‘Her Loss’ Is Playtime for Drake and 21 Savage

One of the grim inevitabilities of new pop star albums is how they are parsed, chewed through and cracked into gossipy bites the moment they arrive. Within minutes of the release of "Her Loss," the new collaborative album by Drake and 21 Savage, Twitter and hip-hop news and gossip sites were aflame: a stray reference to Serena Williams's husband, nods to old rap industry quarrels, an ambiguous multiple entendre referencing Megan Thee Stallion.

Drake knows this will be chum, of course. It's not fan service like Taylor Swift's Easter eggs, but it reflects an understanding that for many listeners, and perhaps especially for those who may not bother to listen at all, the metanarrative matters.

And yes, this is one way to measure an album's success: how much chatter it engenders. Even the marketing strategy for "Her Loss" — which featured elaborate imitations of Vogue magazine and mock appearances on NPR's Tiny Desk series and "The Howard Stern Show" — suggested an awareness of the utility of, and disdain for, the way information flows online these days.

But somewhere underneath all of that lies the music itself, which, nowadays, ends up serving as a distraction from the chatter as much as the other way around.

"Her Loss" is frisky and centerless, a mood more than a mode. Drake has done a full-length collaborative project before; "What a Time to Be Alive," with Future, released in 2015 , was an assertion of grimy gloss, adding fresh texture to Drake's already formidable arsenal.

But he and 21 Savage have a different sort of chemistry. Drake is endlessly malleable, a Zelig figure forever testing prevailing winds, while 21 Savage is a classic stoic, set in his thoughts. Often on this album — "More M's," "Privileged Rappers" — it feels as if they are ceding space to each other, side by side but not interwoven. Sometimes, like on "Spin Bout U," they successfully melt into something greater than their parts.

This is the lesser of Drake's two projects this year, lacking the cohesion and unexpected ambition of "Honestly, Nevermind," the dance floor-focused album he released in June. (The one outlier on that album was "Jimmy Cooks," a collaboration with 21 Savage that went to No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100.)

But the fact that these two albums live side by side reflects something about how one of the most potent pop stars of the decade intends to navigate a far less stable era: embracing quick-burn place holders in lieu of big transitional ideas.

And so "Her Loss" is, in many ways, a playground for Drake. The exuberant "Circo Loco" riffs on Daft Punk's "One More Time" in a concession to pop glimmer. There's flow pattern and melodic experimentation on "Backoutsideboyz." "Hours in Silence" is a master class in Drake's self-eviscerations and recriminations: "There's three sides to the story, girl/The one you subtweet, the one your group chat gets to read, the one you come and tell to me." On "Rich Flex," there's a particularly cheeky run of acronym rhymes: CMB, CMG, B&B, PND, PTSD, TMZ, GMC, B&E, DMC, BRB.

Because this album arrives with slightly lower stakes than a stand-alone Drake release, it also permits him to lean in to his deeply bawdy impulses. Part of Drake's ongoing appeal is that there is still a bit of frisson in hearing him at his rawest, proof that the most dexterous artist of the last decade still wants to play in the mud. That tendency recurs through the album, especially on "On BS," where he raps about the strip club with winking toxicity: "I'm a gentleman I'm generous/I'm blowing half a million on you hoes, I'm a feminist."

But "Her Loss" also features the other side of Drake, the one whose true subject is his own ascendance. "Middle of the Ocean," a six-minute rumination late in the album, is a classic of that approach. The rapping is a little slow, as if he's accessing the memories in real time: "For your birthday, your man got a table at hibachi/Last time I ate there, Wayne was doing numbers off the cup like Yahtzee/And Paris Hilton was steady ducking the paparazzi."

These are the most vivid lyrics on the album, and also the ones that ground it in Drake's most familiar gestures without conceding to what it's taken to make Drake as crucial a figure as he is. And perhaps as he moves through the middle section of his career, he'll feel less tethered than ever.

"Thought I was a pop star," he raps on "More M's." "I baited 'em."

Drake and 21 Savage