Drake’s ‘Iceman’ Is Exactly the Fun and Vindictive Comeback Record He Needed: Album Review

Toward the beginning of his new song “Janice STFU,” Drake conducts one of his customary exercises in emo theater: “You say what my work means to me will one day be the death of me / They tried to kill me once, but, darling, you just resurrected me.” It feels melodramatic, but this time, it’s fair enough. After all, someone winning song and record of the year Grammys for calling you a pedophile before performing that same diss track at the Super Bowl is as close to a codified cultural assassination as any pop star can get. 

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That’s obviously the situation Drake faced following Kendrick Lamar’s “Not Like Us,” a hilarious, incisive character takedown that sent Drake to the graveyard for rappers we learned to underappreciate. But there’s a plot twist: Drake never actually kicked the bucket, and, by making him an underdog for the first time since his halcyon days as a mixtape rapper, Lamar positioned him to make a spectacular comeback.

That comeback would be “Iceman,” the album he’s been teasing since August 2024, when “Not Like Us” was still ringing off across barbecues, baby showers and rooftop parties across the country. The question on everyone’s mind in the lead-up to the project was whether it would be strong enough to wash off the stench of the rap battle and subsequent lawsuit with Universal Music Group. And while it does fall short of spectacular, it succeeds as a vindication, a dexterous if bloated project that also arrived alongside two surprise albums, “Habibti” and “Maid of Honour.”

On “Iceman,” the 39-year-old ditches platitudes in favor of pain. He’s not pantomiming sadness or paranoia or arguing with composite figures. Here, he explores the aftermath of his battle with Lamar. He aims his unsparing gaze at specific friends, family and enemies alike, taking the time to throw shots at rappers who’ve dissed him (Rick Ross and ASAP Rocky) or one-time friends who showed up at Lamar’s Pop-Out concert (LeBron James). Theatrical, nakedly transparent and relentlessly vindictive, “Iceman” is anything but icy — and that’s part of why it’s better than Drake’s later career output. The tales of supposed betrayal carry a genuine emotional weight that feels far removed from the faux introspection and sad rich guy moaning of his last three solo albums. Here, there’s a direct bloodthirstiness that can only surface when you’re facing real enemies instead of imaginary ones. 

Naturally, his most potent songs are titled like commands, and he writes with a force that makes them stick. On “Make Them Cry,” his opening lines are so uncomfortable — and so precise — you can imagine his mom and pop cringing during the listening session: “I’m an only child, no one could’ve made another / I have to father my mother and treat my son’s grandfather like my older brother.”

While he can occasionally stumble into an unnecessary battle-rap simile, he remains a strong formalist: a writer who can be as incisive as he is tidy. That’s especially useful when he’s got to aim at folks who threw away their 6ix God friendship ring. In one particular sequence, also from “Make Them Cry,” Drake reflects on a friend who lied to him about how he lost his OVO chain. The friend tells Drake it was stolen, but Drake knows his friend actually sold it off because he’d fallen on hard times. While he seems to empathize, he doesn’t exactly condone the behavior: “I could never forgive such a nefarious action / I’m still healin’ my own traumas, I’ve barely adapted.”

Drake is even less forgiving when attacking his unambiguous enemies. Floating over the aqueous soul of the Flywilliums & Ovrkast-produced “Make Them Pay,” he clips Rick Ross and DJ Khaled with petty wit and efficiency. Imagine John Wick sniping two henchmen with one bullet: “Dog, I was aidin’ Ross with streams before Adin Ross had ever streamed / And, Khaled, you know what I mean / The beef was fully live, you went halal and got on your deen.”

Throughout “Iceman,” Drake threads muted soul production and maximalist trap with hooks that can be playful and condescending, or, most compellingly, emotionally desperate. Laced with a sinuous flute and militant 808s, “Whisper My Name” feels like a synchronized trudge through the desert, with Drizzy’s hook doubling as a taunt and a set of marching orders. With a mix of imperial horns and medieval flutes, first single “What Did I Miss” sounds like a dynasty under attack, while Drake’s repetitive hook scans as both exasperation and a personal call to arms.

Although Drake spends most of his time dealing with the idea of betrayal, there is at least one sign of reconciliation. After falling out with Future, who teamed up with Metro Boomin for a pair of albums seemingly dissing Drake even before the Lamar beef exploded, the two appear to have patched things up — at least enough for Future to appear on the cheekily titled “Ran to Atlanta,” a nod to Lamar’s claim that Drake pillages Atlanta’s rap culture.

As engaging as it can be at its best, “Iceman” can, at times, drift like a glacier. Mid-tempo tracks like “Make Them Know,” “Firm Friends” and “Make Them Remember” feel like alternate versions of one another. It’s evidence of someone with a lot to say, but using the same templates adds shades of monotony to an album that manages to have a propulsive hot streak for at least a dozen songs. As was the case with projects like “Certified Lover Boy” and “For All the Dogs,” it’s further proof that, for all his songwriting and curatorial instincts, Drake could stand to become a harsher self-editor.

Still, “Iceman” has enough sonic and tonal variance that it largely avoids the monochromatic purgatory of his last three solo releases. It’s by no means his best album, but it feels like one of his most honest, perhaps his most nimble since “Scorpion.” Given the uninspired overflows of his last few projects, Drake fans should probably give his rival a thank you: Lamar’s diss track was meant to be a killshot, but it might have actually been a defibrillator.