Albums pretending to be the front page of a newspaper are always a massive pile of wank, except for this one which seems to have been somewhat slept on. Released in the wake of all that commotion about whether the east coast had a bigger one than the west coast, Kuruption! seems to have been an attempted exercise in bridge building, and one which fell on mostly deaf ears given that the rap media had already declared its own east coast heritage the bestest. While there was talk of the west having fallen off, fifty posthumous barrel scraping albums of Tupac promising to shag some New York rival's misses didn't do much to change anyone's mind. The media always needs an angle, some kind of narrative to shift units, and so the bicoastal rivalry divided neatly into west coast rap artists vainly seeking to relive that year when we bought their CDs on the one hand, and New York guy sneezes into a microphone - quick, sign the talented fucker! on the other.
Meanwhile, having arguably been right at the centre of a lot of the hostilities, Kurupt of the Dogg Pound leaves Death Row and records a bicoastal debut album, a double disc with one homegrown disc dedicated to the west coast, the other to the east and so featuring eastern guests, producers, and collaborators. If the message lacks subtlety, it's nevertheless preferable to everyone taking pot shots at one another and it's coming from a good place; and it works because it's a cracking set, possibly one of the best things in which Kurupt was ever involved. The western disc builds on the g-funk of previous years with bars spit over smooth R&B with just enough of a salty undercurrent to keep you on your toes - plenty of jazzy electric piano, beats from Dre, Battlecat, Soopafly, and Daz, amongst others; and pretty much without a dud to be heard. It would have made a great album in its own right.
The east coast disc brings in guests I mostly hadn't heard of - excepting Buckshot, Noreaga and Mr. Short Khop - presumably because they were all pals with chemistry rather than proven selling famous names. It works because the smooth west coast sound had spread east by this point, joining up as something more like film soundtrack but for the occasional stutter of Shaolin style discord - and No Feelings is particularly a belter, by the way. The two discs are different, but feel very much part of the same enterprise, at least in terms of mood - the usual blend of threats, boasting and general impatience somehow managing to come across as oddly amiable. Really, it's almost a classic soul album but for the obvious care one must take to avoid spilling its drink or look at it in a funny way; and Kurupt was twenty-five when he recorded this - twenty-fucking-five. If the man doesn't yet have a statue and you haven't been out campaigning for the same, at least have the decency to give this a listen in appreciation of a major talent.
