Drake, the Toronto native who has become a central figure in hip-hop, often explores themes of love, heartbreak, and relationships in his music. Upon the release of his album Take Care, it became evident that Drake had mastered a particular style: the “Song for Women.” This genre, while not unique to Drake, is something he has undeniably excelled at, crafting tracks that speak directly to and about women, often with a blend of admiration and complex emotional undertones. If you’re searching for songs like “Fancy” by Drake, you’re likely drawn to this specific facet of his artistry – the tracks that celebrate women while navigating the intricacies of modern relationships.
To truly understand songs like “Fancy” by Drake, we need to delve into the tradition of the “Song for Women” in hip-hop and how Drake has both embraced and evolved this trope. This concept isn’t new; hip-hop classics like LL Cool J’s “I Need Love,” Eric B. & Rakim’s “What’s On Your Mind,” and A Tribe Called Quest’s “Bonita Applebum” laid the groundwork. These songs, each in their own way, spotlighted women, offering appreciation and affection within the genre’s lyrical landscape. However, Drake’s approach has resonated particularly strongly in contemporary hip-hop, making him arguably the modern master of this form.
Drake’s catalog is rich with examples of this. Tracks like “Best I Ever Had” and, indeed, “Fancy,” are prime examples of his “Song for Women.” His live performances further emphasize this connection. Drake is known for his concert interludes where he directly addresses female fans, complimenting their outfits, smiles, or signs. These personalized moments, sometimes even culminating in onstage kisses, solidify his image as an artist who deeply connects with his female audience. As Drake himself noted about “Best I Ever Had,” “a lot of women come up to me and say, ‘That’s my song, because it really makes me feel special.’” This sentiment captures the essence of what makes these songs so appealing – they are designed to make women feel seen and celebrated.
However, this “Song for Women” trope is not without its complexities and criticisms. Kendrick Lamar, a prominent voice in contemporary rap, offered a thought-provoking perspective on this dynamic on Drake’s Take Care album. In “Buried Alive,” a track appended to “Marvin’s Room,” Lamar reflects on a conversation with Drake about the industry and “how the women be the tastemakers for the shit we making.” This line highlights a crucial, and perhaps cynical, understanding within the music industry: female listeners wield significant power as consumers and influencers.
Lamar’s verse grapples with the implications of this dynamic. He raps about giving in to the industry’s demands, symbolized by burying himself alive in “money, power, pussy, full of fame.” This metaphorical death at the hands of “tastemakers” suggests a sense of being consumed by the pressure to cater to female audiences, potentially at the expense of artistic integrity or deeper expression.
The “Song for Women,” destined for Top 40 radio success, often shares certain characteristics. They typically feature catchy hooks and lyrics brimming with compliments directed at a specific woman or women in general. There’s often an attempt to praise a woman’s intellect as well as her physical attributes, although this can sometimes come across as formulaic or even clumsy. The ideal woman in these songs is frequently portrayed as possessing a balance of “street” smarts and sophistication, capable of being both intelligent and sensual.
The music industry’s awareness of women as key consumers drives the creation of these tracks. Artists like Drake are arguably compelled to produce “Songs for Women” because they are proven commercial successes. This reality introduces a layer of condescension to the trope. While ostensibly celebrating women, these songs can also be seen as implicitly pandering to a perceived female audience, simplifying their desires and reducing them to consumers of a carefully crafted image.
While some have resisted Drake’s music due to this perceived simplification, albums like Take Care demonstrate a more nuanced and compelling artistry. Produced largely by Noah “40” Shebib, Take Care is characterized by its introspective atmosphere, angsty piano melodies, and sparse drum patterns. Drake moved away from simpler lyrical structures and embraced a more fluid, narrative style. This evolution allowed him to explore his personal complexities – his wealth, restlessness, and recurring heartbreak – in a more engaging way.
On Take Care, Drake sounds more self-aware and comfortable in his own skin, even as he remains critical of himself and his circumstances. In “Lord Knows,” he acknowledges the jokes and criticisms directed at him, recognizing that his emotional vulnerability is sometimes seen as weakness. He also directly addresses his core audience: “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.” This line reveals a clear understanding of his target demographic and a willingness to embrace the criticism that comes with it. Tracks like “Look What You’ve Done,” a tribute to his family, showcase a genuine emotional depth, adding further layers to his artistic persona.
However, even with this growth, the article argues that Drake still struggles to genuinely engage with his female “tastemakers” beyond the confines of the “Song for Women.” While he raps about women extensively, it’s often distinct from rapping to women in a truly communicative or respectful way. Outside of the “Song for Women” format, Drake often directs his lyrics towards young men who have experienced similar romantic disappointments, employing language (“ho,” “bitch”) that, while common in hip-hop, can undermine the sincerity of his more sensitive persona. Even when using such language, his melodic delivery and emotional tone often allow him to maintain critical acclaim for his supposed depth and self-awareness.
The song “Shot For Me” exemplifies this duality. Lines like “Bitch I’m the man, don’t you forget,” delivered in a soft, affecting voice, highlight the contrast between the seemingly vulnerable delivery and the potentially objectifying language. This creates a complex listening experience, one that is both appealing and potentially problematic.
In contrast to Drake’s approach, Frank Ocean offers a more satirical and critical take on the “Song for Women” trope. His track “Songs For Women,” from his mixtape Nostalgia, Ultra, explicitly parodies the clichés of the genre. The intro, “Bitches Talkin’,” sets the stage by depicting a humorous argument between Ocean and two women about musical preferences, contrasting Radiohead with Jodeci.
Ocean’s “Songs For Women” then unfolds as a clever critique. It chronicles a relationship with a woman who initially appreciated his music but eventually shifted her allegiance to Drake. The song progresses from intentionally simplistic “la da da da da” melodies meant to “get at women” to more emotionally resonant “la da da da ah ah” sections about heartbreak and lost love. Ocean effectively creates a catchy, radio-friendly song that simultaneously functions as a commentary on the very form it embodies. This self-awareness and layered meaning are arguably absent from Drake’s “Songs For Women,” suggesting a difference in artistic intent and depth.
Yelawolf also engages with the “Song for Women” concept in a more overtly satirical way on his album Radioactive. In a skit preceding the track “Good Girl,” Eminem advises Yelawolf to include a “song, for like, for girls” on the album, clarifying, “Bitches like love songs.” This humorous and slightly awkward exchange highlights the industry’s perceived need for these types of tracks and adds a conspiratorial wink to the process. While the wink doesn’t fundamentally change the content of the song itself, it acknowledges the performative aspect of the “Song for Women” and invites listeners to be in on the joke.
Drake’s own “Song for Women” on Take Care is “Make Me Proud,” a collaboration with Nicki Minaj. The article critiques this track as containing some of Drake’s most generic and uninspired verses. It points out the predictable clichés within the lyrics: praising natural beauty (“I love it when your hair’s still wet”), commenting on body image (“Running on a treadmill and only eating salad”), and offering superficial praise of intelligence (“Sounds so smart, like you graduated college/Like you went to Yale, but you probably went to Howard,” mistakenly attributing Howard as an Ivy League). The song concludes with a nonsensical connection between female protest and a supposed desire for abstinence, further highlighting the song’s lack of depth and understanding.
“Make Me Proud,” according to the article, exemplifies the superficiality of Drake’s “Song for Women” – a collection of platitudes designed to appeal to a perceived feminine ideal. In the broader context of Take Care, when women deviate from this idealized image and become sources of romantic conflict, Drake shifts his focus away from addressing them directly and instead raps to his male “soldiers” about these negative experiences.
In an interview, Drake described his then-current music as having a “sex-driven chauvinistic undertone,” acknowledging it as reflective of his personal headspace. While this self-awareness is commendable, the article argues that it doesn’t fully excuse the problematic aspects of his portrayal of women. Drake’s chauvinism, even when acknowledged, risks perpetuating harmful tropes. The “la da das” – the catchy, superficial elements of the “Song for Women” – become distractions from a potentially deeper engagement with gender dynamics and relationships.
An unreleased verse from Rick Ross’ “Aston Martin Music” further reveals Drake’s internal conflict. He raps, “I hate calling the women bitches, but the bitches love it.” This line encapsulates the duplicity at the heart of Drake’s “Song for Women” persona. He attempts to reconcile the sensitive, woman-appreciating image with the more objectifying tendencies prevalent in hip-hop. This conflation, the article concludes, is an “abuse of privilege” and a misrepresentation of the tastes and complexities of his female audience, the very “tastemakers” Kendrick Lamar referenced.
Ultimately, the article argues that Drake, despite his image as a sensitive and emotionally intelligent artist, is no longer a true prototype for that archetype, especially within the realm of the “Song for Women.” Instead, he plays the role, crafting songs that superficially celebrate women while often falling into clichés and perpetuating problematic gender dynamics. If you’re seeking songs like “Fancy” by Drake, it’s important to listen critically, recognizing both the appeal and the potential limitations of this influential, yet complex, subgenre within hip-hop.
