West – by establishing himself as the hottest commercial prospect in rap: Nothing Was the Same was the fastest-selling hip-hop album in the UK last year. A recent Rolling Stone article, which familiarised us with Drake's palatial compound outside LA and his obsession with large swimming pools, showed a man hungry to build on his success. "I'm ready to go to Europe now," he said, outlining his performance goals in the language of basketball. "I feel like people are tired of me doing 40, 50 points. I gotta go put up 100 in one night for people to say, 'Damn!'"
No expense has been spared for tonight's show. The curtain drops to reveal a gleaming orbital runway, tilted towards the crowd, with a band nested inside. On the back wall, a giant curved screen beams out celestial blues and reds (a nod to California light artist James Turrell). Flames belch as Drake rises up behind the stage on a hydraulic platform, like he's ascending to the deck of a starship.
Stalking around in a white baseball jacket, the 27-year-old delivers his lines with practised ease. "I could go for an hour on this beat," he warns on the opening track, Tuscan Leather, which brings us up to speed on his earnings – "I'm gettin' 20 million off the record"– and his ongoing mission to "shift the culture".
Taking a cue from Kanye West, the former child actor has introduced new levels of openness to hip-hop, a genre notoriously circumspect about discussing what goes on behind the braggadocio. Much has been made of the honesty in Drake's lyrics – about his disillusionment with fame and wealth, about his commitment-phobic love life – not least by Drake himself. "I'm honest, I make mistakes, I'd be the second to admit it," he quips on the opener. Later, on Too Much, he unburdens himself about his family, complaining that his mother is spending too much time cooped up in her apartment.
With longtime producer Noah "40" Shebib, Drake has created a sparse, often chilly musical landscape in which to set these tales of global triumph and domestic tribulation. Tracks such as Furthest Thing echo around the room sounding appropriately cavernous. However, the rapper has the conflicting urge to make this vast arena seem intimate. For much of the show, he confines himself to the tip of the stage, sectioned off by laser beams.
Towards the end, an enormous walkway is lowered from the ceiling. Drake hops on to it and circles the room. He picks out people in the crowd. "I see you, I see you," he calls, identifying each person by an item of clothing or – if female – how beautiful they are. The walkway goes up and down as Drake insists on focusing his attention on every tiniest sub-division of the audience. After 15 minutes he seems less like a hip-hop star, more like a politician rallying for re-election.
The schmoozing is offset by some of Drake's coldest, angriest tracks. After going out of his way to appeal to every life form in the building, he segues abruptly into Worst Behavior, which has him repeatedly spitting the line "Muthafuckas never loved us" over beats that sound like a drill to the skull.
Curiously, the transition doesn't seem all that jarring. Smooth-talking man of the people one moment, grumbling narcissist the next: it's all part of the package. Drake is at ease with his contradictions. What matters is putting on a show that will make people go "Damn!". By the end, he's down in the pit pressing the flesh. It might not be quite 100 in one night, to borrow his basketball analogy, but Drake scores very high for effort.
Rating: 3/5 Reported by guardian.co.uk 2 hours ago.