Compton: A Soundtrack
So rap’s first billionaire dropped his first album since the Clinton administration. Surely a more intrepid writer than I would find some way to make Compton out as a latent statement on wealth inequality or something. But the album doesn’t really sound like the work of a billionaire, unless you consider its Apple-exclusive rollout in service of Dre’s lucrative partnership with the brand.
Okay maybe it does sound like the work of a billionaire. On the album’s first proper song, “Talk About It,” he boasts, “Still got Eminem checks I ain’t opened yet.” We get it. He’s not strapped for cash (if not strapped with gats). Or maybe he’s not boasting and he really needs somebody to cash his checks and manage his finances (if so, holler at me).
Anyway, what the hell are we talking about? Oh yeah. “Compton: A Soundtrack.” Right off the bat, Dre reminds us that his ear is unparalleled in rap production. The first 15 seconds of this album are literally cinematic, a hi-fi showcase of Dre’s mastery of the full frequency spectrum. The anticipatory strings, the “20th Century Fox” snare. While this album isn’t technically a soundtrack, Dre could easily have a career mixing silver-screen audio.
Unfortunately, the intro is more compelling than a lot of the actual songs. Not that it’s a bad record. Just that it’s a bit garbled and ultimately not as consistent a vision as Dre’s masterpieces.
Exhibit A: the aforementioned “Talk About It.” This song is a bizarre hodgepodge of 2015 tropes ripped straight from the radio. Trap hi-hats and staccato start-stop flows abound. It kind of works. But I question whether it has any staying power, given that Dre is basically putting a high-gloss sheen on run-of-the-mill radio rap.
“Genocide” is the most loveable song here. The beat covers new ground for Dre but still finds room for some characteristic West Coast synths. You’s a fool, DR. The lyrics have a sort of “Black Lives Matter” vibe I guess, but murder has always been in Dre’s wheelhouse. It’s just that Kendrick Lamar ups the ante with an (as always) excellent assist.
Speaking of subject matter — and to this album’s credit — there’s a bit more on offer here than 2001’s profusion of pubescent lyrical crotch grabbing. For every immortal bar that album conjures, there’s at least an equal measure of comically misogynistic drivel. Lest we forget, that album’s legendary beats were often used in service of lines like “pop coochie ’til the nut oozes.”
Particulars aside, Compton has no hits. I don’t mean it as a judgment, but there’s no “Nuthin’ But a ‘G’ Thang,” no “Let Me Ride,” no “Forgot About Dre,” no “The Next Episode.” That would be fine if the album succeeded as what, I think, it sets out to be, which is a cohesive capital-A Album. But in that regard, it comes nowhere near Kendrick Lamar’s towering instant classics Good Kid, m.A.A.d City and To Pimp a Butterfly. So what we’ve got is a hitmaker not making hits, a production guru delivering style-over-substance music in which a full, rich production can ring viscerally hollow.
It’s not a bad album though. In fact, I’d wager it’s the best album a 50+ year-old billionaire will ever make, though I heartily encourage the Koch brothers to drop a mixtape extolling the virtues of the dope-boy lifestyle.
Was scrapping Detox the correct move for Dr. Dre? Probably. By his own admission, Detox was garbage. And judging by its unlistenable pop-rap single “I Need a Doctor,” I believe him.
I also believe him when he says this is his final album. Come to think of it, maybe Detox would have been a good title for this record after all. The headphone mogul got rap out of his system. I’m not sure he’ll relapse after this.
