March 20--There's a guy named Calvin Broadus who lives inside the fabulously wealthy and famous caricature known as Snoop Dogg, and one of the intriguing questions before Snoop's keynote address Friday at the South by Southwest Music Conference was the chance to meet the kid who became a star.
That didn't happen in what turned out to be a whitewash interview conducted by the rapper's manager, Ted Chung. For Snoop it was largely just another promotional opportunity for a new album, instead of an opportunity to dig deep into how he forged a hip-hop career of admirable longevity beginning in the early '90s with such G-funk classics as Dr. Dre's "The Chronic" and his Dre-produced debut, "Doggystyle."
The young Broadus/Snoop grew up in a broken family in crime-racked Long Beach, Calif. He sang in a church choir, starred in high school basketball and came in constant contact with the 60 or so gangs that had the run of the town. At 18 he was arrested and imprisoned for dope peddling, and a few years later was charged but acquitted in the shooting death of a gang member. A childhood relationship with Dre's stepbrother -- rapper Warren G -- played a key role in transforming Snoop's life and cried out for further exploration in what could have been a fascinating keynote, one that rivaled the personal revelations provided by Bruce Springsteen, Dave Grohl and Smokey Robinson in recent South by Southwest presentations.
But it didn't happen. Snoop briefly touched on his youth: his mother's house parties, the effect that the Sugarhill Gang had on developing his voice, the way drugs and the lack of after-school programs turned Long Beach into a killing zone during the '80s. Snoop recalled how Warren G played one of Snoop's street cassettes at a bachelor party that Dre was hosting for a friend. "Who was that?" Dre asked his stepbrother, and invited Snoop to an audition. But the details of that audition and subsequent recording sessions, which transformed gangsta rap and ruled the pop charts in the '90s, slid past.
Snoop was vilified for his explicit portrayals of street life during this era, and he acknowledged that he still resents unnamed preachers and singer Dionne Warwick for portraying him as "the worst black man ever created." It would have been fascinating to hear how his notorious past influenced him as a husband and father of three children, but again these details were largely skimmed over. He talked a great deal about feeding off emotion in his music and community work, but showed genuine emotion only once, in talking about how his son Cordell was about to become "the first person in my family to go to college."
The most amusing anecdote had a Texas theme, describing his seemingly improbable relationship with Willie Nelson. He and the country legend collaborated on music and spent time together in Amsterdam. They discovered that they liked "animals, music and grass," Snoop said, and after one smoking session went to a fried-chicken drive-through for a late dinner.
The tale reminded the audience that Snoop can be a great storyteller when he wants to be. His early hip-hop classics brimmed with humor, drama and sometimes poignance. But those compelling narratives are largely missing from his latest music, and now that he's a multimedia star, he apparently sees no need to dig them out in his public appearances either.
greg@gregkot.com
