Farewell, Nate Dogg

Among all the items in the Times that I overanalyze, its obituaries probably rank the highest. I sometimes make my friends play a game evaluating whether someone's death will merit an A1 obituary above the fold -- one of the highest forms of respect, in my opinion, because it demonstrates a truly lasting impact. That the Times wrote a midsize obituary for Nate Dogg upon his death earlier this month is a good harbinger that hip-hop's place in Americana is secure. In 2011, probably only the elderly or the ignorant would question hip-hop's legitimacy as a cultural force. The genre established itself long ago and has dominated music, fashion, language, lifestyle and commerce as much as rock has for the past 20 years. Nonetheless, the Times chooses the subjects of its obituaries carefully. One has to have had a meaningful impact on politics, science, culture, sports, commerce and so on to merit the copy.

If Nate Dogg, who was mostly famous for singing the hooks on West Coast gangsta rap from circa 1993 to 1999, meaning he occupied a very specialized niche in the genre, merits an obituary in the Times, then there will be many more to come. He died young, at the age of 41, but for long-running medical reasons, not in sensational controversy and not at the height of his powers, so the timing didn't amplify the reason for writing it. The justification was perhaps only slightly stronger now than it would've been in another 20 years. At this rate, when Snoop Dogg dies in about 40 years, his obituary will be quite long and Dr. Dre's has a good chance to be on A1, below the fold. This is a very interesting reflection of how American (pop) culture and the mainstream shift with time.

Nate Dogg was a role player, but a very good one. As the Times wrote, he "was the first male singer whose fame was predicated almost completely on his appearances on the songs of other rappers." Bill Simmons compared him to the NBA forward Robert Horry because both were perfect complements on a team; Horry hit many clutch jump shots during his career, especially during the playoffs, and Nate Dogg stepped up to deliver marvelous hooks, most especially on "Regulate," his brilliant duet with Warren G. He sang during a time when rap was still menacing and gritty but quite misogynistic, and not yet totally infatuated with vapidity. The music was relatively smooth and uncomplicated, but it also had an eerie tone, as though it might've come from space. Is Nate Dogg's death of the profile that it can join Elizabeth Taylor's and Geraldine Ferraro's as further proof that famous deaths come in threes?

Anyway, to the good times: The video for "Regulate," one of the first I remember watching on MTV, is above. It comes from the era when the production was still relatively low-fi, the video's plot tried to follow the song's lyrics, scenes appear from the obscure movie for which the song served as the single, and there's always a party at a motel. Nate Dogg also delivers one of the most confounding lines ever sung: "The rhythm is the bass and the bass is the treble." Think about that for awhile.