dr dre chronic tour

The Chronic Tour

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The Chronic Tour was a short tour that Dr. Dre did with Snoop Doggy Dogg, Onyx, Dogpound, Run DMC, and Boss. It went for a few shows until both Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dogg ended up charged with carjacking and murder.

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DJ Jam (dj for snoop and dre)

Tony Green (bassist)

Cheron Moore (drums)

Chris Clairmont (guitar)

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‘the chronic’ celebrates 30 years  , lyric video: dr. dre "talk about it" feat. king mez & justus, compton out now, listen to the premiere of dr. dre’s new album, compton, uncensored and exclusively on apple music, dr. dre praises j dilla, talks n.w.a. biopic on 'pharmacy', #thepharmacy is on now, aftermath's jon connor drops an exclusive freestyle, straight outta compton trailer.

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Dr. Dre  

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There's something electrifying about seeing not one, but two, megastar artists who have a real friendship and history performing onstage together. Dr. Dre and his one-time protégé, now huge star in his own right, Snoop Dogg, are responsible for some of the most memorable and influential hip hop jams in the last twenty years, and on the (now rare) occasions when these two legends unite for a show, it's a magical experience, with the whole crowd waving arms in the air and grooving to their still-as-fresh-as-when-it-first-came-out beats. From their humble Compton beginnings, Snoop and Dr. Dre have both become some of the most successful rappers in history, with Dre listed as 'second richest figure in hip hop' this year by Forbes magazine, for his music, production, and headphone business conglomerate Beats By Dre. This could potentially result in some onstage diva-ness, but there was none of that at their epic duo performance at Coachella 2012. Their energy and excitement at performing together, as well as being joined by a host of other rap legends- Eminem, Nate Dogg, and the headline-making, crazy realistic, groundbreaking hologram of Tupac- was palpable from the audience and incredible to witness.

Accompanied by a live drummer and bassist, they played everything that was and continues to be awesome about US hip hop music today- the unmistakable hooks of 'California Love', 'Next Episode', 'Still D.R.E', 'Gin and Juice' and the ultimate crowd-pleaser, 'Drop It Like It's Hot'. Big stars, bigger tunes, one hell of a show!

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Some friends scored some tickets from a radio station, to see Dr. Dre, and asked if I wanted to go. Well, its not the type of music that I am into, but I thought what the heck.

The concert was at a big venue, probably close to 20,000 in attendance. All different age groups present. I remember Dr. Dre when he was in NWA and a few songs from his album, The Chronic, other than that haven’t heard much of anything else.

He came out onstage, dressed in black and still pretty much looks the same as I remembered him. His voice was clear and the crowd went nuts. He rapped a few songs from his NWA days and quite a few from the album, The Chronic. He did a great job entertaining the audience. From what I could see, most everyone was dancing and rapping along to his songs.

Coming from the standpoint of someone that is not a fan, I really enjoyed myself. He was and is a pioneer in his industry, helping out many other young rappers. He knows music and how to put words into music. He put on a great show and I am glad my friends talked me into going.

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How Dre Forgot About Dre: The Story of ‘2001’

In the late 1990s, Dr. Dre needed more than a hit. He needed to reinvent himself. His follow-up to ‘The Chronic’ allowed him to do that while changing the course of rap history—and papering over the more troubling aspects of his past.

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I still can’t shake the goosebumps I get when I hear those keys. You know the ones: that murderous mob-movie piano, clinking as it’s methodically built out by a lone cello and mournful violins, then by electric bass and drums so crisp they sound pulled from the soul of the Korg Triton machine they were produced on. “Still D.R.E.,” the first single from Dr. Dre’s 2001 , is an antihero’s theme, the music Denzel Washington’s bad cop Alonzo Harris flips on before his panoramic tour of L.A.’s underbelly in Training Day . Twenty years later, even though the myth of 2001 has worn off, the song is still transportive. It’s cinematic and immersive, which is exactly what Dre intended: Coming off of three years in the wilderness, Dre needed more than a new sound. He needed a new story.

“Since the last time you heard from me I lost some friends / Well, hell, me and Snoop, we dippin’ again / Kept my ear to the streets, signed Eminem,” he raps. It’s not a lie, but it’s certainly not the truth; Dre’s version of the period of time between leaving Death Row Records in 1996 and 2001 ’s triumph in 1999 excludes a series of excruciating personal and professional setbacks that tell a more complex story of who Andre Young really is. “Haters say Dre fell off / How? Nigga, my last album was The Chronic, ” he scoffs on the same song. It wasn’t, actually, but the stakes were so high for Dre to rebound from his real second album—1996’s soulless Dr. Dre Presents... the Aftermath , which announced his intention to step away from gangsta rap—and the rocky start of his new label that he felt compelled to bend the truth. 2001 , released 20 years ago on November 16, had to be more than an album. It had to reassert Dre’s place atop of rap’s hierarchy while also cementing, and smoothing over, his legacy. 2001 , a big-budget, tightly controlled film, had to create a myth bigger than the man itself.

It worked. Growing up in L.A., where he remains omnipresent, I was captivated by Dre’s mystery—and the lore surrounding this comeback album in particular. The draws of 2001 ’s story are numerous: There was the cathartic reconciliation with Snoop, the discovery of Eminem, the introduction of an unprecedented space-age sound, the blend of West Coast legacies old and new, the massive commercial success that followed. At the time, I didn’t realize that it sounded too perfect to be true, that maybe 2001 was not just a mythical gangsta rap album, but also a Dre rehabilitation project.

I know now what’s real and what’s not. But 2001 nonetheless still has a hold on me, and I sometimes find myself believing the myths about Dre, and this album, that I obsessed over as a teenager. The fact remains that what he accomplished with 2001 was almost alchemy: Somehow, Dr. Dre, the man who had already shape-shifted into and out of the pioneering sounds and high-stakes dramas of N.W.A and Death Row, reinvented himself yet again, this time at 34 years old, and changed music in the process. He made people remember only what he wanted them to: a version of history that ignored his violent assaults of several women. Over the course of one album, Dre shaped his—and hip-hop’s—future. How the hell did he do it?

Dre’s that action hero who walks out of an explosion unscathed; he’s Houdini underwater, wriggling out of a straitjacket right when you think it’s too late. I don’t know if it’s guile, luck, or a combination of both, but when you’ve managed to survive as long as Dre has, it doesn’t really matter. He’s an escape artist and a damn good self-preserver. In 1991, at the peak of N.W.A’s popularity, Dre quit the group due to the poisonous financial disputes between its members and the group’s manager, Jerry Heller, who was backed by member Eazy-E, and found himself with nowhere to go. To make things worse, he was still signed to Heller and Eazy’s Ruthless Records. But then Dre’s friend the D.O.C. introduced him to Suge Knight, a 300-pound bodyguard turned businessman with a knack for getting people out of contracts. Dre and Suge quickly formed Death Row Records, and, as 1992 was bleeding into ’93, with black L.A. still reeling from the riots that erupted after Rodney King’s brutal beating at the hands of the LAPD, Dre released his debut album, The Chronic . Firing shots at Eazy-E and the police in equal measure, and introducing the world to G-funk with his protégé Snoop Doggy Dogg riding shotgun, Dre was back and looking for blood.

A musical block party indebted sonically to George Clinton’s P-funk and thematically to Dre’s experience living in a dangerous, early-’90s Compton, it’s a spotless masterpiece. It put the West Coast on equal footing with the storied East and established what would become Dre’s signature, one he had begun developing near the end of N.W.A : the eerie, mosquito-in-your ear synth that danced over every track and instantly became synonymous with L.A. rap. The Chronic elevated Dre from N.W.A member to hip-hop celebrity producer nearly overnight. It spent eight months in the Billboard top 10, and Dre piled on 11 months later with a sequel of sorts, Snoop Doggy Dogg’s infectious debut album, Doggystyle , which set the record for the fastest-selling hip-hop album in history. On the backs of these two records—plus the Above the Rim soundtrack and Tha Dogg Pound’s snarling debut, Dogg Food —Death Row became an institution. In 1996, after bailing him out of jail, Suge and Death Row released 2Pac’s seminal two-disc album All Eyez on Me , which sold over half a million units in its first week and featured contributions from Dre, Snoop, and the rest of the label.

Ceding his 50 percent stake in a wildly profitable Death Row, Dre narrowly escaped the East Coast–West Coast beef that ultimately consumed Suge and Co. to form Aftermath in March 1996, leaving Snoop behind and bringing with him not a single longtime collaborator. And as a result, the West Coast split between those still on the Row and those who left, with Snoop’s cutting off contact with Dre and eventually moving to Master P’s New Orleans–based No Limit Records. The final blow to the Death Row era came seven months after Dre left the label, when 2Pac, who had fallen out with Dre, was shot and killed. He left behind a final album, The Don Killuminati: The 7 Day Theory , which lobbed numerous disses toward Dre .

Throughout the N.W.A and Death Row periods, Dre the public personality remained unfinished. He rarely wrote his own raps, and, as a result, the more colorful aspects of his persona were shaped by his circumstances and collaborators. Friendless, searching for a new sound, and attempting to establish a label as big as the one he had left, Dre released his second album, Dr. Dre Presents... the Aftermath , on November 26, 1996. Bloated, boring, and uneven, it’s at times unlistenable. It didn’t help that the initial Aftermath roster, featuring West Coast legends King Tee and RBX, boasted some of the most anonymous rappers and singers this side of Reno with names like “Jheryl Lockhart” and, literally, “Miscellaneous”; the album also gave Dre just one solo song, the limp “Been There Done That .” It didn’t stand a chance. Trashed by critics and fans alike, Dr. Dre Presents... the Aftermath threatened Dre’s entire career. Dre came up short again in 1997 with The Album , the debut project of the supergroup the Firm , which was composed of Nas, AZ, Foxy Brown, and Nature. The album hit no. 1, but was dismissed as too pop-centric and lacking chemistry. “That point of my life, musically, it was just off balance,” Dre said in 2018 . “I was off track then and trying to find it. It was a period of doubt.” If Dre’s magic touch wasn’t permanently gone, he knew it was missing. It was time to start from scratch, but it wouldn’t happen overnight.

Then came a miracle. Later in 1997, Jimmy Iovine, who ran Aftermath parent label Interscope, played Dre the demo of a white rapper from Detroit named Eminem. His maniacal, horrifying, multisyllabic rhymes would later fit uncannily well over Dre’s production. Within minutes, Dre knew he had something special—it was that simple. Dre was saved yet again.

After months of highly productive studio sessions with an unpolished but focused 26-year-old Marshall Mathers, Aftermath released Eminem’s debut, The Slim Shady LP , on February 23, 1999. The album shocked listeners across the world and went four times platinum. It made Eminem a superstar, gave Aftermath its first hit, and, more subtly, marked the start of Dre’s new sound. Gone were the sticky, warbly bass lines, big drums, and hypnotic stank of G-funk. What emerged instead was West Coast rap stripped down to its basic components, stretched and slowed and narrowed with ominous, sparse precision. SSLP ’s “ Role Model ” is 2001 ’s most obvious precursor, and it’s the only track on the album that Dre coproduced with a young upstart from Virginia named Mel-Man, who would be instrumental in 2001 . Around the same time, Dre and Snoop reconciled. No Limit Top Dogg , Snoop’s fourth album and second for No Limit, released on May 11, 1999, featured his first collaborations with Dre in nearly five years. The Dre-produced “ Buck ’Em ,” with its alien synths and Kill Bill –style guitars, is proto- 2001 , and the Xzibit-featuring, Dre-laced posse-cut “ Bitch Please ” got the gang back together again. Armed with a new superstar, a new coproducer, and a crew of old collaborators, Dr. Dre was finally ready for his next episode .

The first sound you hear on 2001 is the THX Deep Note crescendoing and rumbling like an earthquake. It’s a fitting, on-the-nose introduction to one of the most cinematic rap albums of all time: Throughout 2001 , Dre creates a highly curated noir L.A. soundscape, complete with skits, whirring helicopters, bar chatter, and whizzing bullets. The THX note is also, in a way, an asterisk—this is a movie, not real life. “It’s all entertainment first,” he said to the The New York Times , in response to his change of heart after denouncing gangsta rap on “Been There Done That.” “Any person that listens to these records and wants to imitate them is an idiot.” The message is clear: 2001 is Dr. Dre, not Andre Young.

But for all the posturing about the line between reality and entertainment, lyrically 2001 feels remarkably real. It’s a testament to Dre’s many ghostwriters, but there’s an urgency in Dre’s rapping that makes it clear this isn’t for fun. The chip on his shoulder, the raw desire to reclaim his throne, was not just for show. If The Chronic was a daytime cookout, 2001 is L.A. at night, blending house parties and drive-bys, reminiscing and thirsting for blood. The album draws a dark portrait of Los Angeles, where at any moment you might get robbed, shot, or killed, whether by the police or a stick-up kid looking for a thrill—a free-for-all war zone where sex is perpetually available and women are pimped, discarded, and fucked with little regard to their humanity.

“ The Watcher, ” 2001 ’s first song, is a snarling, paranoid introduction to the new Dre: a seen-it-all, weather-beaten warrior who’s been doubted too long. “Things just ain’t the same for gangstas,” Dre begins, sounding weary. It’s a persona he adopts throughout the album—a veteran who has outlasted them all. “Nigga we started this gangsta shit / And this the motherfuckin’ thanks I get?” he asks later, bewildered. The production on “The Watcher,” like the rest of 2001 , is the culmination of years of experimenting: It’s fermented, stark G-funk filtered through the noir of L.A. Confidential , complete with crisp violin plucks, delicate piano, low horns, skulking bass, and pulsing drums. The trademark high synth is still there, but instead of dominating songs, like The Chronic ’s “ Let Me Ride ,” it lingers in the background, an eerie callback to simpler times. Dre had hinted at his new sound on those earlier Eminem and Snoop tracks that same year, but no one was prepared for what 2001 held in store. Even now, 20 years later, it somehow sounds futuristic.

Throughout 2001 ’s 22 tracks, Dre and Mel-Man reinvented what hip-hop could sound like. Instead of old funk records, this time around Dre incorporated French songs from the 1960s , several TV and film scores, and a bevy of R&B licks without compromising 2001 ’s nocturnal core. The album is a statement in simplicity, orchestration, and scientifically precise execution. “Xxplosive,” one of 2001 ’s best beats, flips the first few bars of the classic Soul Mann & the Brothers instrumental “ Bumpy’s Lament ” from the Shaft soundtrack and pairs it with triangle-twinkles and drums so solid that Kanye stole them to help find his own sound early in his career . “The Next Episode” prominently takes David Axelrod and Dave McCallum’s “The Edge” and pairs it with trembling, reverberating drum hits and a massive, endorphin-generating build-up. “Big Ego’s” and “Still D.R.E.” incorporate producer Scott Storch’s bone-chilling keys and Mel-Man’s gurgling bass, while “Fuck You” and “Light Speed” ooze synths so restrained they feel on the verge of petering out. Anchored around stop-and-go drums , “Some L.A. Niggaz” is spookily empty until the chorus, when a lone, mournful Dre synth line flutters above the beat with the grace, and foreboding, of a vulture slowly circling a fresh kill.

On the lyrical side, 2001 shows off a stable of legends, upstarts, and randoms. They united under Dre’s hawk-eyed watch to make 2001 a layered, constantly surprising feature film. The sound had changed, but The Chronic remained—a few of its architects, along with the generation they influenced, picked up on 2001 right where they left off, with Kurupt, Snoop, Xzibit, Knoc-Turn’al, and Nate Dogg each appearing multiple times and anchoring the album. And then there’s Eminem. In 1999 there was no one like him. His sprawling verses on “What’s the Difference” and, famously, “Forgot About Dre,” are just mesmerizing, equal parts performance art, battle rap, storytelling, and raw charisma. Fitting with the 2001 narrative of Dre’s improbable return, Eminem ferociously defends his mentor’s legacy, threatening to shoot doubters if they “talk like The Chronic was lost product” on “What’s the Difference.”

Dre melded the veterans’ hardened, old-school West Coast swagger with Eminem’s feral raps and Mel-Man’s stripped-down beats, but he wouldn’t have done it without the help of a rapper named Hittman. A virtual nobody before he met Dre, Hittman raps on 10 of 2001 ’s songs and has writing credits on two more, including “The Next Episode.” In a way he’s the narrator of Dre’s tour of L.A. at night, illuminating conflicts, histories, and characters, and popping up enough that when he does, you feel centered. In high school, I was so consumed by 2001 ’s story that, on its 15th anniversary, I sought out and interviewed him; he had disappeared almost completely in the years following. “I played the role of gravity,” he told me. “So, no matter what the other emcees chose to speak on in their verses, I always brought it back to the subject matter at hand with mine.” He dominates two of the best pure rapping songs on the album, the mournful highlight “ Big Ego’s ,” and the shit-talking “ Bitch Niggaz ,” and even gets his own solo track on “ Ackrite .” As for the randoms, there’s Dallas’s Six-2, a nasal-voiced then-23-year old who came referred by Dre’s old friend the D.O.C. and who steals the show on “Xxplosive.” There’s also Ms. Roq, the only woman featured on the album, whose ferocious, iconic verse on “Let’s Get High” remains one of the best moments on the album.

2001 sold over half a million copies in its first week and ultimately was certified six-times platinum. It won a Grammy for “Forgot About Dre,” which, before 2001 ’s release, Dre and Eminem performed triumphantly on the Saturday Night Live stage. Six months later, Dre, Snoop, Eminem, Ice Cube, most of 2001 ’s guest artists, and pretty much anyone from L.A. that could fit on the bus embarked on the famed Up in Smoke Tour, a 44-show victory lap that, at one point in the set, featured an actual lowrider hopping on stage.

The album set up the rest of Dre’s career, cementing Aftermath as a dynasty on the scale of Death Row; there’s likely no Kendrick Lamar on Aftermath without 2001 . The album led to an astonishing run of success in the years immediately following: more Eminem, the discovery of 50 Cent, and, in the wake of 2001 , several huge , Dre - produced singles that built on the album’s instrumental foundation. The 2001 sound was suddenly inescapable, and things were finally as they were supposed to be: Dre was back. Again.

The parts of Dre that would be left behind in the period leading up to 2001 weren’t simply in the interest of making better music. To overhaul yourself, to craft a brand-new narrative the way Dre did between 1996 and 1999, requires a certain degree of cognitive dissonance. Dre was trying to move past Dr. Dre Presents... the Aftermath and the drama with Death Row. He was also trying to let go of the familial trauma that consumed his early life, and to put behind his violence, most of which was directed toward women.

On January 27, 1991, while still in N.W.A, Dre brutally attacked journalist Dee Barnes, the host of the popular Fox entertainment program Pump It Up , at the Po Na Na Souk club in Hollywood. One of the show’s producers had spliced an interview with former N.W.A member Ice Cube, in which he disses the group, into a clip of Barnes interviewing the remaining members of the group: Dre, Eazy-E, MC Ren, and DJ Yella. According to Eazy, the guys felt set up. So when Dre saw Barnes, whom he had known for years, he attacked her. In Barnes’s telling, “He picked me up by my hair and my ear and smashed my face and body into the wall. … Next thing I know, I’m down on the ground and he’s kicking me in the ribs and stamping on my fingers. I ran into the women’s bathroom to hide, but he burst through the door and started bashing me in the back of the head.” No one helped; several people watched on. N.W.A, proud of their violent misogyny, predictably backed Dre. “She deserved it. Bitch deserved it,” Ren told Rolling Stone . Dre told the magazine that, “it ain’t no big thing—I just threw her through a door.” Barnes sued and settled out of court in 1993. She still has migraines from the beating and has struggled to find work in entertainment since.

Between 1992 and 1994, Dre was arrested three separate times for assault, battery of a police officer, and a DUI that involved a high-speed chase through Los Angeles, which sent him to jail for five months. The Barnes incident, though the most famous, wasn’t Dre’s only attack against a woman, nor was it the first. Tairrie B, a female rapper signed to Eazy’s Ruthless Records, says Dre punched her in the eye and mouth at a post-Grammys party in L.A. in 1990. Singer Michel’le, a Death Row labelmate, dated Dre between 1987 and 1996 and had a child with him. She detailed her abuse in a 2015 interview : “I had five black eyes, I have a cracked rib, I have scars that are just amazing. It was normal. Everybody that knew, it was the norm.”

In his 2017 HBO documentary The Defiant Ones , Dre owns up to his assault of Barnes, who’s the only victim interviewed, but nothing else. To explain himself, he discusses seeing his mother abused by his stepfather; the deep depression and alcoholism he fell into in the early ’90s after the death of his brother, Tyree; and the dangerous combination of ego and fame that consumed him and N.W.A as they blew up. “I have this dark cloud that follows me. And it’s gonna be attached to me forever,” Dre says. “It’s a major blemish on who I am as a man. And every time it comes up, it just makes me feel fucked up.” Yet Dre’s acknowledgment of his dark cloud, 26 years after assaulting Barnes, feels like too little and far too late. He says nothing of Barnes’s migraines or career blacklisting. And he says nothing of how that same dark cloud, as it became part of his legend, helped save his career.

In an interview with The Guardian shortly after 2001 ’s release, Dre credits his wife, Nicole, with his return to form, claiming that she told him to ditch the over-it ethos of the Dr. Dre Presents... single “ Been There, Done That ” and go back to gangsta rap. Dre admitted that returning to the misogyny and violence of his earlier work—which runs throughout 2001 —made him uncomfortable. “But then, I have to look at it like entertainment, and I have a set fan base, and there’s certain things they want to hear. They wanna hear Dre be Dre,” he told journalist Ekow Eshun. Dre’s craftiness was that we could have it both ways: Now professing to be a family man, he was resurrecting the violent misogyny of his past self solely as fiction, and, as a result, he could assert it shamelessly. The dark cloud wasn’t something to repent, or overcome, but rather a personality to access. Dre used the violence of his past to color his present, to create an unassailable mythology, even as he declared the album’s violent content fictitious in interviews. “Came up in the game wearin’ khakis not Kangols, stranglin’ hoes / When asked about it in most interviews I just laugh,” he boasts on 2001 ’s “Light Speed,” eight years after assaulting Barnes. These are tongue-in-cheek threats to those who know, smug I got away with it s from a man who never had to reckon with it to begin with.

The story of Dre’s three years in the wilderness, between Dr. Dre Presents… and 2001 , asks a question: When does fiction in the name of art become revisionist history in service of the artist? In 2001 ’s case, the album reframed Dre as a stable, all-business super producer, a legendary figure beyond reproach. It allowed for his history of abuse to fade into the past, hidden behind cop-outs claiming the violence and misogyny on the album was all for show. “Having tried unsuccessfully to divorce himself from what Dr. Dre was,” Eshun writes in The Guardian , “it seems he has chosen instead to broaden the possibilities of who Dr. Dre can be.” 2001 is the sonic equivalent of those endless possibilities. The new Dr. Dre can tell stories about pimping women out and claim to be a family man. He can stage a home invasion and, a few tracks later, mourn his brother ’s murder. He can also claim “my last album was The Chronic ” and elide his previous failure . 2001 is the blockbuster that returned Dre to prominence. And in the process of rehabilitating Dre’s career, it quietly revised the story of who he is.

I was 12 or 13 when I first got my hands on 2001 . I don’t remember if I was shocked at the vulgarity, or confused by Dre’s cryptic references to fallen West Coast legends and old beefs. All I remember is being captivated by its sound. When I finally started to drive a few years later, the first song I put on at max volume, with the windows rolled down, was “Big Ego’s.” I nodded my head and smirked like I imagine Dre did, and my stomach dropped when the bass tumbled in. A queer Jewish teenager from Santa Monica, I was nonetheless captivated by Dre’s big-budget storytelling, transported into the shoes of 2001 ’s shit-talking protagonist. I knew 2001 ’s lyrics were shocking, misogynistic, violent, and offensive. I also knew I loved the album, and that its unsavoriness, and the disgust it provoked in countless other listeners, was one of the reasons why.

When the N.W.A biopic Straight Outta Compton came out in 2015 and left out any mention of the group’s misogyny or Dre’s abuse, I, like many people born after N.W.A and The Chronic , learned the extent of Dre’s history with women in the ensuing controversy. Even Dre, for the first time, had to (somewhat) own up to it . If the apology he issued seemed half-assed, it’s because it was; I don’t know whether Dre genuinely felt regret, but I imagine the lack of effort in actually repenting is partially due to Dre’s own confusion at having to apologize in the first place. If something is a persona, if a history is the result of an external, unremovable dark cloud, then what’s there to apologize for? It’s almost as if Dre, since 2001 , has bought into his own myth so entirely that reckoning with what’s within him is now impossible; Straight Outta Compton arrived 16 years after 2001 , but it recast and justified Dre’s story in exactly the same way.

The cracks in that story, though, are obvious when you listen closely to 2001 . Despite the ghostwriting interventions of Jay-Z (who wrote “Still D.R.E.”), Hittman, Snoop, Eminem, and the D.O.C., Dre never really sounds comfortable in his own voice, and often sounds downright like an alien. Many of his verses feel forced, and he raps on only 13 of 2001 ’s 17 songs. “Another classic CD for y’all to vibe with / Whether you’re coolin’ on the corner with your fly bitch / Laid back in the shack, play this track,” he huffs on the third verse of “Still D.R.E.” with the flow of a high school guidance counselor. It’s not even clear what Dre delivering his own rhymes would sound like.

There’s one song, though, on which we get a hint. 2001 ’s closer, “The Message,” is the one track that is utterly, undeniably convincing from Dre’s point of view. It’s the only song not produced by Dre or Mel, instead coming courtesy of the legendary East Coast producer Lord Finesse. Featuring a hook from Mary J. Blige, it’s a heartbreaking reflection on the loss of Dre’s younger brother, Tyree, who died in a street fight while Dre was still in N.W.A. The song’s lyrics were written by rapper Royce da 5’9”, but, like any movie with perfect special effects, Dre’s delivery and message is so convincing that, even knowing he didn’t write the words himself, the song never fails to give me chills. “I’m anxious to believing real G’s don’t cry / If that’s the truth, then I’m realizing I ain’t no gangsta,” he raps. For a fleeting moment, the artifice falls apart, the weight of history slides off, and Dr. Dre becomes Andre Young.

As I’ve gotten older, 2001 has remained in my personal rap album pantheon. The beats continue to thrill me, and most of the rapping hasn’t aged. 2001 still somehow sounds like the future. But my obsession with the album’s lore has steadily faded. I interviewed Hittman when I was 20 because his disappearance post- 2001 only added more to the myth of the album—and the myth of Dre himself. But when I met Hittman, I found him living happily off royalties with his family in Pasadena, California. And when I learned the reasons for his disappearance—personal tragedy, a disinterested Dre, bad business deals—the bubble popped. Hittman didn’t mysteriously disappear; he got burnt out and chose to move on. The reality was far from the myth, and much more human.

How do we choose the stories we tell about ourselves? Dre chose to bury the shame, anger, and insecurity of his deepest self within tall tales of authority, menace, and, later, questionable contrition. He got one of the greatest rap albums of all time, and a remarkable life, out of that truth bending. But there is always a cost. I asked Hittman, back in 2014, on 2001 ’s 15th anniversary, whether he had any regrets. He quickly told me no. “And while I may have squandered any remnants of a career, I never compromised my character in exchange for one,” he said, sitting outside at a frozen yogurt shop, watching his two young daughters play. “So I can live with that.”

I wonder if Dre can, or if he can say the same. I think of a scene in The Defiant Ones when Dre is sitting alone in his mansion, the Pacifc Ocean crashing outside, as Dee Barnes’s testimony narrates the details of his abuse. His face remains placid as his history is unspooled in front of him in what feels like a final attempt to find the person at its center. He’s the greatest producer of all time, the craftsman behind two of the best albums in history, a mogul worth $800 million and beloved by his city, and an absolute enigma. The waves thunder; the furniture casts shadows. He stares and blinks. Barnes goes on. If Dr. Dre’s having trouble living with himself, he’s learned how to hide it.

Jackson Howard is an assistant editor at Farrar, Straus and Giroux. His writing has appeared in Pitchfork , them. , The Fader , W. , and elsewhere.

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Upcoming Dr. Dre Festivals Appearances

Upcoming dr. dre concerts near me.

Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg, 50 Cent, & Eminem Mock Jimmy Kimmel's Genitals in Grey's Anatomy Spoof: Watch

In which Dre, Snoop, and 50 use a telescope to find Kimmel's penis.

March 20, 2024

Dr. Dre Announces New Eminem Album "Coming Out This Year"

Dre revealed he has songs on the project, which he described as "fire."

Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg Launch Gin & Juice Canned Beverage

The ready-to-drink cocktail comes in four flavors.

February 12, 2024

Dr. Dre Explains Why He Turned Down Working with Michael Jackson and Prince

The legendary producer didn't want to change "the way I feel" about his musical heroes.

July 17, 2023

Bruce Springsteen, Paul McCartney, and Dr. Dre Are Dinner Buddies

The legendary artists were spotted having dinner together in London after Springsteen performed in Hyde Park.

July 15, 2023

Snoop Dogg Postpones Doggystyle 30th Anniversary Concert Amid Writers Strike [Updated]

The pair of shows will now take place in October at the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles.

May 4, 2023

Dr. Dre's The Chronic Is Back on Streaming

After disappearing from DSPs early last year, Dre's monumental 1992 album is available once again.

February 1, 2023

Marjorie Taylor Greene Locked Out of Twitter Because She Forgot About Dr. Dre('s Lawyers)

After she posted a video with Dr. Dre's music, his lawyers wrote, "We think an actual lawmaker should be making laws not breaking laws."

January 9, 2023

Eminem Celebrates Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction: "I'm Probably Not Supposed to Be Here"

The Detroit rapper performed a six-song set that included guest appearances from Aerosmith's Steven Tyler and Ed Sheeran.

November 6, 2022

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Dr. Dre’s ‘The Chronic’: A 4/20 deep dive into the album that changed hip-hop forever

From Wu-Tang Clan ’s ‘Enter The Wu-Tang (36 Chambers)’ to Kanye West ’s ’My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy’, hip-hop has had its fair share of watershed albums. But there’s one in particular that was so impactful that it launched superstar careers of its guest stars, stole attention away from hip-hop’s birthplace and reshaped popular music as we know it: Dr. Dre ’s December 1992 solo album ‘The Chronic’ – which is available for the first time ever on all major streaming platforms today, 4/20/2020.

Read more: Beats By Dr. Dre – His 10 best productions so far

Dre’s post- N.W.A. debut sold over two million copies in its first year on shelves and has since gone on to sell six million copies in the US alone. Its rumbling low-end bass dumps (influenced by A Tribe Called Quest ’s ‘The Low End Theory’), funky rhythms and innovative soul samples dominated boomboxes and car stereos all over America, and the rest of the world caught up soon after.

“It’s arguably the most important album in hip-hop history,” Barry Ashworth of Dub Pistols tells NME . “It was a genre-changing moment that brought us the sound of G-Funk and changed the way rap music was perceived forever. It’s a timeless classic.”

“THERE’S NEVER been a better produced hip-hop album. DRE set the bar so fucking high it turned the world upside down” – DJ SWAY Calloway

Sharing a similar sentiment, Kanye West once told Rolling Stone:  “‘The Chronic’ is still the hip-hop equivalent to Stevie Wonder ‘s ‘Songs in the Key Of Life’. It’s the benchmark you measure your album against if you’re serious.”

But before Dre could arrive at this genre-defining moment, he had a few obstacles he had to overcome.

A date with Death Row

As a member of tinderbox rap collective N.W.A. in the mid 1980s, Dre’s star power was already well known thanks to his production on classics such as ‘Fuck Tha Police’ and ‘Straight Outta Compton’. But he was convinced bandmate Eazy-E and Ruthless Records founder Jerry Heller were not fairly compensating him for his work. Looking to follow in the footsteps of former N.W.A. member Ice Cube , who left the label in 1989 over disputed royalty payments, Dre wanted off Ruthless. Enter: larger-than-life rap impresario Suge Knight.

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Knight, a former pro football prospect who doubled as a bodyguard for celebrities including Bobby Brown was introduced to Dre by rapper D.O.C., who himself would play a huge role in the making of ‘The Chronic’, famously penning the ‘Nuthin’ But A G Thang’ hook.

With an eye on becoming a music mogul, Knight saw Dre as a means of making it happen. Reportedly using his overbearing physicality and threatening presence to intimidate Eazy, Knight and a small entourage of men allegedly forced the godfather of gangsta rap to sign a release contract for Dre. That’s the way the N.W.A. biopic Straight Outta Compton tells it, anyway.

For his role in helping free Dre from the shackles of his former label, Knight became famous as hip-hop’s most fearsome hustler, almost overnight. Quickly securing the funds to purchase a recording studio from Solar Records (allegedly with the help of incarcerated drug dealer Michael ‘Harry O’ Harris), Knight, along with Dre, D.O.C. and Solar Records’ Dick Griffey, founded the era-defining Death Row Records, a major cultural force for most of the 1990s.

With the label ready to fire on all cylinders, the scene was set for ‘The Chronic’ to become the jewel in the Death Row crown. But Dre had to be persuaded into making it first. In the album’s thank you notes, he gives a special shout out to D.O.C. for “talking me into doin’ this album.” But while D.O.C. put the bug in his ear, it was a young, unassuming rapper from Long Beach, California with canine features, a strangely refined manner, a unique rapping delivery and a superhuman appetite for weed that put the battery in Dre’s back.

The ‘Inmates’ assemble…

“This is a diamond in the rough and we need to polish it up,” Dre said upon hearing Snoop Dogg rap for the first time, via a cassette passed to him by his stepbrother, the rapper Warren G . Speaking in the 2017 Netflix documentary The Defiant Ones , Dre said that the thought of producing his own solo album only became a reality once discovering Snoop, who would wind up being a superstar in his own right while working on ‘The Chronic’.

Sway In The Morning host Sway Calloway who, as co-presenter of influential US syndicated radio programme The Wake Up Show , was a key figure in the west coast hip-hop scene during its infancy, remembers his cousin telling him about Snoop because the rapper happened to be sleeping on her couch at the time. “I was like, ‘Snoop? The dude’s name is Snoop?’,” he tells NME , laughing. “She told me he was gonna be the next big thing and sure enough it happened.”

“The Chronic’ was like a Marvel movie and the guest rappers were all like a bunch of fucking superheroes” – Rapper Royce Da 5’9

Snoop wasn’t the only one to assist Dre in the making of ’The Chronic’. Aside from D.O.C., the former N.W.A. man also enlisted the services of a band of rapping misfits he would later dub the Death Row Inmates: The Lady Of Rage , rapper-producer Daz Dillinger and RBX (two of Snoop’s cousins), Kurupt , a little-known singer named Nate Dogg , Jewell, and Warren G. Rapper Bushwick Bill of the controversial Texan duo Geto Boys  also made an appearance, lending his unmistakably eerie timbre to the unnerving ’Stranded On Death Row’.

“They were like characters in a movie,” says Royce Da 5’9” , who would work with Dre on ‘2001’, the brilliant 1999 follow-up to ‘The Chronic’, which showcased a new generation of stars including Dre protege Eminem. “All these obscure voices and shit, you loved all of them. You fell in love with the whole cast and you followed them when they went on to do their own spin-offs. It was like a Marvel movie and they were all like a bunch of fucking superheroes.”

Commenting on the way in which Dre produced the artists on ‘The Chronic’, comedian Alex Thomas, who hosted Dre and Snoop’s ‘Up In Smoke Tour’ in 2000, compares Dre to another legendary producer. “We looked at Dr. Dre as the hip-hop version of Quincy Jones ,” Thomas tells  NME . “What he did with Snoop, Daz, Kurupt, Rage, Warren G and the rest of them was incredible.”

From giving fans a peek into the brilliance of Nate Dogg’s raw and unorthodox vocals on the outro of ‘Deeez Nuuuts’, to letting Snoop’s commanding presence dominate tracks like ‘Fuck Wit Dre Day’, ‘The Day The N****z Took Over’ and the cultural atomic bomb that is summer anthem ‘Nuthin’ But A G Thang’, Dre meticulously sequenced ‘The Chronic’ to be as potent as the cannabis leaf that was laser-etched into the CD.

An unlikely ambassador for the green stuff

In 1988, Dre rapped on N.W.A.’s ‘Express Yourself’ that he didn’t smoke “weed or sess [sensimilla, a potent form of marijuana] cause it’s known to give a brother brain damage,” so it’s almost farcical that weed ended up being the main inspiration behind ‘The Chronic’.

Whether it’s the iconic artwork paying homage to Zig-Zag rolling papers, the aromatic puffs of smoke that filled the studio during the recording process, or the album’s title itself – coined by Snoop during a smoke session with, in his words, some “white boys in the back of a truck” – these ingredients were key to the way fans bought into the hazy world of ‘The Chronic’.

One of the album’s understated feats is how the weed-fugged production provides a smoke screen for Dre’s limitations as an MC. Adding a chorus of talented voices, he manages to slip in and out, appearing sparingly but adding the voice of a veteran among newcomers.

Camping out at either Solar studios or the studio at his newly purchased Calabasas home, Dre produced ‘The Chronic’ on a cutting edge SSL mixing console, experimenting with new sounds and samples, unknowingly reshaping the sound of west coast rap in the process. Whether it was his reinterpretation of 1970s P-Funk, a musical style made famous by Parliament-Funkadelic , that he dubbed G-Funk, or the whining Moog synthesisers he spread throughout The Chronic , Dre was changing the way people would view hip-hop music moving forward.

“What Dre did for the synthesiser is almost like the [latter-day] impact of autotune,” Calloway says. “ T-Pain , to me, made autotune an art, but after a while everybody started using it and it became a crutch. That’s what Dre did with the whiny synthesiser. Once he used it on ‘The Chronic’, everybody wanted to use the synth.”

“I don’t think there’s ever been a better produced hip-hop album,” Calloway continues. “He set the bar so fucking high that it turned the world upside down. His production was heavenly. What Dre did in terms of vibrations and frequencies ushered in a whole new era of production.”

“Dre Was the hip-hop Quincy Jones” – Comedian Alex Thomas

A notorious perfectionist, Dre completed the mixes on his sonic masterpiece with live instrumentation, including flutes, guitar and bass, thanks to the help of musicians Colin Wolfe and Chris “The Glove” Taylor.

“When ‘The Chronic’ came out it was the first time I remember having things to say about the production,” adds Royce. “It was the first time I remember people talking about beats. I didn’t even realise that that could even be a conversation until ‘The Chronic’ dropped.”

But more than just the slick production, the soundbites from comedian Rudy Ray Moore, the Led Zeppelin and Isaac Hayes samples, and the comic relief of skits like ‘The $20 Sack Pyramid’, the lyrics on ‘The Chronic’ were utterly timely, acting as a sort of CNN report from the streets.

A postcard from the edge

America had become aware of the tensions brewing in LA following the shocking case of Rodney King, a black construction worker who was badly beaten up by several LAPD officers in 1991. After the court acquitted the participating officers in 1992, finding them not guilty of police brutality, riots, fires and looting broke out all over the City Of Angels.

‘The Chronic’ was recorded while all of this was going on in Dre’s own backyard. Providing an audio depiction of the injustices taking place, it referenced several of the incidents on ‘Lil Ghetto Boy’ and ‘The Day The N****z Took Over’, noting the change in their environment, where it seemed like both gangbangers [US slang for gang members] and the police were quicker than ever to pull their triggers.

‘The Chronic’ might not have invented gangsta rap, but it was certainly the first to transform it into the dominant soundtrack of America’s party scene. Together with Snoop, Dre captured the state of mind of a gangsta, even though he wasn’t a gangsta himself per se. He romanticised the gangbanging lifestyle on tracks like ‘Nuthin’ But A G Thang’ and ‘Let Me Ride’, presenting it in the context of an eclectic and uncompromising body of work that established the west coast as a commanding mainstream musical force.

“It was the first time in the history of rap music that New York artists and producers had to ride in the proverbial passenger seat,” explains UK rap legend Rodney P . “N.W.A. had started the trend but it was ‘The Chronic’ that opened the floodgates, giving regional artists the belief that they could succeed in making music that was hip-hop. The Dirty South, Atlanta, Houston, St. Louis, they all owe a little something to ‘The Chronic’ and to Dr. Dre for removing the limitations on what hip-hop could and should sound like.”

“It was the first time in the history of rap music that New York artists and producers had to ride in the proverbial passenger seat” – RAPPER RODNEY P

But it wasn’t just about artists from other regions being inspired to describe and celebrate their own lives, scenes, experiences and cities. Listeners from other regions and other countries were given an insight into what it was like to live in South Central Los Angeles in that turbulent time.

“I can imagine how educational ‘The Chronic’ was for people living in other cities or in other countries around the world,” Thomas notes. “Whether you lived in Africa, London, France, or even another city like Detroit, ‘The Chronic’ was like an educational road map on what South Central LA and the west coast was all about. Dr. Dre was able to paint a picture for all of those who weren’t from South Central.”

The sound of the future

On thinking about the impact of ‘The Chronic’, the thing that is probably the most overlooked is the shockwave it sent through the industry for years to come. It was the bedrock of one of the most dominant record labels in the history of music. At the height of its powers, Death Row Records was pulling in $100 million a year – and proving that hardcore rap could power a hit machine in pop music. In time it would inspire label powerhouses such as Cash Money Records, Top Dawg Entertainment and more.

In a more linear sense, ‘The Chronic’ provided a springboard for many to flourish. While Snoop Dogg is an obvious one to point out, Daz and Kurupt had a pretty successful run as Tha Dogg Pound , as did Nate Dogg before his death in 2011, featuring on songs by 50 Cent , Fabolous and Ludacris , with many considering him one of the greatest hook singers of our time.

Then there’s Warren G. Aside from him having a mammoth hit in his own ‘Regulate’, an iconic tale of LA street life, he played a huge role in keeping the lights on at legendary hip-hop label Def Jam Records after sales of his debut album ‘Regulate…G Funk Era’ injected some much needed revenue into the then financially struggling industry giant.

“A lot of people owe their career to this album,” Sway points out. “There would be no Kendrick Lamar if it wasn’t for ‘The Chronic’. There would be no Game , no YG , no Nipsey Hussle .”

Dre shaped LA’s present and future with ‘The Chronic’. But more than that, he made the naysayers who thought hip-hop lacked substance sit up and take notice, alerting them to a simple fact: this was no passing fad.

Released via Death Row Records/Entertainment One, you can now stream Dr. Dre’s ‘The Chronic’ across all platforms here.

For more info and to purchase Death Row merchandise, visit the label’s official website.

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Dr. Dre Tour ‘Indefinitely Postponed’ After 7 Shows : Pop music: Observers cite problems in promoting the bill of gangsta rappers, including accused murderer Snoop Doggy Dogg.

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The viability of rap music concerts is being questioned again with the news Wednesday that Dr. Dre’s highly touted tour has been “indefinitely postponed.”

The tour--which featured performances by some of the hottest rappers in the business, including Dre’s controversial sidekick Snoop Doggy Dogg--was shut down after just seven shows primarily due to promotion problems, sources said Wednesday.

Industry observers criticized marketing techniques used to advertise the shows as well as the size and location of the venues booked. Some sources predicted that the Dre and Snoop show could be resurrected later this fall or early next year.

Richard Klotzman, the United Entertainment Corp. consultant who organized the tour, did not return repeated phone calls made to his Baltimore office. Representatives for the artists and their management and record companies also declined comment.

Although violent outbursts are rare at rap shows, fear of violence and the escalating cost of security and insurance for promoters has led some observers to suggest that rap concerts may be nearing extinction.

In recent years, gangsta rappers such as N.W.A. and Ice-T have had problems obtaining security from law enforcement organizations, who refuse to provide protection because they object to gangsta rap’s anti-police rhetoric.

Gary Bongiovanni, editor of Pollstar, a leading national concert trade journal, said the tour’s cancellation may cause further concerns about booking rap shows in the future.

“Gangsta rap shows in general have always made some venue owners and promoters very nervous,” Bongiovanni said. “I’m sure that incidents concerning Snoop and Dre in recent weeks will only tend to heighten apprehension in the industry.”

There was, however, no violence at the Dre shows, which also featured rap acts Run-DMC, Onyx and Boss. The plug was pulled on the tour, however, shortly after an encounter last week with police in Milwaukee in which five members of the tour entourage were questioned about an alleged vehicle-jacking and accounts that they had been brandishing firearms. No one was arrested.

Snoop and Dre, who were not present at the incident, were sought for questioning regarding the matter following their Sept. 15 concert in Milwaukee, but according to law enforcement authorities, evaded police.

An Oct. 27 stop at the Greek Theatre was penciled in on the tour itinerary, but a spokesman for the Greek said Wednesday that the date was never confirmed.

Snoop, whose real name is Calvin Broadus, is due to be arraigned Oct. 1 in West Los Angeles Municipal Court on one count of murder, including a special allegation of use of a firearm. Snoop did not pull the trigger, but was charged because he was allegedly driving the Jeep from which the shots were fired by his bodyguard.

The 21-year-old rapper was charged with murder on Sept. 7 along with two other men and released on $1 million bail. Snoop’s bodyguard, McKinley Lee, has acknowledged the Aug. 25 shooting in the Palms area of West Los Angeles, but claimed he fired at the victim, Phillip Woldermariam, in self-defense.

Snoop Doggy Dogg emerged from nowhere to stardom with his guest appearance last year on Dre’s nearly 3 million-selling “The Chronic” album.

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Dr. Dre Reveals He Was ‘Talked Into’ Recording ‘The Chronic’: ‘It Wasn’t My Decision’

The hip-hop icon discusses his critically acclaimed album on Kevin Hart's Hart to Heart in clips shared exclusively with Billboard .

By Kyle Denis

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From Jay-Z to Miley Cyrus, Kevin Hart has had conversations with many of music’s biggest and brightest stars on his Peacock talk show Hart to Heart . For the show’s latest episode, the Emmy-nominated multi-hyphenate has recruited music industry titan Dr. Dre . In two clips from the July 13 episode shared exclusively with Billboard , the seven-time Grammy-winning rapper opens up about the creation of The Chronic , the Straight Outta Compton biopic and the challenges of maintaining authenticity as a creative.

Dr. Dre Receives Hip-Hop Icon Award From Snoop Dogg at ASCAP’s 2023 Rhythm & Soul…

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Dr. Dre released The Chronic , his landmark debut solo studio album, on Dec. 15, 1992. The album reached No. 3 on the Billboard 200 and spawned a pair top 10 hits on the Billboard Hot 100 : “Nuthin’ But a ‘G’ Thang” (No. 2) and “Dre Day” (No. 8). Another single, “Let Me Ride,” earned Dr. Dre his very first Grammy award. “A close friend of mine, we’ll call him D.O.C., talked me into doing the Chronic album,” he reveals. “It wasn’t my decision, I was talked into doing that. I just went in there and went for it because I felt, at that time, it was a life or death situation.”

In 2015, Dr. Dre joined forces with fellow former N.W.A member Ice Cube and director F. Gary Gray to bring the legendary rap group’s story to the silver screen. “I think that everybody that was involved in the movie in the beginning didn’t believe in the movie and didn’t trust it,” he muses in a second clip shared with Billboard . “Myself, Cube and Gary Gray, we went for it. What you see on the screen is a result of what myself, Cube and Gary did.”

Straight Outta Compton grossed $201.6 million at the worldwide box office and earned an Academy Award nomination for best original screenplay.

Dr. Dre’s episode of Hart to Heart will be available to stream on Peacock beginning Thursday, July 13, at 6 a.m. ET.

Watch the rap icon talk about The Chronic above, and Straight Outta Compton below:

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The Chronic (studio album) by Dr. Dre

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The Chronic is ranked as the best album by Dr. Dre .

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The Chronic ratings

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Rating metrics: Outliers can be removed when calculating a mean average to dampen the effects of ratings outside the normal distribution. This figure is provided as the trimmed mean. A high standard deviation can be legitimate, but can sometimes indicate 'gaming' is occurring. Consider a simplified example* of an item receiving ratings of 100, 50, & 0. The mean average rating would be 50. However, ratings of 55, 50 & 45 could also result in the same average. The second average might be more trusted because there is more consensus around a particular rating (a lower deviation). (*In practice, some albums can have several thousand ratings) This album is rated in the top 2% of all albums on BestEverAlbums.com. This album has a Bayesian average rating of 79.1/100, a mean average of 76.5/100, and a trimmed mean (excluding outliers) of 79.2/100. The standard deviation for this album is 20.2.

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The Chronic comments

Showing latest 10 comments | Show all 36 comments | Most Helpful First | Newest First | Maximum Rated First | Longest Comments First (Only showing comments with -2 votes or higher. You can alter this threshold from your profile page. Manage Profile )

An excellent album that is almost brought down by its length and lack of variety in production and rap delivery. Other albums of the time period hold up better, but it's still worth a few listens. 9.5/10!

Most of the good stuff happens in the first half, so I say this album is too long, but I can't deny how amazingly it is produced, ultimate west-coast feeling.

Whoa baby, man has this album not aged well in the 31 years since realise ‘The Chronic’ is chock full of misogynistic and extreme sexism against women , strongly promotes gun violence and violence in general, glorifies incarceration and contains purile snickering school boy humour in the form of offensive & unfunny skits. Pretty much everything I detest in the world HOWEVER . . . . I am a believer in freedom of speech and in particular an artists right to demonstrate artistic expression. I also understand there’s a market for this sort of stuff with plenty of fans Soooooo The Album Itself = 20/100 Plus Artist Expression + Cultural Impact = 40 / 100 Equals = 60/100 Overall

I never been more ashamed to love an album. Base and degrading in almost every way but some of the tunes are absolutely flawless.

I can dig this stuff..

Absolute classic. For me, one of the most influential hip hop albums ever. After the break up of gangsta-rap group N.W.A., Dr. Dre came with this banger, introducing the G-Funk sound. Very catchy sounds, superb flows and an almost perfect production.

I don't like this very much but yes the production is amazing especially for its time. Some of the content is wack. Fuck Wit Dre Day is no longer relevant... This album is still a classic and I enjoy a lot of the instrumentals better. Best tracks: Lil' Ghetto Boy, Nuttin But a G Thang

This album brought West Coast rap to so many MTV-generation white kids. Bonus points for George Clinton worship.

Levou o rap para onde ele está hoje. Comercial, referências do funk, ganchos e pontes.

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Selling The Collectors Collection

Dr Dre - Chronic World Tour 1993 - Backstage Pass

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Vintage cloth OTTO 4 3/4" Backstage Pass from the Chronic World Tour 1993

Excellent and unused condition

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