I went on to consume entire discographies at a time, starting from the featured artists and eventually spreading out to whatever popped up in YouTube comments sections. Sentimental value aside, 2001 was an ideal starting point, boasting features from legends like Snoop Dogg, Eminem, Nate Dogg and Six-Two. Dre gave me the idea on the hook of “Still D.R.E.” Point being, this album turned me into the classic suburban rap fan but set me up to learn more about the culture if I was willing to put in the time. Almost every other lyric was a reference to NWA, whom I had only recognized from shirts worn by local mall rats. I remember speculating that Xzibit’s line on “What’s The Difference,” “My style is like a reaction from too much acid,” might have actually been a chemistry joke. I couldn’t quite pinpoint why the music was so appealing to me, but I continued to listen despite missing every reference and innuendo. Chronic 2001 was first on my list, and what followed were several years of rap-inspired shenanigans from hilariously out-of-place white kids in a largely Black high school. Upon my return, I developed an interest in digging up the grimiest, filthiest music that South Central L.A. Whatever this sorcery of “West Coast rap” was, I couldn’t wait to bring its fuckery back to the tranquil suburbs of West Virginia. I’ll be honest, I understood little to nothing of what Kurupt and Hittman were rapping about on “Xxplosive,” but my friend didn’t stop laughing for three minutes. No memory captures this more than when a family friend took me on a car ride with his CD of choice: Dr. Right at the cusp of those rebellious teenage years, the trip proved to be pivotal in putting me on to urban youth culture. Originally released in 1999 as the follow-up to his 1992 debut album The Chronic, the record was produced primarily by Dr. One of those places where the best place to eat is a greasy breakfast joint called “Tudor’s Biscuit World.” I was 13 years old at the time, and my computer was basically the only portal I had into the developed world. My hometown, Charleston, is a small working class “city” of about 50,000. I neither knew who they were nor cared, as I was only interested in getting the hell out of West Virginia. When I was in the ninth grade, my parents took me and my sister on a trip to Los Angeles (affectionately referred to as “Tehrangeles” within the Persian community) to kick it with some distant family-friends.

Dr dre 2001 cd