Drake bypasses the rounds of un/official videos preferred by his buddy The Weeknd, flexing his Degrassi chops and staring himself down in the bathroom mirror. In "Marvins Room," Drake's wrestle with fame is exhausting—no man obsessed with his own failure has the strength to love a woman well. But it's legitimately chilling when he says I don't think I'm conscious I'm making monsters out of the women I sponsor till it all goes bad—perhaps his claim that success has been his greatest misfortune is entirely sincere. At 2:35 he pops one, the track slugs and and Toronto—the city he must now stubbornly anchor himself to—rolls slow, yellow and purple.
