It’s been a long time coming, but let’s rip off the bandage and talk about Drake. At HHGA, we’ve done our best to avoid this conversation for years. Sure, Drake is everywhere—his streams are astronomical, and his name is synonymous with chart domination. But the truth is, he’s never been Hip Hop. Not in the way we understand it, respect it, and live it. Until now, we’ve mostly managed to sidestep the topic because, frankly, Drake’s music has always felt like a distraction from the core of the culture. But 2024 changed things. Kendrick Lamar didn’t just beat Drake in their lyrical battle—he exposed and destroyed him. The aftermath demands we finally address what Drake represents and why his success says more about where the industry is headed than where it’s come from.

Let’s get one thing straight: we’ve always seen Drake as a pop star. Sure, he raps on his records. But rapping doesn’t automatically make someone a Hip Hop artist. Sesame Street’s Elmo has been known to rap, but Elmo isn’t an emcee either. Hip Hop has always been about more than bars. It’s a culture, a voice for the voiceless, a creative revolution that evolved from block parties in the Bronx to global influence. And for all his commercial success, Drake has never embodied the spirit of Hip Hop. Instead, he represents something different: the corporatization of rap music, a carefully constructed product designed to dominate algorithms and playlists, not move the culture forward.

A Pop Machine in Rap’s Clothing

Drake is what happens when marketing becomes the primary driver of music. His formula is simple: mix catchy melodies, surface-level introspection, and enough “rap” elements to give the illusion of credibility. His music is built to be easily digestible, easily shared, and easily forgotten. In a way, it’s brilliant—Drake’s albums are less collections of songs and more mood boards for social media. Every hook, every bar, every beat seems engineered to live on Instagram captions and TikTok loops.

But this approach comes at a cost. Hip Hop has always been about storytelling, technical skill, and pushing the limits of language and sound. Compare Drake’s lyrics to legends like Rakim, Nas, or Black Thought, and it’s clear he’s playing a different game. Where they brought poetry, metaphors, and complex narratives to the table, Drake’s bars often feel hollow—like placeholders designed to fill space until the hook kicks in. There’s no depth, no layers, no sense that he’s challenging himself or his audience.

Production-wise, it’s more of the same. Drake’s beats are glossy and polished, but they lack character. Where producers like DJ Premier, J Dilla, and RZA revolutionized Hip Hop’s sound, creating tracks that were as much a part of the story as the lyrics, Drake’s music feels like it’s been stripped of all grit and soul. His beats follow pop trends rather than setting them, designed for maximum accessibility rather than artistic impact. They’re good for streaming numbers but don’t leave any lasting impression.

The Ghostwriting Problem

Then there’s the alleged ghostwriting. The very foundation of Hip Hop rests on authenticity—on the idea that the person behind the mic is telling their own story, in their own words, with their own voice. So when news broke that Drake had relied on ghostwriters, it wasn’t just a scandal; it was a revelation of what he truly is. Sure, artists have collaborated with writers before—Hip Hop has never been immune to that—but the scale of Drake’s outsourcing felt industrial.

It’s one thing to get a line or two from someone else. It’s another to outsource entire verses. When you take the writing out of the equation, what’s left? A performer, not an artist. A product, not a storyteller. Drake’s reliance on ghostwriters undercuts any argument that he’s part of Hip Hop’s lineage. How can he claim to be an artist in a genre that prizes self-expression above all else when he’s not even expressing himself?

Style Over Substance

Even setting the ghostwriting aside, Drake’s music has always felt more like an accessory than an art form. His subject matter rarely strays beyond his own carefully curated image—relationship drama, celebrity woes, and the kind of introspection that feels more like branding than vulnerability. Compare that to Kendrick Lamar, who uses his music to explore identity, systemic racism, and the human condition. Kendrick’s work feels alive, raw, and deeply connected to Hip Hop’s roots as a vehicle for truth and change. Drake’s, by contrast, feels manufactured—like it was cooked up in a boardroom rather than born from any real experience.

This lack of authenticity extends beyond the music. Drake has built a career out of borrowing—not just beats and trends, but entire cultures. From Jamaican dancehall to UK drill, Drake dips his toes into whatever sound is trending, appropriates it for his own purposes, and then moves on to the next thing. But there’s no depth to these experiments, no real engagement with the cultures he’s borrowing from. It’s like he’s treating Hip Hop and its related genres as a buffet, taking whatever he wants without giving anything back.

Kendrick Lamar vs. Drake: A Moment of Reckoning

This year’s feud with Kendrick Lamar brought everything into sharp focus. On one side, you have Kendrick—an artist who represents everything Hip Hop is meant to be. His lyricism is unmatched, his storytelling is profound, and his respect for the culture is evident in every bar. On the other, you have Drake—a pop star who happens to rap, more concerned with maintaining his chart position than contributing to the culture.

Kendrick didn’t just out-rap Drake; he crushed him. The back-and-forth between them highlighted the stark contrast between an artist and an entertainer. Kendrick’s bars cut deep, revealing uncomfortable truths about Drake’s career, his authenticity, and his place in the industry. Drake, for his part, responded with accusations and deflections, but the damage was done. Kendrick’s victory wasn’t just about lyrics—it was about values. In their feud, Kendrick stood for Hip Hop’s soul, while Drake represented its commodification.

The Bigger Picture

Drake’s success says less about his talent and more about the state of the industry. In a world where streaming numbers have replaced cultural impact as the measure of success, artists like Drake thrive. His music is tailor-made for playlists, designed to be consumed in bite-sized chunks and forgotten as soon as the next trend arrives. But this isn’t Hip Hop. It’s pop music wearing Hip Hop’s clothes.

What’s frustrating is the influence Drake has had on the next generation. His success has shifted the focus away from innovation and authenticity and toward marketability. Younger artists see Drake’s formula and follow it, prioritizing streams and social media engagement over craft and substance. It’s a trend that threatens to dilute what makes Hip Hop special—the creativity, the rawness, the willingness to push boundaries and challenge norms.

Drake: A Pop Star, Not a Hip Hop Artist

To be clear, this isn’t about hating on Drake for the sake of it. He’s undeniably talented at what he does. As a pop star, he’s brilliant—a master of branding, marketing, and crafting music that appeals to the masses. But let’s stop pretending he’s a Hip Hop artist. He’s not. He’s a pop star who raps, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But Hip Hop deserves better than what Drake offers.

At HHGA, we’ve avoided this conversation for years because we didn’t think it was worth having. Drake’s music has always felt like background noise—something to tune out rather than engage with. But Kendrick’s victory this year reminded us why this matters. Hip Hop is more than a musical genre. It’s a culture, a way of life, and a form of expression that deserves respect and protection. And as long as artists like Drake are held up as its representatives, the culture will continue to lose its way.

So let’s say it one more time for the people in the back: Drake isn’t Hip Hop. He never was. He’s a pop star, a corporate creation designed to dominate charts and break streaming records. But in the world of Hip Hop, those numbers don’t mean a thing. What matters is the art, the craft, and the culture. And on that front, Drake has always come up short.