In 1994 the Def Jam label released their best selling single to date - Warren G and Nate Dogg's 'Regulate'. From the soundtrack of the long-forgotten movie 'Above The Rim', it's a troublingly enthusiastic celebration of base sexism, violent murder, firearms and gangster culture.
Juvenile and loaded with depressing machismo, the song relates the events of an imagined night wherein Dogg rescues G from a robbery at a dice game ('They took my rings / They took my Rolex'). As you might expect, the rescue concludes with Warren and Nate shooting everybody dead. Handily, a group of girls - who, according to the lyric, are 'skirts' and 'hookers' - are so impressed by all this death, they tumble into the arms of the tooled-up duo and the lot of them head off to the Eastside Motel.
To say I find this kind of gangster hip-hop solipsism shocking would be to overstate the case. It just strikes me as horribly tiresome, possibly harmful and ultimately rather pathetic. So you'd imagine I'd have little hesitation in dismissing the entire enterprise as nothing better than thick-headed braggadocio. But I can't.
The fact is, musically, creatively and sonically - this is a tremendous record. Opening with a nifty sample from Brat Pack western 'Young Guns', we're rapidly swept into a throbbing loop, built from four bars of Michael McDonald's 'I Keep Forgettin'. Of course, no right-minded listener could deny Mike's original is a splendid sweep of white soul, overlaid with his trademark straining vocals. But in this setting we're treated to the loping, late-night bass line on repeat - a production flourish which so brilliantly conjures the heat and tension of a California night, we're instantly captured and transported to the seamier side of the West Coast.
Experts in these matters advise that Warren G is merely an adequate rapper. Nevertheless, his stoned, melodic style is just the ticket here. Rather than break the mood with a barrage of profanity (there are no expletives on the track), his voice effortlessly escalates the sleepily sinister vibe.
Atmospherically, 'Regulate' isn't so much evocative as utterly cinematic.
There's another twist too. The last verse of the song abandons the childish references to girls and guns in favour of a manifesto for a new musical genre: G-Funk.
"I'm tweaking ... funk, on a whole new level ... the rhythm is the bass and the bass is the treble ... it's the G-Funk era ... funked out with a gangster twist."
Although G-Funk never did conquer the world, it's obviously the sound I'm enjoying so much when I hear the record.
'Regulate' was an unrepeatable success for the duo, sadly. Warren G's career has notably sagged and Nate Dogg is no longer with us - but that doesn't prevent it from being one of the most hypnotic and compelling hits of the nineties.
Unfortunately, as it plays, I'm forced to constantly lay aside the stupid misogyny, bullet worship and infantile conceit to enjoy its more admirable qualities. Whether one should be forced to make that effort is a dilemma indeed.
Juvenile and loaded with depressing machismo, the song relates the events of an imagined night wherein Dogg rescues G from a robbery at a dice game ('They took my rings / They took my Rolex'). As you might expect, the rescue concludes with Warren and Nate shooting everybody dead. Handily, a group of girls - who, according to the lyric, are 'skirts' and 'hookers' - are so impressed by all this death, they tumble into the arms of the tooled-up duo and the lot of them head off to the Eastside Motel.
To say I find this kind of gangster hip-hop solipsism shocking would be to overstate the case. It just strikes me as horribly tiresome, possibly harmful and ultimately rather pathetic. So you'd imagine I'd have little hesitation in dismissing the entire enterprise as nothing better than thick-headed braggadocio. But I can't.
The fact is, musically, creatively and sonically - this is a tremendous record. Opening with a nifty sample from Brat Pack western 'Young Guns', we're rapidly swept into a throbbing loop, built from four bars of Michael McDonald's 'I Keep Forgettin'. Of course, no right-minded listener could deny Mike's original is a splendid sweep of white soul, overlaid with his trademark straining vocals. But in this setting we're treated to the loping, late-night bass line on repeat - a production flourish which so brilliantly conjures the heat and tension of a California night, we're instantly captured and transported to the seamier side of the West Coast.
Experts in these matters advise that Warren G is merely an adequate rapper. Nevertheless, his stoned, melodic style is just the ticket here. Rather than break the mood with a barrage of profanity (there are no expletives on the track), his voice effortlessly escalates the sleepily sinister vibe.
Atmospherically, 'Regulate' isn't so much evocative as utterly cinematic.
There's another twist too. The last verse of the song abandons the childish references to girls and guns in favour of a manifesto for a new musical genre: G-Funk.
"I'm tweaking ... funk, on a whole new level ... the rhythm is the bass and the bass is the treble ... it's the G-Funk era ... funked out with a gangster twist."
Although G-Funk never did conquer the world, it's obviously the sound I'm enjoying so much when I hear the record.
'Regulate' was an unrepeatable success for the duo, sadly. Warren G's career has notably sagged and Nate Dogg is no longer with us - but that doesn't prevent it from being one of the most hypnotic and compelling hits of the nineties.
Unfortunately, as it plays, I'm forced to constantly lay aside the stupid misogyny, bullet worship and infantile conceit to enjoy its more admirable qualities. Whether one should be forced to make that effort is a dilemma indeed.
