"“Hurr Nor Thurr” should be exciting, but its ghostly hums and drums sound as if they're covered in molasses, and Drake and Sexyy Red are just trudging through them. “Classic” feels more like window dressing than a full idea, ceding half the track to a pitched-up Jus' Cauze sample that's bait for crate-digging R&B nostalgia hounds. Drake's more reserved style on the downtempo tracks puts his aphorisms about modern life and its contradictions under a microscope, which feel less charming than they did 15 years ago."
"Drake's music has always shone brightest when he focuses on the heartbroken figure at its center, and dimmed when the lens turns outward. The whiplash between the two modes-brief musings on isolation and the sense that time is running out, boring stretches about keeping score and who's fucking who-makes HABIBTI feel unbalanced. He moves past the early clunkiness on “Gen 5” with an enthralling second verse, launching into an echoing, morose melody: “I don't think you love me, but I could be wrong/Sitting at this table and I don't belong,” he sings, letting doubt creep in."
"For a moment, “Slap the City” revs up, and London singer Qendresa breathes life into the track with her Aaliyah-like vocal runs on the hook. Drake starts by romancing, questioning why his Toronto mansion feels so empty-so far so good-but then bitterness takes hold, and he's talking about why his body count doesn't count as a double standard. It all rings a bit hollow, even if it sounds hypnotic."
Mid-tempo tracks undercut momentum with sluggish, ghostly production and performances that feel like trudging rather than sparking. “Classic” relies on a pitched-up sample that functions more as nostalgia bait than a complete idea. Drake’s reserved approach on downtempo songs places observations about modern life and its contradictions under a harsher lens than before. The album’s balance suffers from frequent shifts between brief isolation musings and longer, score-keeping relationship talk. “Gen 5” moves past early clunkiness into a compelling second verse with an echoing, morose melody and doubt. “Slap the City” gains energy from Qendresa’s vocal runs, but the romance-to-bitterness arc and double-standard wordplay still land hollow.
Read at Pitchfork
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