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