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. 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. 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. 2001, a big-budget, tightly controlled film, had to create a myth bigger than the man itself. It had to reassert Dre’s place atop of rap’s hierarchy while also cementing, and smoothing over, his legacy. 2001, released 20 years ago on November 16, had to be more than an album. 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. It wasn’t, actually, but the stakes were so high for Dre to rebound from his real second album-1996’s soulless Dr. “Haters say Dre fell off / How? Nigga, my last album was The Chronic,” he scoffs on the same song.
VINYL 2001 DR DRE AFTERMATH 1999 EDITION PROFESSIONAL
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 19’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. “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 cinematic and immersive, which is exactly what Dre intended: Coming off of three years in the wilderness, Dre needed more than a new sound. Twenty years later, even though the myth of 2001 has worn off, the song is still transportive. 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. “Still D.R.E.,” the first single from Dr. 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. I still can’t shake the goosebumps I get when I hear those keys.
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