By Hans Ebert
Though he sings that she never calls him on his cellphone anymore, what’s interesting in the video for Hotline Bling is that there’s no cellphone in sight. That flip phone is probably with- hello- Adele.
What the video lacks in cellphones, it makes up for in booty. There’s booty all over the place opening with what looks like bootylicious babes manning the phones of a sex chat line.
More Hellos? Maybe not as I really have no idea what most of the song is about other than some girl not calling Drake on his cellphone, which is in complete contrast to- hello- Adele continuously jabbering on her flip phone.
And while Adele plays with her hair, ponders about life and death and the whole damn thing before trudging off to the edge of a river in a huge fur jacket and screams at the fishes, Drake just dances his troubles away.
Maybe Adele should take up dancing?
It’s not really dancing per se, but more like dribbling an invisible basketball and getting a little Nast-ay with a few of the Bootylicious babes. Sometimes, he walk-dances around as if trying to find something- his cellphone?- and I swear I heard him sing about a “highland bling”.
One can only assume this might have to do with some distant Scottish ancestry and where, apart from his cellphone, Drake needs to find a kilt and get back to Loch Lomond. Musically, this is the anti-Christ to Adele’s ponderous search into her aching past. While she reminisces and rolls in the deep peanut recesses of her fragile mental state, Drake dances around with moves that recall Pharrell’s Happy, Chris Brown’s swagger and Kobe Bryant shooting a few hoops in da hood with Spike Lee.
Everything connects incredibly well despite the disconnection of everything as there is a definite Air Jordan of Donnagiveafucksville to the song and the video.
Personally, what would have worked brilliantly is if Adele waddled on with her flip phone and got Nast-ay with Drake. Drake Adele. Adele Drake.
It has a nice ring to it.