Rants and Raves: “Drake been a bitch, a rant: The Biracial Baddie strikes, again” by Kendra Allen
Drake been a bitch: a rant
The Biracial Baddie strikes, again
Quick question: do ya’ll remember when Drake first came on the scene and was getting dissed and disrespected constantly by the rappers he wanted to be, and be like, and how they called him soft and light skinned and a bitch whenever they got the chance to, and how they said his music wasn’t for them because he rapped about emotions and feelings and how for a while Drake reveled in that adversity of the perceived masculine male gaze and stood firm on his content square, which led him to drop some of his best verses to date with lines like “I’m hearing all of the jokes, I know that they tryna push me / I know that showing emotion don’t ever mean I’m a pussy / know that I don’t make music for niggas who don’t get pussy / so those are the ones I count on to diss me or overlook me.” And how during all that, Black femmes in particular were on his side, streaming and buying his music, going to his shows, championing that same exact vulnerability that eventually catapulted him into superstardom. Ya’ll remember how our support put him on top of the charts, inside of those stadiums, and made him all that money, —which, of course, piqued the interest of those same men he just couldn’t impress by just being talented? How somewhere in those rooms of egomania and equal opportunistic endeavors, Drake— or, Supreme Groupie to the Athletes— learned the best way to receive Black male approval was by giving them features that shifted away from the heart of his art into a mission of attempting to humble women the same way men in his industry have attempted to humble him throughout his entire career. Ya’ll remember that? I do. Then, they loved him too. Then, we started acting like Drake being out in these streets texting teens, allegedly, wasn’t a big thing because the bops were still bopping. Then somewhere after If You’re Reading This It’s Too Late Drake’s music stopped growing, the bops stopped bopping, it all sounded the same, and lazy, and hard to get through. And through those proceeding years, we witnessed the very viable Drake Feature sorta diminish, and he began to need the new guys to keep him relevant, so he clamored and hopped on every wave by stealing the sounds of more creative artists and he did it all with horrible accents and hair textures and we watched him become completely out of touch with quality. And all I’m saying is for a nigga whose last five projects have been subpar—at best—to waste an entire impeccable album rollout on yet another weak album to get some unprovoked “disses” towards two of the finest women the world has ever seen for the sake of upholding misogynoir off when 1. he’s virtually silent in his support of Black life in general and 2. his mama is white, is wild, when we know where he came from.
But we never see it like that because Drake has worked overtime to curate this image of being a nice, respectable guy when really all Drake is, is somebody who done fumbled every bad bitch he done ever had because it’s not them who he really wants; it’s what having them around represent to those other men he wants approval from. Which is why his discography is the prime example of this pattern of building a woman he wants up, telling the world he’ll die for her, just to go collab with her abuser five tracks later when those sentiments aren’t returned. Which is why he can go sing off key over five minutes tracks about a 19-year-old girl not being impressed by his fame. He has this intense need to believe he can mold, shape, and break you; and it’s easy to miss when the production is fire and we don’t pay attention to how truly unkind most of the lyrics in those heartbreak songs from “The Boy” are. Especially when the nice guy is so committed about staying in character. Again, he’s an actor. With wig and wardrobe changes. He exists in a perpetual identity crisis from his general culture vulturing (really can’t believe ya’ll let him run an entire weekend in Houston named after himself, like, be forreal) to his dialect shifts. But, when the role ain’t genuine, it crumbles. Slowly, but, eventually.
And unfortunately, we handed Drake a power he previously had a hard time possessing. And like most men who obtain any small semblance of pull—he misuses it. And luckily for Drake, I’m adamant about calling men bitch ass niggas to their faces. They tend to be so delusional about who they really are, especially when you add money and power and access into that picture of perception. It defines them. They get drunk on it to the point Drake’s forgotten he’s always been a follower with the face of mashed potato who likes what he’s told to like. Who does what he’s told. Who’s willing to do whatever to stay in the spotlight. You’d think becoming the biggest rapper of the past decade—with all the potential and skill to actually create quality work, would spend that time working on the art part of his job instead of paying close attention to the spectacle aspect/portion of what’ll keep his numbers up. But immense popularity don’t stop nobody from pimping themselves out for more of it. And right now, it’s popular for niggas who be weak in the knees when they homies die of gun violence—usually by another one of they homies— to turn right around and shit on Black femmes who are victims of that same gun violence. The cognitive dissonance is almost laughable. It’s been so weird to witness the lengths.
Drake’s global appeal and reach no longer requires him to pretend to be nice. It’s almost like these niggas are mad this woman didn’t die. And ironically, colorism keeps him safe, and forgiven. But he’s well aware of what he’s doing. He rapped what he rapped about Meg because what Drake says will have the furthest reach in the industry Meg is currently thriving in. It’s almost like he was summoned to silence her since all the other attempts have failed. And it’s works. Even when it’s unrooted, or ridiculed. Drake knows when you want women to shut up, slut shame her, on a song, with your friends; same way those same foes turned friends have dissed him on songs for years. It’s 100% gonna affect the longevity of her career. Meg will get bullied and shamed, more, for simply stating what happened to her. And I hope she has people around her who are lifting her up in support and encouragement to see it through; because even before Drake talked out the side of his neck—we as a culture—been failed her the moment we questioned her. Things like this are put into place to do the exact opposite. It’s gross—but again—not surprising— they’re so predictable—how men in the rap industry tend to ban together in their misogynoir and trample a woman who raps better than most of them for simply stating that one of them harmed her. But all these niggas be feminists until they friends (and most times them—because again—abusers protect abusers; and again—all these men who’s mentioned Meg in the past few years have more than one accusation of violence, and again, Drake be out here grooming teenagers, allegedly) are the one’s accused of harming a femme. Then it’s body shaming, fatphobia, queerphobia, and more misogyny at the door coupled with weaponized historical race and gender politics. Ya’ll be so waak I swear and not enough people remind you of that. It’s gross, how a man whose entire career has sustained itself based on women championing his music, to use that power to both sexualize and demoralize actual violence against women all to get some baby-like bars off at his big age of 36. It’s not bitch-like behavior, he just a bitch. And as he’s said in the past back when his music was actually good, —Niggas talk more than bitches these days. And I mean, as the bitch nigga in question, I’m sure he would know.
About Kendra Allen
Kendra Allen was born and raised in Dallas, Tx. She loves laughing, leaving, and writing “Make Love in My Car,” a music column for Southwest Review. Some of her other work can be found in, or on, The Paris Review, High Times, The Rumpus, and more. She's the author of poetry collection The Collection Plate and essay collection When You Learn the Alphabet, which won the 2018 Iowa Prize for Literary Nonfiction. Fruit Punch, her memoir, is out now.