This year marked the 10th anniversary of The Documentary, meaning it's also been a decade of the Game reminding us he was once involved with a record that sold 5 million copies. "Involved with" feels like the right terminology: Given that the production credits alone list Dr. Dre, Scott Storch, Kanye West, Cool & Dre, Havoc, Just Blaze, Timbaland, Hi-Tek, Jeff Bhasker, and Buckwild, it would be extremely misleading to say Game "made" The Documentary. He’s tried to reverse his subsequent free fall with an exhaustive array of desperate, attention-seeking tactics, and calling his new LP The Documentary 2 could be the final Hail Mary: if he’s mortgaging the goodwill from his most successful record on something that’s no different than LAX or The R.E.D. Album or Jesus Piece, there won’t be a Documentary 3.
The Game’s last three LPs debuted, respectively at #2, #1, and #5, even with all of the dud singles that embedded their ignominious future prospects right into the first listen. Most would consider that a pretty decent run all things considered, but those albums all were modeled after *T**he Documentary—*hitch the Game to the greatest possible number of bandwagons and hope it moves. That continues on The Documentary 2, which features Drake, Kendrick Lamar, Future, and Kanye West. But they don’t really show fealty to or chemistry with the Game—he’s more like the rich kid in high school whose parents are always out for the weekend. "100", the Drake feature, is Game’s first charting single since "Celebration" in 2013, and it’s a pleasure to hear Drake spit one of his hardest verses of 2015 after sounding like the walking dead on What a Time to Be Alive; about two minutes in, you forget the Game’s actually on it, and as for "Mula", Kanye sounds like he could’ve recorded his part in the time it takes to tie a pair of Red Octobers.
The one contemporary superstar who does sound happy to be here is Kendrick, and The Documentary 2 is best when it remembers what the Game is good at: making West Coast gangsta-rap records. Even if it still sounds like he’s learning new flows on the fly, the rapping on a Game album is about as important as the dialogue in a Fast and Furious movie—the funniest parts are wholly unintentional, as are the moments of emotional resonance. You’re here to see a bunch of famous dudes play with expensive toys. This is pretty much the sole purpose for "Standing on Ferraris", which features Diddy and is about exactly what it promises.
Once more, the Game is in the right place at the right time—it’s a good year to make a West Coast, pop-gangsta rap record. Dr. Dre gave this his blessing, so we don’t get the Game spending the requisite 50% of The Documentary 2 or so explaining Doc’s absence. And the usual dream team (Jahlil Beats, Mike WiLL Made It, Boi-1da, will.i.am, Hit-Boy, DJ fucking Premier) recreates the lush, filmic production that defined To Pimp a Butterfly, My Krazy Life, and Compton—mid-song beat switches, segues, and well-placed samples make The Documentary 2 sound like a record that was conceptualized in advance rather than the usual "failed singles + Lil Wayne features" conglomeration.
But since The Documentary 2 is longer than most actual documentaries (to say nothing of the upcoming bonus LP The Documentary 2.5), the Game is given room to try on any number of identities: overcompensating Blood nostalgist (he would immediately correct this sentence to "overbompensating"), wounded alpha male emo-rapper, well-meaning but extremely awkward "socially conscious Game". What doesn’t pop up is *Doctor's Advocate-*style lone wolf Game; 50 Cent went bankrupt this year and when he gets mentioned, instead of going for the kill shot, the Game sorta wishes G-Unit could get the band back together.
It’s just as well that the Game shows as much love as possible—The Documentary 2 solidifies him a grade-grubbing student of hip-hop, one with far more resources and drive than natural talent, but a student all the same. This year, we’ve seen Dirty Sprite 2 and Fetty Wap both top Billboard with a singular sound, street singles, and hands-off A&R’ing—these records are both namedropped here. But like The Documentary, the sequel is a highly enjoyable tribute to old-school, cash-flush, crowd-pleasing, too-big-to-fail hip-hop album making, which can actually sound novel in 2015. The biggest lie he keeps telling is that any album he makes is definitely going to be his last. Can’t leave rap alone—the Game needs it.
