My Gut Reaction: DMX - The Great Depression (October 23, 2001)

Although he was one of the three hip hop Cameo Kings in the late 1990s and early 2000s (alongside Busta Rhymes and Canibus – hey, remember when Canibus used to appear on a bunch of random songs? Strange times, my friend), with a work ethic that generated three full-length albums in two years, all of which took the top slot on the Billboard 200 upon release, DMX stepped away from the spotlight for a brief period in the early part of the millennium. Now, you’re forgiven if you didn’t realize that he was on a break: the man born Earl Simmons was still all over the place commercially, jumping on tracks and unofficially leading the then-burgeoning Ruff Ryders, a crew that counted among its members rappers Eve, Drag-On, and The Lox, along with producer Swizz Beatz. Hollywood had even noticed Earl’s gruff demeanor and charismatic stage presence, which led to starring turns in films such as Belly, Exit Wounds, and Romeo Must Die. But in addition to keeping extremely busy, DMX also found himself in legal hot water exacerbated by his growing celebrity, which caused everyone to simply pay more attention to the man than they might have otherwise.

After getting his issues sorted out as best as he could, DMX returned to the booth for his fourth solo album, The Great Depression, released by Def Jam Records in 2001. It became his fourth consecutive number one album, but his lowest-selling project up to that point. But that may not have entirely been on Earl.

It isn’t a stretch to believe that September 11, 2001 was a really weird day. I was stuck working the day shift at a retail job, but we had almost zero customers, which allowed the staff to camp out in the break room glued to the television, watching the coverage of events MSNBC was trying to piece together in real-time. All we knew was that a plane had flown into the Twin Towers: it wasn’t until later that morning when we, along with the rest of the country, realized that it was a terrorist attack. Phone lines were tied up by coworkers trying to reach loved ones in New York City, as cell towers were being flooded with attempted calls from all over the country: I may as well have been carrying an actual brick in my pocket. The rare straggler that did come into the store did so in a daze, laying their purchases on the counter and handing over their credit cards robotically, as though this was the lone directive they were programmed with. Nothing was making sense, and suffice to say no real work was completed that day.

September 11, 2001 was a Tuesday, which was the day new media releases hit store shelves back then, and my actions during my lunch hour were just as automatic as those of our customers. On Tuesdays, I would take a trip to the closest Best Buy and/or Circuit City, which still existed back then, to search the new release racks and spend my then-disposable income, grabbing some food at a drive-thru on the way back to the store. (I worked in the back office, so every Tuesday I was eating at my desk, which allowed me to maximize my time poring through the shelves.) This Tuesday was no different in that respect, but it was for every other fucking thing in the world. My store was located fairly close to the airport: for the first and only time I can remember, the skies were completely empty, as all of the planes had been (understandably) grounded while the authorities were sorting out how to proceed. The streets were also deserted, with only the occasional driver daring to hit the road in an effort to feel normal, like me.

This is my most ridiculous memory of 9/11. Walking into Best Buy, you had better believe that every single television was airing coverage of the Twin Towers and, by that point, the Pentagon. I immediately went into robot mode as my own customers did, focusing solely on the newly-released compact discs. Jay-Z’s The Blueprint infamously hit store shelves that day, as did Killarmy’s Fear, Love & War (although I had to grab that at Circuit City – they weren’t a big-enough group to warrant placement at Best Buy, I guess). I can’t really remember anything else that I grabbed; perhaps a DVD or something, who knows. But the interaction at the cash register has been burned into my mind for seventeen years, not because it was bleak or depressing or aggravating: no, it was low-key hilarious. The cashier, obviously affected by the events of the day and unable to properly access his feelings, noted my Jay-Z purchase and proceeded to rant about how DMX’s The Great Depression was scheduled to drop that day, but Def Jam Records had pushed the project back, and he was legitimately upset. That dude needed DMX to have dropped that day. I mumbled some platitudes and left the store quickly, as I couldn’t focus on anything else but New York and wanted to get away from everything to clear my mind, but I hope that guy found the outlet he obviously needed.

The Great Depression was never scheduled to drop on September 11, 2001 as far as I can tell: there’s no fucking way Def Jam would have released two A-list rap albums and have them compete with one another on the same day. But the title was apt: when it did finally hit store shelves a month later, the country was still in shock, and while October 2001 was far-enough removed from the attacks for people to have resumed something resembling a “normal” life, the overall mood was still one of mourning. While X didn’t exactly have songs describing bombings or an album cover depicting the Twin Towers exploding or anything, his brand of aggressive id-as-rap artist wasn’t exactly hitting as hard as it might have otherwise, and his sales suffered because of it. It would be another two years before DMX managed to see his newer work pop off in the zeitgeist again.

1. SOMETIMES

Although X certainly has the passion required to perform spoken word poetry in a compelling manner, given my past opinion on the medium, this rap album intro goes over just as well as you’d expect me to think.

2. SCHOOL STREET

Lyrically, Earl veers off the given path relatively quickly on “School Street”, abandoning his gruff street rhymes in favor of a running list of people he knows, like an all-inclusive version of his verse from “What These Bitches Want”, and it lasts for pretty much the entirety of the track, which is just bananas to me. DMX must have felt that he could turn in whatever the hell he wanted to Def Jam just because he had made them a shitload of money, and he wasn’t exactly wrong in that assumption. Dame Grease’s instrumental attempts the ominous feel of the “Intro” off of It’s Dark and Hell Is Hot (produced by Irv Gotti and Lil’ Rob), down to the church bells that briefly appear before X starts free-associating like an aggressive Kool Keith with more money in the bank, but fails. The combination shouldn’t work, and by gum, it sure as shit does not. Ah well.

3. WHO WE BE

The Grammy-nominated “Who We Be” was The Great Depression’s second single, which apparently didn’t perform nearly as well as I had originally believed even though I could swear I heard it everywhere back in 2001. Whatever, the fact that a lot of you two have likely forgotten this song existed will be a plus, as you can listen to it with fresh ears and appreciate X’s deviation in flow, eschewing simple aggression in favor of gruff and targeted words and phrases punctuated with pauses that force the listener to consider everything he’s saying. (The style was apparently inspired by a Scarface song, “The Wall”, but Face apparently didn’t mind.) Black Key’s instrumental is exactly the type of beat DMX needed for his TED Talk, as it underlines every statement, every utterance, and every callous, but realistic, remark the man mumbles. “Who We Be” plays even better today than it did back in 2001, and not just because of my favorite section, where DMX starts mimicking the sound of the beat toward the end. He just sounds like he’s having fun there. Le sigh.

4. TRINA MOE

“Trina Moe” also kind of slaps today. Dame Grease’s instrumental is synth-laden and relatively simple, the perfect vehicle for DMX to drive through all of the bullshit within our chosen genre with. It saddens me that some of his boasts on here, especially the ones where he claims he will outlive all of the then-newbie rappers, didn’t come to fruition, but one doesn’t listen to hip hop to hear artists talk about their pending irrelevancy and their blossoming 401ks, right?  At least, not usually. X’s boasts-n-bullshit reach new heights on “Trina Moe”, as he delivers lines such as, “The difference between right and wrong is me,” and kicks off the second verse by simply reading off the titles of his previous three albums. He doesn’t play with the words or subvert the audience’s expectations, either: he just speaks them verbatim. And that is fucking hilarious to me. How wasn’t this a single?

5. WE RIGHT HERE

I never did like this first single from The Great Depression, but it’s not completely DMX’s fault: our host talks his shit in the same engaging, rough manner that was his trademark at the time. No, the blame falls squarely at the feet of producer Black Key (who also handled the waaaaaaaaaay better “Who We Be”, so I assume X bought his beats in the bulk aisle of his local Stew Leonard’s): the instrumental on “We Right Here” pairs a melody with light scratching and some weak-as-hell drums that don’t so much move the song forward as they do propel your finger to hit the “next” button. X’s lyrics are typical shit-talk, but it’s important to note that, in 2001, he was exactly the type of artist who could pull off “go[ing] away for a minute, do some other shit, but bounce right back”. Not so much the “[“We Right Here”] is the only joint made this year that’ll knock ‘till 2003”, though. Did I mention that I’ve never liked this song?

6. BLOODLINE ANTHEM

For those of you two who may be unaware, Bloodline was the name of DMX’s vanity record label, on which he tried to promote the artists under his wing. It still may even exist today: I don’t know or care enough to look into it any further. Regardless, you’re forgiven if you listened to “Bloodline Anthem” and walked away with no fucking clue about the label, as DMX never fucking mentions it, nor does he ever say the word “Bloodline”. Instead, our host uses up three full verses to boast-n-bullshit his way through the noise, utilizing a bunch of early-millennium homophobia and a rock-tinged instrumental credited to both Kidd Kold and X himself (one with some live guitars and drums, a nice touch) to do so, while vocalist Dia brings us some flat vocals for the “hook”. Exactly what the fuck this bullshit was, I have no idea. But even if you’re obliquely promoting your label, it would probably have been a good idea to, I don’t know, bring out some of your artists, am I right?

7. SHORTY WAS DA BOMB

I, for one, always find it both funny and hilariously miscalculated whenever DMX uses his same ad-libs throughout sex raps and relationship songs: it’;s as though he doesn’t even care if you’re taken out of the moment or not. Anyway, “Shorty Was Da Bomb”, yet another entry into the hip hop pantheon of misogynistic fuck tales (woo hoo), isn’t very good: Dame Grease’s instrumental is not only weak, it sounds as though it were conceived by our host’s four-year-old niece using a toy xylophone, and X’s lyrics, which, obviously, race toward “the bitch set me up!” territory, are lacking and uninspired. This made me appreciate that list of names he “rapped” on “What These Bitches Want” even more.

8. DAMIEN III

Our host resurrects the “Damien” series for The Great Depression, which features X arguing with Damien (also played by X), the cartoon devil that sits on his shoulder, in a classic struggle of not-exactly-“good”-but-too-benign-to-be-considered-“evil” vs. evil. Damien kicks things off by questioning why our host left him off of his previous album, …And Then There Was X, which was kind of funny, before a P.K. instrumental (which isn’t anywhere near as dark as the subject matter deserves, but was still pretty goddamn catchy) takes flight, leaving DMX and Damien to verbally spar in the ongoing battle for our host’s soul. Or something. Rappers interacting with differently-pitched versions of themselves in song form is certainly nothing new, but kudos to DMX for speaking out about his own religious beliefs while playing into this trope for this series. As a song, though, “Damien III” was merely okay.

9. WHEN I’M NOTHING (FEAT. STEPHANIE MILLS)

A weird flex, but okay: an example of just how much pull DMX had back in 2001 can be found on “When I’m Nothing”, as not only does the Dame Grease/X production liberally sample the Stephanie Mills song “What Cha Gonna Do With My Lovin’”, Mills herself appears to sing an altered version of her own chorus. There’s no use in holding this kind of power without being able to show it off, though, so “When I’m Nothing” is the most radio-friendly song on The Great Depression thus far, at least if we all pretend the multiple curse words littered throughout aren’t there. For his part, X turns in three verses on that most tired of tropes: the fact that everyone is only showing love to him because he’s popular right now, and he doesn’t exactly provide any new insight. He does sound surprisingly nimble over the instrumental, though. It is kind of weird that Def Jam didn’t even really try to push this one to radio, so all of that clout DMX threw around was for nothing.

10. I MISS YOU (FEAT. FAITH EVANS)

It isn’t really that strange, I guess, when you consider “I Miss You”, X’s ode to his late grandmother, which he approaches as a conversation intended to catch her up on everything that’s happened in the lives of her loved ones since she passed. Kidd Kold’s instrumental is simple and pleasant, and the addition of Faith Evans on the chorus was a nice touch: even her singing a bit of “amazing Grace” toward the end doesn’t veer the track into queso territory. The real star of “I Miss You” is X himself, though, who turns in a heartfelt (and profanity-free) performance. So I get why the label ended up backing this song instead.

11. NUMBER 11

“I Miss You” being immediately followed up by “Number 11”, likely named that only because it’s the eleventh track on The Great Depression and its content mirrors that exact lack of effort on our host’s part, is fucking ridiculous. P.K.’s instrumental seems to have forgotten that its primary function is as a piece of music, choosing to throw synth stabs and the sound of a speeding motorcycle crashing or exploding or something together without any sense of “rhythm” or “cohesion”. For his part, DMX is as uninspired as he appears to be on his worst songs, shouting his violent threats with the conviction of a man who is growing more and more annoyed that the waiter still has yet to drop off the check. Bleh.

12. PULL UP (SKIT)

…

13. I’MA BANG

If I have any readers who picked up The Great Depression when it dropped in 2001, it’s likely that “I’ma Bang” could be one of your favorites. I can see why: this Just Blaze production is a spiritual cousin to It’s Dark and Hell Is Hot’s “Get At Me Dog”, and even plays as an unofficial companion piece. My issue is that “I’ma Bang” doesn’t hit nearly as hard as it should. That title demands M.O.P.-level force, but all DMX gives his listeners is boasts-n-bullshit and his animated ad-libs, which feel more forced than usual. The drums also don’t stomp around the yard as you’d think they would. This isn’t technically a bad song, but it squanders its potential pretty goddamn quickly for me.

14. PULL OUT (SKIT)

…

15. YOU COULD BE BLIND (FEAT. MASHONDA)

Meh. Whatever.

16. THE PRAYER IV

He may have left Damien off of ...And Then There Was X, but DMX never misses an opportunity to speak directly to his personal deity.

17. A MINUTE FOR YOUR SON

Swizz Beatz, who produced a not-terrible beat for “You Could Be Blind” (it was the rest of the song that was generic as hell), returns for the album closer “A Minute For Your Son”, a musical companion to “The Prayer IV” that lasts for much longer than a minute. I have no reason to doubt DMX’s sincerity here: he’s a complicated person, as are we all. X could probably release a straight-up gospel album and we hip hop heads would accept it as something that was bound to happen eventually. Or at least he could have back in 2001. Swizz gives his friend a weird instrumental that is more experimental than church-friendly, which doesn’t provide the contrast our host may have been hoping for. His passion is there: it’s the rest of the components that never catch up to him. And we’re out…oh wait, “A Minute For Your Son” has a run time of over sixteen minutes? Hmmm…

The audio track for “A Minute For Your Son”, as you may have discerned already, includes three hidden tracks for your listening pleasure.

THE KENNEL (FEAT. BIG STAN, JINX DA JUVY, KASHMIR, LOOSE, & DJ KAY SLAY)

DJ Kay Slay introduces what I think was what we had all expected from “Bloodline Anthem” – namely, a label showcase that, at the very least, used the word “Bloodline” at least once. X himself sits this one out, as Big Stan, Jinx da Juvy, Kashmir, and Loose each spit a verse over varying pre-existing instrumentals, and everyone sounds wholly competent behind the mic, if not exactly worthy of following for the length of their respective careers. Kay Slay seems to be more excited than any of the rappers present, but he likely received the largest paycheck out of everyone here, so. “The Kennel” never amounted to much for the artists here, but screen time on a major label offering, even during a hidden track, must count for something.

PROBLEM CHILD (FEAT. MYSONNE & DRAG-ON)

Apparently this is a remix of sorts of a song called “Problem Child” by something called a Billy Ray, a track that already featured Mysonne and DMX, but this here bonus track skews ultra-disrespectful, replacing the original track’s owner with X’s boy Drag-On. I have no idea how much of that is accurate, though, as I’m not motivated enough to research the song’s history right now. Anyway, both X and Mysonne sound alright enough over the stark, sparse instrumental that could have fit within the regular program of The Great Depression, but Drag-On sounds inexperienced and, at one point, extremely homophobic, and this was in 2001, people, back when rappers were pulling these kinds of bullshit stunts on the regular. There was no need for his antics here. Ugh.

SHIT’S STILL REAL (FEAT. MIC GERONIMO & BIG STAN)

The real final song of the evening is either called “Usual Suspects (Part 2)”, a sequel to a Mic Geronimo song that DMX had also appeared on (both versions, to boot!), or “Shit’s Still Real”, a sequel to an altogether different Mic Geronimo track): it just depends on how you research The Great Depression, I guess. A former mixtape exclusive that didn’t originally feature X at all, the version that pops up on here maintains Geronimo’s first verse and chorus but swaps (which betrays the actual song title as far as I’m concerned) out his second verse for one of X’s employees, Big Stan, who fumbles the ball and the bag at the same time. X closes up shop with a gritty performance that proves he’s at his best when alongside like-minded friends such as Geronimo. But nobody needs to go out of their way to hunt this one down or anything.

THE LAST WORD: The Great Depression veers off into pseudo-mixtape territory there during the final song, which was pretty fascinating to witness: there aren’t many major-label projects that would dare hide all of its guest rappers underneath the bed. But that doesn’t matter much when the songs themselves are pretty weak.  The misses far outweigh the hits here: X sounds like he was struggling with multitasking, his focus divided between his hometown of Yonkers, Hollywood, and the court system, where he would continue to find himself for years to come. Given that this was his first album in two years, it’s downright odd that he would barely utilize his friends in the Ruff Ryders for assists: Swizz Beatz does provide a couple of instrumentals, but the only rapper from the crew to even bother making an appearance only pops up on a bonus track. Where the fuck is Eve or The Lox? You don’t think Jadakiss could have classed up at least one of the songs here? The Great Depression relies too heavily on DMX’s go-it-alone stance, and he fumbles the ball far too often for an established artist. A lot of his rhymes are uninspired, except for when he’s talking about his family or his faith, and the music underneath most of this must have been found in the clearance section, because it sounds like pale imitations of better-known DMX songs. “We Right Here” was also a terrible choice for a first single: for what was essentially a comeback of sorts, X needed another “Get At Me Dog” or “What’s My Name?”, and he just never found that here. The Great Depression has a couple of good songs (I liked “Trina Moe” and “Who We Be”, personally), but I found it to be a chore to sit through. I truly hope that cashier at Best Buy found what he was looking for on here.

-Max

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