Sprawled out across the Game’s heavily tattooed upper abdomen, in huge decorative letters, is the word “Compton.” It’s a branding that reflects Game’s loyalty to his roots—a loyalty that has stood firm even as his fingertips touched the highest peaks of rap stardom. Inked on his chest are the letters ‘NWA’, a reminder that long before the glossy Hollywood biopic and LA gangster rap resurgence, he was pitching himself as the heir apparent to his regional forefathers.
Jayceon Taylor’s love of his hometown is laid bare in three-part documentary series Streets of Compton. The city’s often-bleak history is covered extensively, with the rapper’s upbringing serving as a test sample of the hardships the people face. His parents recall the drug addiction, violence and sexual abuse that occurred under the family’s roof. The Game opens up about violent dope deals and shakes his head at the bullets that once punctured his son’s car seat. His whole life, warts and all, is out for all to see. It’s disappointing, then, that stacked next to the show, the accompanying soundtrack feels so slight and impersonal.
Game should be in his element with this kind of project. His back catalogue has been built on rhymes about dope slinging and the ghost of Eazy-E. Despite tugging at just about all the popular sounds in the rap play book over the last decade, he probably wishes he could rap over mid-era Dr. Dre beats every time he steps into the booth. Working within Streets of Compton’s framework was an opportunity to abandon all pretense of keeping up with trends and do just that. Instead, it’s a record that feels like a hastily-assembled collection of loosies with the series’ logo slapped on the cover.
Some songs do stay thematically on-point. Highlight “Death Row Chain” is a play-by-play of west coast rap history through the lens of Game’s criminal resumé. The throwback street-level narrative depicts the world his South Central rap heroes once stood over. “But, shit, everything changed when Ice Cube went solo/Riding shotgun in my brother’s Fase Lolo,” he spits over the rattle and ping of producer Jelly Roll’s swarming electronics.
Unlike last year’s sprawling 40-track set The Documentary 2 and 2.5, there’s no expensive list of star guests. Local Compton rappers are instead given the space to shine. There’s an excellent draft pick in rising star Boogie on “Roped Off.” The young father stacks his thoughtful ruminations next to Game’s more gritty rhymes, dropping a punchy verse that decries the violence in his city: “With your kid out shopping, you gon’ still yell ‘Bompton!’?/Man, I done lost hope.”
Of course, Game’s turbulent relationship with his one-time mentor comes up. He raps about Dr. Dre with the burning intensity that Rick Ross raps about money, but any lingering beef seemed to be buried when the pair traded guest verses on their respective projects last year. It’s absolutely incredible, then, that Game decides to use Streets of Compton to taunt a legend he spent the series paying tribute to. The audaciously titled “The Chronic” provokes The Good Doctor about his lost opus Detox over the kind of beat that he’s probably collected in stacks of hundreds during the abandoned sessions. On day-in-the-life-of-a-hustler joint “Like Me”, Game calls out the billionaire headphone magnate for losing touch with his roots: “Dr Dre ain’t got time for this/He wearing Beats, I’ve got my ear to the ground, lil nigga, I’m in these streets.” It’s like Game can’t help himself.
Elsewhere, too many of the songs are standard issue commercial rap tracks that make zero sense in the context of the heartfelt documentary. “Can’t Wait” sees Game boast about his relationship with two twin sisters. There’s a song called “Unfollow Me Bitch.” And the lack of vested interest in the album is underlined with “Hit The News” and “Bullshit,” which both use instrumentals by producer Jay Nari that are similar enough to qualify as alternate versions of the same beat.
Despite the lack of lateral thinking—and limited technical proficiency—Game has always been an oddly engaging presence on the mic. His gruff voice can’t hide his fragile nature any more than he can cover up those tattoos. These are strengths that made Streets of Compton such an engaging documentary—strengths that just aren’t harnessed enough here. With the weight of the series pressing down on it, the album feels like a career footnote when it could have been a defining moment.
