9 Ways Rap Has Changed Since Dr. Dre Last Dropped an Album

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There was a time in rap history not too long ago when all that mattered was beats and bars. Now most radio-friendly tracks are driven by catchy, easy-to-remember melodies. Rappers don’t even have to be comprehendible—we’re looking at you, Young Thug. As long as they can make what they are doing sound melodious, over a dope beat, they have a possible hit on their hands. 

Let’s not fool ourselves: Repetition is a tool used in all forms of music. It’s what makes sound, well, music. But over the last decade mainstream rap has become a jumble of dumbed-down one- to five-word phrases repeated over and over and over and over. Find a central theme. Repeat it several times. Voila! You have a chorus. No assembly required. 

When 2001 dropped in 1999 most people were just a few years removed from playing Oregon Trail on desktops and were using those free AOL discs that came in the mail to get dial-up Internet that was slower than Rick Ross running in a swimming pool. Now the World Wide Web is undoubtedly the music industry’s biggest tool. You can partially thank (or blame, depending on your viewpoint) the ’Net for helping launch the careers of almost every rapper in the music biz. 

In a decade and a half the South has gone from the laughing stock of the industry, to the top of the totem pole. No Limit, Cash Money, and others were proving that Southern artists were a viable outlet in the late '90s, and every year since then MCs beneath the Mason-Dixon line have pushed the culture further into the mainstream. The West Coast continues to surge, but the South holds down the crown once worn by the East.

Sixteen years ago, flexing about big album sales was a respectable boast. These days, not so much. Bootlegging was just starting to dig its claws into the music industry back then whereas now album leaks have scraped the system down to the bone marrow. The trend of rappers going platinum left just ask quickly as the trend of rappers wearing platinum, to the point where there are only a handful of MCs who can even think about selling 1 million copies. 

In 1999, if you were a big name artist, it was almost mandatory that you got beats from only the biggest names in the beat-making business for your album, and a Timbaland beat might cost you 90 percent of your budget. This predicament helped pave the way for young, talented producers to take over the game. With the advent of taglines, producers have become just as popular as the MCs. If we are going to tell the truth and shame the devil, beats are more responsible for a song making it big than the actual content these days.

Joey Bada$$ was 4 years old when 2001 came out. Raury was 3. In other words, there is an entire crop of MCs and fans that are of music-buying age who were still pissing the bed and eating boogers the last time Dre came out with a project. There’s a whole generation of kids who only know Dre as that super rich guy who sells expensive headphones. With that new generation comes new views, new preferences, and different thoughts on what good rap sounds like.

Making it rain hadn’t yet become a part of the hip-hop vernacular 16 years ago. But the entire business of music marketing, particularly in cities like Atlanta and Miami, has taken a turn toward the booty club. Forget a billboard, tossing ones while buck naked women twerk in your presence is the new advertisement.

In 1999 there were very few rappers who were willing to sing on a track and be serious about it. Now every MC thinks they’re Luther Vandross. Even though they really sound like Luther the cracked head hobo down on 125th. Auto-Tune has changed the game. Even though Hov eulogized the effect years back, it’s like the Walking Dead of studio equipment.