Instrumental G-Funkist Dâm-Funk‘s collaboration with the ever-reincarnating Snoop Dogg(y Lion) has resulted in their eponymous 7 Days of Funk. Aiming to re-modernize/re-popularize Parliament-ary funk, this effort has its ethereal moments due mostly to DF’s cloudy pads and some of Snoop’s wordplay, but is basically a west coast rap record from 1992 – regardless of the ’70’s hype-man interruptions, sine wave synths and “Mothership” references.
That in itself isn’t a bad thing. However, it does annoy that Snoop has added the “zilla” suffix to his moniker (as an ode to Bootsy Collins). He even dubs himself “Snoopy Collins” on “Faden Away.” This shortly after, as Snoop Lion, he told the world that he was Bob Marley Reincarnated, despite being almost ten years old at Marley’s death. Snoop is a rap legend, and as one could probably give up co-opting other legendary personas. Forget constantly changing the stage surname, just drop it and become Snoop full-time, Mr. Broadus. On that note, using the same middle school Twitter-user track-titling methods as Miley Cyrus (“Do My Thang“) and Robin Thicke (“I’ll Be There 4U“) did on their latest album fillers is another small turn-off.
Anyway, Snoop gets into traditional funk-tastic themes like acceptance through dance parties and using disco-y reversed-idiom wisdom and the help of a mid-asthma-attack Steve Arrington to portray smitten feelings. The other guest spot droops when Kurupt plainly just gives up filling his verse with lean-based tropes a couple bars before said verse ends, but elsewhere, the copious weed references take on a strange and refreshing new angle thanks to DF’s dreamy pads. Thus, Snoop’s rhymes are unsurprisingly carefree, but have that airy R&B feel of “Sexual Eruption,” only with upgraded kitchen-sink production.
Still, Snoop grooves best in his slightly more typical on the “grind ’til they pay me” zone in the opener “Hit da Pavement,” with old-school mondegreens and more emotionally mature boasts than you’ll see in other Top-40 rappers: [LISTEN]
There are some awkward spots, namely when funk gimmicks hit harder than the tunes. There’s also no denying that for all the funk-worship and supposed homage going on here, there’s much more ’90’s Compton than late ’60’s Oakland. But, new Snoop records are like pizza or sex: even when it’s bad, it’s still pretty good. And this wasn’t even bad to begin with, just silly. Which is the Hot Pocket King‘s bag these days, anyway.