GQ:
Drake and 40 swivel at the same time and start tapping the keys of their laptops, cuing up the first track off of Nothing Was the Same, a song called "Tuscan Leather"—a title, Drake tells me, named for a Tom Ford fragrance that some say smells like a brick of cocaine.
Now comes the music, in a sudden blast, like green light through fog, the first notes strange and dissonant, in a lurching 3/4 beat. The intro hurtles and whiplashes, and a woman's voice, as if on helium, floats through the chaos, in the highest register, sorta funny and ghostly and beautiful. (It turns out to be a Whitney Houston sample.) The sound is an evocation of something that feels nostalgic and new, exuberant and menacing, at once. Which is when Drake's voice breaks through, rapping, pumped up, spitting nails. Both inside and outside the song itself, he keeps repeating, How much time's this nikka spending on the intro? How much time's this nikka spending on the intro? It feels like bedlam.
All the while, the real Drake sits with his eyes closed across the room, moving his lips, rapping to himself rapping. There's a verse, and then an as-yet-empty spot for a guest rap, and then Drake comes back under Whitney's helium voice. This time the words shift, as does the beat, becoming more sinuous and personal. Rising underneath the music, too, is a gentler keyboard riff, and by the time the third verse ends, the song rivers into a soft, ambient landscape that includes crowd noise and then, eventually, a voice—Curtis Mayfield's, at the end of a 1987 concert in Montreux—saying, "Having the same fears, shedding similar tears, and of course dying in so many years, it don't mean that we can't have a good life."
Then it outros on that beautiful repeating keyboard riff, and the Drake in the room, eyes still closed, scrunches his face, feeling every note. When it's over, he awakes from the spell. 40 remains hunched at the computer for a moment, letting the music settle into the silence. And then they both swivel in my direction again.
I've been dreading this moment, the ritualistic playing of the new album for the magazine writer. What if I don't like it? I'm not going to fake it. Both Drake and 40 are looking at me now, curious. I hold up my arm, and thankfully my arm doesn't lie: goose bumps. Drake's face breaks into a smile, and he says, "Ah, man, I didn't expect that—but for you to hear the emotion in it is amazing to me. This is my fukking moment to say if I wanted to rap all the time, really rap, I would, but I also love to make music. I'll do this for you right now. But it's for me, too. It's my story."
That's what the moment before the Moment is about, then, for Drake. "I'm thinking about this body of work—and asking myself: Where am I at in my life, how can I sum it up, and how can I make it relatable?
XXL
On the album intro, which I’d love to play for you, I think I address it right off the riff. With the other albums, they had these sort of airy intros. I’m spitting bars, but this is the most confident intro I’ve had. It’s called “Tuscan Leather.” I have a bar in there where I say, “I’m tired of hearing who you checking for/Now just give it time, we’ll see who’s around a decade from now.” I guess just being here now for four or five years now, this run to me is crazy. It’s what I want. It’s what I planned for. It’s what I worked for. But at the same time, it’s just like, I’m curious to see how long I can stretch it. Then I’m curious to see who’s next? Who’s next to have a real run? I don’t know if anyone has emerged and had a real run after me yet.
XXL
"I might use someone as inspiration when I need to get those real aggressive bars across like on "5AM" or [Nothing Was The Same Intro] "Tuscan Leather""
Rolling Stones
Of bombastic album opener "Tuscan Leather," 40 says, "It's a three-staged record – one sample flipped three different ways, with a verse over each beat."
Drake and 40 swivel at the same time and start tapping the keys of their laptops, cuing up the first track off of Nothing Was the Same, a song called "Tuscan Leather"—a title, Drake tells me, named for a Tom Ford fragrance that some say smells like a brick of cocaine.
Now comes the music, in a sudden blast, like green light through fog, the first notes strange and dissonant, in a lurching 3/4 beat. The intro hurtles and whiplashes, and a woman's voice, as if on helium, floats through the chaos, in the highest register, sorta funny and ghostly and beautiful. (It turns out to be a Whitney Houston sample.) The sound is an evocation of something that feels nostalgic and new, exuberant and menacing, at once. Which is when Drake's voice breaks through, rapping, pumped up, spitting nails. Both inside and outside the song itself, he keeps repeating, How much time's this nikka spending on the intro? How much time's this nikka spending on the intro? It feels like bedlam.
All the while, the real Drake sits with his eyes closed across the room, moving his lips, rapping to himself rapping. There's a verse, and then an as-yet-empty spot for a guest rap, and then Drake comes back under Whitney's helium voice. This time the words shift, as does the beat, becoming more sinuous and personal. Rising underneath the music, too, is a gentler keyboard riff, and by the time the third verse ends, the song rivers into a soft, ambient landscape that includes crowd noise and then, eventually, a voice—Curtis Mayfield's, at the end of a 1987 concert in Montreux—saying, "Having the same fears, shedding similar tears, and of course dying in so many years, it don't mean that we can't have a good life."
Then it outros on that beautiful repeating keyboard riff, and the Drake in the room, eyes still closed, scrunches his face, feeling every note. When it's over, he awakes from the spell. 40 remains hunched at the computer for a moment, letting the music settle into the silence. And then they both swivel in my direction again.
I've been dreading this moment, the ritualistic playing of the new album for the magazine writer. What if I don't like it? I'm not going to fake it. Both Drake and 40 are looking at me now, curious. I hold up my arm, and thankfully my arm doesn't lie: goose bumps. Drake's face breaks into a smile, and he says, "Ah, man, I didn't expect that—but for you to hear the emotion in it is amazing to me. This is my fukking moment to say if I wanted to rap all the time, really rap, I would, but I also love to make music. I'll do this for you right now. But it's for me, too. It's my story."
That's what the moment before the Moment is about, then, for Drake. "I'm thinking about this body of work—and asking myself: Where am I at in my life, how can I sum it up, and how can I make it relatable?
XXL
On the album intro, which I’d love to play for you, I think I address it right off the riff. With the other albums, they had these sort of airy intros. I’m spitting bars, but this is the most confident intro I’ve had. It’s called “Tuscan Leather.” I have a bar in there where I say, “I’m tired of hearing who you checking for/Now just give it time, we’ll see who’s around a decade from now.” I guess just being here now for four or five years now, this run to me is crazy. It’s what I want. It’s what I planned for. It’s what I worked for. But at the same time, it’s just like, I’m curious to see how long I can stretch it. Then I’m curious to see who’s next? Who’s next to have a real run? I don’t know if anyone has emerged and had a real run after me yet.
XXL
"I might use someone as inspiration when I need to get those real aggressive bars across like on "5AM" or [Nothing Was The Same Intro] "Tuscan Leather""
Rolling Stones
Of bombastic album opener "Tuscan Leather," 40 says, "It's a three-staged record – one sample flipped three different ways, with a verse over each beat."
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