Dr. Dre
Dr. Dre 2001
»
Dr. Dre
Dr. Dre 2001
Interscope, 1999
RiYL: Snoop Dogg, Eazy-E, NWA |
It's been seven long years since The Chronic, the revered touchstone that introduced the genre known as G-funk. But seven years in hip-hop is damn near an eternity, and throughout the instantly compelling and arresting 2001, Dre finds himself trying to forge an image that can justify the complex elements of a man who's been there and done that and is now coming back.
The catch is, Dre's got more of those elements than the periodic table. He's 34 now, almost grandfatherly in the rap game, he's got a family, he's dealing with the post-Eazy, post-Biggie and post-Tupac world, he's perceived by many to have fallen off (thanks to the lackluster reception of his 1996 compilation Dr. Dre Presents The Aftermath), and he's trying to reestablish himself in a genre that forgets its heroes faster than you can say "Fresh Prince": "Nigga, who started this gangsta shit / And this the motherfuckin' thanks I get?"
That's a lot to justify in 70 minutes. But 2001 succeeds almost across the board thanks to it, such raw (and maturing) emotionalism is so unexpected, especially from the Dr., that it stays compelling throughout.
On opening cut "The Watcher," Dre delivers his well-aged, measured flow from high above the madness, trying to make sense of his new role: "Money and best friends, I lost them both / Went and visited niggas in the hospital / It's all the same shit all across the globe / I just sit back and watch the show." The first single "Still D.R.E.," a high-profile reunion with Snoop Dogg, is a double-barreled reassertion of power, that arguably the two biggest hip-hop names of the 90s are still all that.
Snoop and similar references to past glories appear throughout, as Dre's Chronic-era squabbles have subsided in favor of N.W.A. reunion rumors. "What's The Difference," which bounces on an uptempo, melodic ride beat, includes a straight shout-out to Eazy ("Fuck the beef, man, I miss you, and that's just being real with you").
Still, this being a Dre record, it's not all raw emotion. There are the requisite gangsta stories, and more than enough "bitches and hos" imagery, but somehow it all (especially the latter) seems strangely dated.
But even those tracks are saved by Dre's incomparable production talents. The Doctor has happily kept his ear to the streets instead of recycling Chronic beats. "The Watcher" rolls slowly over a spare RZA-esque piano lick, and "Forgot About Dre," one of the album's high points, lifts a Southern stutter-step beat and throws in enough strings and bass to keep the head nodding for days.
"Forgot" closes with what sounds like a middle finger to hip-hop, "Gimme one more platinum plaque, and then fuck rap / You can have it back." This is troubling, hip-hop can't afford to lose such a mammoth talent who is still light-years ahead of his game. Hip-hop can keep the haters and the wannabes as long as the doctor stays in.
JEFF VRABEL | Jeff Vrabel may look like your average, strapping Midwestern-type, but lurking inside him is a passion for all things Springsteen, "Weird" Al, and regrettably, the Chicago Cubs. He's touched Britney Spears. He knows Slash's phone number. Obey him at all costs.