It's really too bad that Nate Ruess got signed with his band the Format back in 2003, because if he had ended up on "American Idol," he would be the next Kelly Clarkson.

Nate has a voice that is perfect for the nation's biggest TV show and he's only gotten better over the years. His high notes soar and dart and somehow catapult to registers that make it impossible to sing along with. But the music of the Format, and now his new band, Fun, encourages singalongs. Ruess' music is the opposite of emo: it's poppy, hopeful, happy mini-epics that wander every which way and rarely end up where you expected.

The Format released an album for Elektra in 2003 ("Interventions + Lullabies") and self-released a follow-up, "Dog Problems," in 2006. At its heart the band was really a combo of Ruess' superstar vocals with Sam Means' melodic keyboards. Although relatively unplayed on local radio The Format played to sold-out shows at venues like The Avalon and The Mayan (where they filmed a live dvd).

The pair split up and late last year Ruess formed Fun with Andrew Dost of Chicago's art-pop group Anathallo and Jack Antonoff of Steel Train. Their self-released debut offering, "Aim and Ignite," is a spiraling mini-masterpiece evoking all of the best reasons to love Queen and E.L.O.

The Canadian hip-hop artist (‘Best I Ever Had’) has built a huge following with a gift for melodies, powerful allies and savvy management.

By any modern measure of musical popularity -- YouTube views, radio airplay, ring-tone ubiquity -- the single "Best I Ever Had" by Toronto rapper Drake is not only a hit, it's arguably 2009's "Song of the Summer." Since debuting on iTunes last month, the hip-hop lust track has sold 600,000 digital downloads and topped three separate pop charts. Even if you can't summon to mind its rap-sung vocals or brassy syncopated beat, you've probably heard "Best I Ever Had" blaring out of a convertible somewhere.

Less than a year ago, Drake was basically a zero in the music world, unsigned and virtually unknown as a rhyme-sayer. But thanks to some out-of-the-box branding efforts by several of the best-connected marketing executives in the urban world and the institutional backing of his mentor, rap superstar Lil Wayne, Drake landed two songs in the Top 10 this month -- "Best I Ever Had" as a solo artist and "Every Girl" as part of the rap group Young Money. He had already amassed a devoted fan base before he'd even landed a record deal.

Every Song of Summer has a saga behind it. And Drake's breakthrough arrives as a happy accident built on plenty of high-level networking, a label bidding war and an astonishing degree of cooperation among rap world big shots. Chief among them, Drake's career overseers: the heads of the New York management firm Hip Hop Since 1978 and Cortez Bryant, Lil Wayne's longtime manager.

"They have given me one of the greatest situations in hip-hop," Drake, 22, said of his team.

Under the unusually lucrative agreement he struck with Aspire/Young Money/Cash Money Records distributed through Universal, Drake received a $2-million advance. He retains the publishing rights to his songs and cedes only around 25% of his music sales revenues to the label as a "distribution fee," his managers said. By contrast, the overwhelming majority of new artists sign financially restrictive "360 deals" that sap their touring and merchandise income and offer much more restrictive profit-sharing.

A dissection of how the rapper was able to drive such a hard bargain underscores an evolution in the music industry. At a time when CD sales have declined by 15% over last summer's numbers and major labels remain more fixated on scoring hit singles than sustaining artist rosters, managers such as those working with Drake have stepped into the void to become king-makers in urban music.

"The record company doesn't have any ownership of Drake," Bryant said. "The label does not have participation on profits. They don't have ownership of his masters. We control his entire career. Those deals don't happen anymore."

Mainly in the hands — and feet — of urban kids, krumping and clowning are making an evolutionary leap.