Every once in a while, a Drake song becomes a briefing—quarterly reports for the OVO stockholders, status updates for the casual gossipers. They used to happen at a certain time in a certain place—“5AM in Toronto,” “9AM in Dallas,” “6PM in New York,” “4PM in Calabasas”—but now they seemingly occur at random. Still, they’re always about positioning. “Diplomatic Immunity,” the B-side of Drake’s new release, Scary Hours, is the latest chapter in this ongoing saga, a long run-on recap filled with snark, smarm, and airings of grievances. Part polemic, part chronicle, sometimes retaliatory and then preemptive strike, the song sets the tone for the upcoming Year in Drake.
“Diplomatic Immunity” picks up where the More Life closer “Do Not Disturb” left off: with Drake measuring successes, dismissing minor adversaries, and taking stock of his empire. He’s often most interesting while navigating this space. Pettiness brings out the tactician in him, and he’s nearly surgical when dismantling his opponents (“I’ve seen buddin’ careers turn to sit around and talk about other careers/Judgin’ their peers”). The Nick Brongers and Boi-1da production is all synth strings and rattling hi-hats, breaking from his recent forays into dancehall and South African house.
“Diplomatic Immunity” has some of the best rapping Drake’s done lately, by a pretty wide margin, but his verses are still littered with awkward wordplay and corny concepts. For every noteworthy tidbit like “2017 I lost a J. Lo/A Rotterdam trip had me on front page though/I had to lay low, Hot Topic like your everyday clothes” there’s a clunker like, “Calamari rings and tomato/I got the sauce and now shorties keep claimin’ preggo.” A misfire here and there doesn’t render him completely ineffective: His calculating, ledger-like system for logging social interactions makes him one of rap’s most entertaining stars, for better or worse. Using these accumulated experiences as currency is supposed to be part of the charm, but with its silly griping, “Diplomatic Immunity” is melodramatic and self-owning, the result of a sore winner being a sourpuss.
