Like its predecessor, this release is long and atmospheric, better for post-game soundtracking than headphone scrutiny. One theory could be built around the fact that there aren’t many clear hits present. What does that mean? Outside of its seamless transitions and the fact that one song doesn’t really belong to Drake at all (Sampha’s “4422”), it’s unclear what makes this a playlist instead of an album. The key to understanding More Life may just lie in its unique label as a playlist. At a certain point you can’t help asking yourself, “Wait, it’s weird when Drake raps in a fake accent, right? Like objectively strange. In this unflattering new light, everything looks uglier, including the clear attempts at globalization he makes on this album. Suddenly we’re back in the land of ex-girlfriends, rich guilt and drunken musing. Later in the album on songs such as “Gyalchester” and “Nothings Into Somethings,” we get a creeping sense of laziness, carried by themes we all associate with Mr. There’s a sure sign of effort and innovation in all of them. It’s not just the island vibes that carry these songs. Good enough, in fact, that I realize now I should’ve typed the first 100 words of this review, stopped suddenly and then ran that lead paragraph back just as an homage. And that first minute of “Passionfruit”? Superb. The Jorja Smith duet “Get it Together” is exceptional, sneakily making a stronger case for itself as the album’s best track with each repeat play - much like “Too Good” did on Views. It’s within the confines of that early vibe that most of More Life‘s good is concentrated. Let’s start with the good, though, because apparently Drake needs the love. By track eight of this 22-song collection, it becomes unfortunately apparent that winter is coming. And in the 6, heat doesn’t last for long. But, in case you hadn’t heard, our man is from Toronto.

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