Today Drake is playing number-one video wingman.
And Ri is playing New Yorker. In “What’s My Name” this entails drinking regular-fat milk for enough nail strength to achieve glo-tangerine and powder-blue pointy tips (the manicurists call this almond), having no dishes to wash except for wine glasses, wearing weeny teeny workout shorts when you should have pants on, Patty Fields hair, and a hazy forest flanked drum circle. Drake works well as a low key mini mart sweetheart, all ear whispers, easy dressing. Nothing but a heaven white cardigan and angel eyes.
In “Put it Down” he doesn’t get to join Bun at the business table but comes in center stage at the club after, throwing a little elbow, taking breaks in a leather kings chair. Cozy but not compromised.
We like the boys together, adored in a field of lasers. Still, hypeman is not Drakes role on this earth. He’s less a support than a seeker, texting sweetly pensive communiques into an unreasonable world. Two good songs and clips, though. One day’s good work.