There is a demob-happy feel to much of Compton’s aural landscape, full of piano and brass, but enduringly bouncy on Genocide, a barbershop quartet interlude plays on the word “murder”. But Dre has become playful with age: the name of his former Death Row Records associate Suge Knight is followed by a dramatic “woah” a little chain-gang interlude jingles with detail. The knee-jerk misogyny and bellyaching are made endurable by two things: the album’s righteous tone, and the skill of Dre’s production, which retains the velvety ease of his imperial period. There is a demob-happy feel to much of Compton’s aural landscape, full of piano and brass, but enduringly bouncy The years tell on tracks like the filmic Loose Cannons – where a pleading woman is murdered – and Eminem’s Medicine Man, where quips about rape endure. He gets grief from record companies to finish stuff. Reminiscences litter tracks like It’s All in a Day’s Work or It’s All on Me, which combine flashbacks with weariness. Most veteran rappers dwell on their journey. What makes this one momentous is the way it balances three objectives with impressive aplomb: constructing a love letter to his hometown, making an album that’s more of an endnote than a suffix, and continuing a lineage that has supplanted itself within hip-hop’s DNA. Dre’s, but newcomer King Mez, it’s clear Compton is bigger than one prodigious producer - just like his other two studio albums. But as the news synopsis kicks in and the first vocals you hear are not Dr. The man kicks it off with a rough approximation of the Tri-Star logo theme. If “I Need A Doctor” and “Kush” were too indulgent, Dre’s final album starts off with what looks like the same trappings. Dre, who’s likely to resume life as a recluse after the ongoing press run. Would Detox truly have sucked? No one knows except Dr. Dre’s failings post- 2001 weren’t as ignominious. The Aftermath had to fail before the next episode finally came and Eminem was unleashed. Dre was clinging to relevance.īut N.W.A had to break before transmuting P-Funk into lowrider-friendly G-funk on The Chronic. Yet, for some reason, we were getting awkward attempts at bangers, as if Dr. Dre’s legacy has been secured long before Eminem rolled through in a Benz looking hotter than a set of twin babies. The songs weren’t just underwhelming: They painted a weird portrait. The Eminem-featuring “I Need A Doctor” was more moribund than anthemic. “Kush” was a percussive club effort that was ephemeral at best. The two we heard inspired little confidence. Dre revealed that he had between 20 to 40 songs for that project.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |