Of all rap’s major players, Snoop Dogg is the one who walks most precariously between the street and self-parody. As his multiple entertainment franchises expand, and his pimp persona becomes ever more cartoonish, it becomes tougher and tougher for him to retain credibility with the rap cognoscenti. How can you still plausibly call yourselves a gangsta when the MTV-watching millions know you better as a comedy hustler, the hip-hop era’s equivalent to Cheech & Chong?
To combat this, Snoop’s seventh album follows a similar pattern to 2002’s handsome “Paid Tha Cost To Be Da Boss”: smooth updates on his original G-funk formula; and a coterie of superstar producers to stretch his range. Above all, though, there’s the preposterous Snoop, still one of rap’s authentically great voices, all honeyed loucheness and emphatically heterosexual camp.
As ever, he occasionally overplays his gangsta credentials, so that “Can U Control Yo Hoe” is the obligatory track about hitting prostitutes. Elsewhere, though, Snoop seems happier pouring the Chandon and tentatively inching away from the brutality which has proved so lucrative for him. “Just leave her, don’t hit her,” he counsels charmingly on “I’m Threw Witchu”.
Still not the best source of relationship advice, then. More interestingly, “R&G” is executive produced by The Neptunes, their first major job since the spotty N*E*R*D album. Williams and Hugo’s form on the five tracks they handle is equally variable: “Perfect”, for instance, is such a lazy rehash of their last Snoop collaboration that the rapper concedes, sheepishly, that it’s “Beautiful Part Two” at the fade. But “Drop It Like It’s Hot” is a fantastic return to the ultra-minimal territory of Busta Rhymes’ “What It Is” and The Clipse’s “Grindin’”. And “Signs” is even better, a dazzling mix of Philly soul and ‘80s synths that features Justin Timberlake so prominently it’s a wonder he didn’t claim the tune for himself.
“R&G” is predictably overlong, crawling with stars – Bootsy Collins, The Gap Band’s Charlie Wilson, the sensationally crude Lil’ Jon (on the form he brought to Usher’s “Yeah”), Nelly and a revitalised 50 Cent also figure – and, at times, highly unpleasant. There’s a suspicion that Snoop believes that his misogyny is what keeps him credible. In fact it’s down to his producers, the elegance with which he delivers even the vilest sentiments and, amazingly, a charm which continues to shine through on this slick, silly and thoroughly entertaining album.
Now go home and apologise to your wife.
