But it’s the middle-of-the-road songs that bring down HABIBTI. “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. “Fightin’ with me, tryna fire me up/That’s not gonna work, I’m a passive guy,” he raps on “Gen 5,” before turning his interlocutor’s domestic abuse situation into a wordplay punchline.
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.
At its core, Drake’s heroic trio of releases is an attempt to show that he’s still got “it” in different forms: With ICEMAN, he’s still in fighting shape (not really); with MAID OF HONOUR, he can still make hits (yes); with HABIBTI, is he still sensitive? Even when a lot of the small details feel empty—like making fun of girls’ trips to Scottsdale or how there are too many Pilates studios in Dubai—their inclusion makes the world he’s rapping about feel more lived-in than the rigid set design he’s constructed since Scorpion. It’s the closest thing to personalization—the crux of his appeal for much of his career—that Drake has offered in some time. “I love you so much, I cannot lose you so,” he raps on “White Bone,” yearning for soulmates after admitting that he should show more emotion. He punctuates the opening verse with a refrain: “I’ve never gotten this close/I’m so close,” he whispers. You’re able to picture him muttering that phrase long after he’s left the booth.
