Album Review: Missionary by Snoop Dogg
After 31 years since they teamed up for the iconic debut album, ‘Doggystyle,’ Snoop Dogg and Dr. Dre reunited for a polished sequel.
Rap superstar, producer, singer, songwriter, label boss, actor, comedian, video game enthusiast, licensed football trainer, adult film producer, father, and pimp—Snoop Dogg embodies all this and probably much more. Above all, he remains one thing: a cool-ass dog. Snoop grew up in Long Beach, California. He sang in the church choir and played the piano. In the sixth grade, he began writing and rapping his lyrics. Yet none of these musical ambitions kept him from coming into conflict with the law. Even during his school days, he was repeatedly caught with drugs. Shortly after graduating high school, he was behind bars for the first time. Spending time among violent gangs was perhaps not the best idea.
However, his budding love for hip-hop offered other perspectives. Snoop formed the group 213 with his cousins Nate Dogg and Lil’ 1/2 Dead. Also on board was Snoop’s childhood friend Warren G, who happened to be Dr. Dre’s stepbrother. Dr. Dre eventually got his hands on a demo tape from the 213 crew, which caught his attention. He kept a close eye on them, invited them to his studio, and finally took them under his wing alongside Death Row Records label boss Suge Knight. Dre’s former N.W.A. colleague, The D.O.C., provided Snoop Doggy Dogg (as he now called himself) with valuable foundational knowledge.
These lessons bore fruit, as evidenced by Snoop’s prominent contributions to Dr. Dre’s 1992 album The Chronic. In this landmark G-Funk release, the young Snoop Doggy Dogg rapped himself squarely into the spotlight and the public consciousness. Gangster rap had never sounded sweeter. The Chronic hit the scene like a long-anticipated bomb. Its first single, “Nuthin’ but a ‘G’ Thang,” would later be hailed by Rolling Stone magazine as one of the best songs of the ’90s. Snoop immediately rose to stardom and emerged as the new messiah of the genre. Expectations for his solo debut, Doggystyle—also created in close collaboration with Dr. Dre and considered the unofficial continuation of The Chronic—soared to dizzying heights.
Thirty-one years later, we’re here with Missionary and do not expect another Doggystyle because it’s unrealistic. Uncle Snoop was previously having fun in the Olympics earlier this year, and Dre, while yes, shrouded by more controversy, had quite a good year by helping produce Marsha Ambrosius’ Casablanco. Restrained by familiar formulas, “Outta Da Blue” relies on Snoop Dogg and Dr. Dre’s established legacy, blending old West Coast flavors with faint Virginia-era Timbaland influences. Comforting recollections surface, never pressing into groundbreaking territory. Some parts display vocal clarity, though Alus remains disconnected, and frequently borrowed elements (a lá M.I.A.’s “Paper Planes”) weaken the structure.
Regarding “Another Part of Me,” mild satisfaction can be found. Sting’s rhythmic choice feels unusual, and The Police sample recalls earlier eras. Snoop’s attempt at melodic delivery introduces low-level contrast, yet production and lyrics remain safely moderate. Signaled by "Gorgeous," where Jhené Aiko joins under Dr. Dre and The ICU’s output, a lighter tone develops. Aiko’s hook noting night skies and distant dawn suggests small pleasures instead of daring steps forward. Although “Last Dance With Mary Jane” is a predictable flip on Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers’ “Mary Jane’s Last Dance,” he paints a vivid picture of the Snoop’s entanglement with their metaphorical muse, Mary Jane—a reference to marijuana as well as a symbol for solace and escape.
Beginning with an energizing introduction from Snoop Dogg and Dr. Dre, there is an implicit promise to reinvigorate the history of their genre, capturing an aspirational zest as Snoop prepares to deliver rhymes “with some monumental shit” on “Shangri-La.” You’ll recognize the same Ahmad Jamal flip that De La Soul and Dilla did on “Stakes Is High.” This track underscores the evolution of Snoop Dogg’s artistry and influence over his “thirty summers” in the industry. Let’s get this out the way: Smitty is the secret weapon behind his rhymes because Snoop does not rap this clean with schemes and random cadences. However, it doesn’t taint that some tracks, like “Hard Knocks,” are deeply personal and introspective, with imagery that paints a portrait of struggle, ambition, and survival.
An immediate standout comes “Skyscrapers,” a discourse on success and hustle. Uncle Snoop initiates the track with a laid-back yet commanding flow, recounting his journey with a vivid imagination and wordplay reflecting triumph and introspection: “Never hear a ho tell, I’m the shit if I do say.” He uses nods to iconic California locations and elements of his legacy, intimately tying his past with the present moment. Method Man’s verse juxtaposes nicely with Snoop’s, as he steals the show by exhibiting a sharp and energetic delivery packed with clever metaphors and cultural references. “I’m hot, boss, don’t slip/In New York, I’m drippin’ with hot sauce,” cleverly aligns his verbal skill with a unique sense of swagger and chic.
We have a crown jewel with “Gunz N Smoke,” which mixes Biggie’s “Dead Wrong” vocals, bringing together industry titans 50 Cent, Snoop, and Eminem to craft a track throbbing with the raw energy of their street-hardened pasts. The opening lines echo the weight of street wisdom as 50 aligns guns with smoke, a metaphor encasing the chaotic and fraught world of survival and dominance on the streets, as captured in the line, “Drums come with the dope/Guns come with the smoke.” Snoop’s voice shines through with his characteristic laid-back delivery, spotlighting the gritty authenticity of his past and the rugged roads. Em reflects on fame and his tumultuous relationship with the world, reflecting on the pressures and misconceptions that fame brings, poignantly nested in “Guess that’s the price that you pay for all the glamour, the fame, and stardom.”
Other features include K.A.A.N. on “Pressure” and the vintage West Coast bop with “Sticcy Situation” with Cocoa Sarai, who also did backgrounds on multiple songs (including the Crip walking anthem, “Gangsta Pose”) but lent her Reggae-tinged vocals on “Fire,” as Snoop’s poignant irony is captured in lines like “our business is a fuckin’ warm gun,” revealing how crime and danger have become an almost institutionalized aspect of his existence. BJ the Chicago Kid appears on “Fore Play,” setting the tone on Missionary, and “Now or Never,” where Snoop reminisces about overcoming adversities with his ascension from “hood nigga to Hollywood,” as Dr. Dre’s verse complements by exuding an aura of caution amidst chaos, likening life to a constant battle where “land mines” and “banana clips” are metaphorical necessities for survival.
Missionary ends with “The Negotiator,” which is a fascinating exhibition of his seasoned artistry that blends introspection with bravado, revealing layers of his persona and career. Right from the onset, the track sets a tone of self-assurance and reflection, as illustrated by the line, “Back in this bitch with a poker face, I survive over time, I survive, everlasting.” It also references significant personal milestones, subtly acknowledging his longevity and influence, connecting his sustained success to cultural icons and historical moments, and reinforcing his impact. Even if the LP doesn’t match the caliber of his A or B-tier works, Snoop celebrates his legacy and acknowledges the commercial aspect of his art.
Solid (★★★½☆)
Favorite Track(s): ”Shangri-La,” “Gunz N Smoke,” “Now or Never”