Did you drive to class today in your “other Benz”? Or was it your “other other Benz”? Have you ever made love to the woman of your dreams in a room full of money out in London while she screams?

Rick Ross has, or at least he says as much on his current radio staple “I’m On One.” Ross is rap’s reigning king of materialistic braggadocio. He’s done more pimping for luxury brands than perhaps anyone in the genre’s history, save for Kanye West and Jay-Z on this year’s “Watch the Throne.”

Hip-hop has thankfully outgrown the strip club and custom car narratives of old, but in its place comes a new brand of shallow, greed-is-good hip-hop. This year has been the year of luxury rap.

The new sub-genre has already received its fair share of criticism. Critics took aim at Jay and ’Ye’s free-market championing, gold-plated 2011 release. Even Public Enemy’s Chuck D got in the mix and accused the superstars of taking the “humble country man” Otis Redding and sampling his voice on a song about the lifestyles of the rich and famous.

Enter Drake, whose moody and downtrodden “Take Care” album has been drawing rave reviews. Drake’s constant introspection on “Take Care” is mostly self-loathing in nature, if you count complaining about how confusing it is to have so many women at your disposal as self-loathing.

So, is Drake the anti-rapper’s rapper, and does “Take Care” provide a legitimate counterpoint to the conversation taking place on Ross’ and Jay Z’s releases?

“Take Care” is, after all, an album void of references to Maybachs and Rolexes and instead deals mostly with Drake’s struggles to come to terms with fame and his struggles to find love in a “loveless world.”

But almost as consistent as Drake’s introspective meanderings are declarations of his wealth and self-importance. Known for addressing his celebrity status and shaky relationships on the same track, Drake has now taken the two isolated themes and melded them on “Take Care.” His celebrity status is the cause of his pain.

“I’ve had sex four times this week, I’ll explain/Having a hard time adjusting to fame,” a melancholy Drake croons on “Marvins Room,” a track sung from the perspective of a drunk calling up his ex. The line is presented in a way that makes you want to feel for the hip-hop superstar. But, honestly, how can you?

Rather, you end up feeling sorry for him, not because of his trials or tribulations but because a rap star fishing for sympathy from the recession-weary masses is borderline pathetic.

Pitchfork’s rave review (8.6/10) draws comparisons between “Take Care” and Marvin Gaye’s soul-searching masterpiece “Here, My Dear” in that both are introspective, candid and honest. But unlike Gaye, Drake isn’t writing about a single damaged relationship. We can relate to a rich artist singing about lost love and squandered opportunities because those are universal events and emotions. A rich artist talking about his convoluted relations with porn stars and others is much less relatable.

And neither are his riches. Much has been said about the “Take Care” album cover, which shows Drake sitting in a corner booth at perhaps Versailles. Gold adorns everything, including Drake’s neck, but the successful former actor and current pop star looks unimpressed with the decorations. It’s an obvious metaphor for the notion that money doesn’t buy happiness. But it does buy you bragging rights, apparently, to gloat about your life as a one-percenter. Drake exercises those rights just a bit too often, to the point where they overshadow any potentially meaningful conflict he could be addressing.

_Joe is a senior in Media._