Until The End Of Time

Black America mightn’t have wanted a martyr like Tupac Shakur, but they got him anyway. This latest selection is the first of two double albums culled from Shakur’s dreadful “Makaveli” period. The best tunes boast rhythm tracks capable of backing up all the hardchaw talk – ‘Ballad Of A Dead Soulja’ for instance – but for the most part Tupac pandered to white suburbia’s fantasies of ghetto-lite. This reviewer just can’t reconcile his lip-service wishes for a better world (‘Letter 2 My Unborn’) with the gangsta cant of ‘Fuckin’ Wit The Wrong Nigga’ or the appalling Mr. Mister retread of the title track. The lack of wit in Tupac’s work, his obvious shortcomings in the flow department and the sluggish nature of the music ensure that history will remember him alongside Coolio rather than Snoop, who at least spiced up his pimp persona with droll delivery and a knowing nod to the Iceberg Slim archetype.

So, the Death Row compilation is in a different class.

You can break down the best stuff to three or four key records. Snoop’s Doggystyle was a cheerfully profane cauldron of bad comedy, LA patois and loping beats adorned with Dre’s patented Twilight Zone overlays. There are no less than seven of its tracks on here, the best being the ‘Atomic Dog’ rewrite of ‘Who Am I (What’s My Name)’, ‘Gin And Juice’ and ‘Lodi Dodi’, all of which established Snoop as a smoky-eyed vulgarian with an irresistibly slack-jawed delivery.

Dre’s The Chronic on the other hand, has long been enshrined alongside Enter The Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) and Fear Of A Black Planet as one of the top five hip-hop albums of all time.

The third pillar supporting the whole enterprise is Snoop’s Murder Was The Case soundtrack, particularly the mock gothic murder premonitions of the title tune and ‘What Would You Do’, wisely chosen as a scene-setter for Oliver Stone’s Natural Born Killers.

We await the imminent release of Suge and the re-release of the original albums with interest. Meantime, check this for size.