Hip Hop Top 50 Vol. 2. Playlist

Submitted for your approval, a second sampling of tracks from the Hip Hop Top 50. Despite Spotify's claims of an encyclopedic and endless catalog of music, Dr. Dre's The Chronic is noticeably absent, leaving him unrepresented on our mix. In his honor, I've added a second track from Doggystyle, spotlighting his unique style of production. Also of note, De La Soul's "Me, Myself & I" contains elements not present on the studio LP. For that, we sincerely apologize.

18. Snoop Doggy Dogg - Doggystyle

Hardly juvenilia, despite the sophomoric references to testicular size, Doggystyle finds an author in full control of his skill set, conscious of structure, never frantic and rather adept with onomatopoeia and masculine rhyme. For his age and lack of experience, his ability seemed supernatural at the time, but youthful stamina wasn't the reason for his success. Snoop understood the power of image and individuality, constructing a likable outlaw out of his tales of couple's bubble baths and streetlight shootouts. His vision was the film noir to hip-hop's action flick, more focused on coloring in his larger-than-life personality and foggy, deliberate lyrical flow than catering to purists or the old guard.

"Laidback" is both a personal assessment and perfectly suitable, since Snoop's rhymes are far more interested in toying with sounds and the rhyming syllable than force feeding content. Bragging and provoking the opposition accounts for the bulk of his subject matter, but mundane topics are given new life through an exhilarating propensity for accents, unnatural extensions of words and prosodic stress. Take "Tha Shiznit," for example, which playfully ridicules Luke of 2 Live Crew by concluding each sentence with an affected "E" or "A" sound, noting the opponent's weakness and fallibility with each dramatic rise in tone. His affinity for Slick Rick's wordplay and narcissism would be obvious, even without the "Lodi Dodi" cover, but Snoop's violence is more literal and far less episodic. Emotions are obvious from his intonation, noticeably most vivacious during a bout of self-glorification, but his words are most substantial when acting as conduit for verbal trickery. Despite all the distractions, he makes games of syntax seem effortless and, dare I say, elegant.

Bells and whistles are handled by Dr. Dre, who, upon first glance, seems confident enough in the sound he'd pioneered a year prior to shamelessly recycle it. Further investigation reveals an expanded palate and a slackened intensity, with the stone-faced Dre loosening his belt and letting his inner lounge act take the reins. The nostalgic atmosphere and heightened sense of whimsy work marvelously with Snoop's paced and harmonious oration, especially when spiced up with giddy sleigh bell and bleary-eyed Detroit-style soul choruses. Moments like "Ain't No Fun" even feel like a sly wink, pairing uproariously sexist pillow talk with roller-disco kitsch.

Best of all, Dre's compositions act as pedestal for Snoop's towering persona and, though most of the affair is relatively radio ready, the baleful moments are just as palatial, transforming Snoop from the role of glamorous playboy to sadistic villain, accordingly backed by vampirical organ and scaly synthesizer. "Murder Was the Case" best displays this sonic and lyrical versatility, replacing placid party vibes with chambered drum and gong, the blunt echo of struck aluminum and disembodied moans.

Snoop's pulp storytelling shines best when allowed to control the narrative and "Murder" is a drug dealer's take on the Faust legend, with Snoop himself playing a flamboyant criminal mind, hampered by a desire for wealth and an impatient, unholy benefactor. If the scope of the story and vision weren't already cinematic enough, the track was followed by an 18-minute short film, further developing the cult of personality surrounding Calvin Broadus. Yet, silver-screen aspirations and media personality were never Snoop's most endearing qualities. His ability to construct compelling poetry was what has endeared him to the public for so long and Doggystyle was the moment that Snoop Doggy Dogg's esoteric diction and imperial slackerdom became as American as apple pie.

23. Dr. Dre - The Chronic

The Chronic is a paradox.

It was a mainstream pop success cobbled from the pieces of an underground sound. It paired the grooves of a dance party with the brutality and hate of a street fight. It emulated the meticulous design and studio proficiency of ambient composers, but was best heard as the passing thud of a low rider’s sub-woofer.

Yet, its wealth of contradictions only made its influence more profound. Never before had hip-hop sounded this grandiose, taking on the emotional heft and depth of a motion picture soundtrack, replete with cinema’s storied anti-heroes and penchant for glorified violence.

At the center of this story of revenge was West-Coast production wunderkind, Dr. Dre, rising from the ashes of N.W.A to dole out slanderous tongue lashings to his critics, contemporaries and ex-bandmates. His ideas unfurl as a tough guy shtick, spoken in choppy half sentences, but convincingly scowled and backed by an army of like-minded agitators, some of which are considerably more proficient on the microphone.

Dre’s best verbal passages come when he avoids keeping up with his teammates, instead relaxing and opining over his lustrous Chevy Impala and penile hubris. Honest about his lack of pretensions, Dre claims “No medallions, dreadlocks or black fists” here, just gangster rap, which lies somewhere between admirable and willfully ignorant. Despite this apolitical stance, many tracks do carry valid arguments for uprising against social injustice, specifically in relation to the Rodney King beatings and the living conditions of South Central Los Angeles. Even the melancholy “Lil’ Ghetto Boy” has a contemplative nature that seems to contradict Dre’s occasionally bleak posturing.

Accompanying Dre on a staggering 11 of 16 tracks is Snoop Doggy Dogg, a gifted and skillful rookie capable of picking up where Dre’s rhyming abilities leave off. Funneling each sentence through his fast and limber voice box, Snoop traffics in “sing-songy” inflection shifts, nonsensical slang and stoned indifference, vocally falling somewhere between reggae patois and schoolyard joshing. If it wasn’t for his diverse portfolio, his flow would come off as a gimmick, but his storytelling is strikingly authentic and one-liners indelible, exceeding the influence of a song and permanently infecting popular culture. 

Just as culturally significant was Dre’s pioneering production work, which more than makes up for any inconsistencies in his oratory abilities. Riding on a constant wave of a neon, squealing synthesizer, Dre weaves eerie and menacing tones from otherwise benign elements. His bass lines are tense and husky, reminiscent of the captured din of a boxing match, but slowed to a leisurely, drifting pace. As a contrasting element, exotic and suggestive flute floats into the mix, almost subconsciously, paralleling vintage sex jams from the bedrooms and massage parlors of exploitation cinema. As a binding element, piano pleasantly swirls from speaker-to-speaker, hammering the nail into vinyl’s coffin and solidifying CD’s stereophonic sound.

Taking advantage of these advances in high fidelity, Dre pushes his gassy, self-congratulatory bass lines to the forefront on “Fuck wit Dre Day…,” backing them with jovial organ tinkle and plucked guitar string. Posing as an electronic answer to Parliament’s big-bootied funk, Dre adds heavy doses of synthetic horn and orchestral atmospherics, which give the track a celebratory vibe, contrasting the decidedly spiteful and homophobic lyrical content.

This inclination to ridicule the competition into submission may be the only misstep of an otherwise brilliant effort, but where the message fails, the performers succeed. Dre and Snoop exude chemistry while excoriating their enemies and those willing to see past their childish bigotry will find a tremendous confidence in the power of the chosen sonic elements and the overall listening experience. The resulting hybrid of dark, delicate atmospherics and hyperactive soul bounce was jarring enough in its originality to forever alter the face of American music, heightening our expectation for ambitious and daring soundscapes.