Backspin: The D.O.C. — No One Can Do It Better (1989)

The D.O.C. and the Doctor crafted the formula for an icon that almost was. (88/100)

Image from Ruthless Records

Originally published 12/17/22 on Medium.

Dr. Dre knows how to spot and cultivate a star. In 1989, that uncanny gift for king-making that would be integral in the emergence of Snoop Dogg, Eminem, Kendrick Lamar, and 50 Cent wasn’t yet fully apparent.

In hindsight, Dallas, Texas rhyme gladiator The D.O.C. was Dre’s first chosen one. D.O.C.’s truncated career arc was also the first of a string of tragedies that have surrounded Dre throughout his unparalleled run as one of music’s most prodigious sonic architects.

No One Can Do It Better, the D.O.C.’s explosive debut, has increasingly struggled to maintain its standing across subsequent generations like the transcendent classics from Dre’s later protégés. But it lays the blueprint with which Dre would launch his future stars: immaculate aural templates replete with his sonic hallmarks, while also tailored to the unique style and persona of the featured artist. Make no mistake, in ’89 The D.O.C. hammered out a singular space in rap’s increasingly crowded field with every bit the force that Snoop and Em did in their eras.

“It’s Funky Enough” opens the album with a blast. The dynamically sinister keyboard vamp springs aggressively from the speakers, but it’s the fast-twitch drum fills jittering between massive kicks that give the track its terse momentum. Despite being tucked innocuously low in the mix, the repetitive female-voiced hook makes for an instant ear worm, grounding the track in party rocking simplicity. It’s a good thing, because the D.O.C.’s relentless rhymes rocket the the record to the stratosphere.

In contrast to the cadre of Rakim clones emphasizing meticulously modulated deliveries at the close of the ‘80s, the D.O.C. bubbles with bombast. Yet, he never sacrifices precision. “It’s Funky Enough” is a tutorial in vocal performance. The D.O.C. shifts in and out of patterns, cadences, and inflections with almost imperceptible dexterity. He even slips into intermittent patois, a gambit that originated as an impromptu lark because, as recalled in a XXL’s 2014 retrospective, “the beat sounded Jamaican to me.” Dre, characteristically canny at knowing gold when he hears it, kept the take, insisting “I ain’t changing s***.”

That could also be the mantra for the remainder of the album’s opening trifecta, as the DOC and the Doctor keep their feet on the gas pedal. Dre ups the sonic density on “Mind Blowin’,” pairing heavy piano and bass with a sinewy nod to his partner’s southern roots via a bluesy guitar riff. The D.O.C. takes full advantage of the aural eclecticism, juxtaposing drawn out deliveries that leverage open space against staccato crescendos in which syllables spray like machine gun blasts.

The DOC is dope
I would’ve been down with rock, but I’d be broke
By the punk, I’m openin’ up my trunk
To reveal death, livin’ it up, my life is like a story
Yellin’ it, ’cause nobody else is tellin’ it
Checkin’ it, always gettin’ paid ’cause the rap is sort of a twist
Between what you need and what I mean
What I mean by twist, now you gotta listen
Never a segment in negative
’Cause I’m employin’ what you’ve been missin’
So in total, this is one of the many styles of an artist
Hard it may be, but not my hardest
Just a portion, cup of salty water in the ocean
Rockin’ it was the notion, it seems I needed a potion
So I asked the Dr. D-R-E could he comply?
Lookin’ at me with a grin, he shrugged his head and said “Why
Would you ask me a question
Knowin’ you knew the answer all the time?
I make the records, you kick lyrics that’ll blow they mind”

“Lend Me An Ear” is a tsunami of sound and fury possibly signifying Dre’s response to Marley Marl’s breakneck soundscape for Big Daddy Kane’s “Set It Off”. Dre’s “everything and the kitchen sink” construction, complete with cinematic strings, industrial distortion, and an explosive sample collage of a chorus, would overpower most MCs. The D.O.C.’s vocal texture — a counter intuitive mix of nasal sharpness and gravelly heft — and the sheer ferocity of his delivery cut through like a diamond. Even at 116 BPMs, it feels like the track is scrambling to keep up with him as he storms forward.

If “Lend Me An Ear” is Dre’s parry to Marley, “Beautiful But Deadly” is a thrust in the direction of another New York super producer, Rick Rubin. Atop a replayed guitar riff from Funkadelic’s “Cosmic Slop,” the D.O.C. delivers the album’s only topical song, painting a picture of a smooth-operating femme fatale. He carries the track with evocative lyricism while avoiding the misogynistic tropes that were rapidly becoming part and parcel of the West Coast gangsta rap scene.

The instrumentation doesn’t rock quite as hard as Rubin’s rock-rap haymakers. But Dre’s measured approach, weaving the guitar in and out of the mix during the verses and letting it run wild in between, keeps D.O.C. at the forefront, allowing him to flow over the understated drum track without having to wrestle the power chords.

Dr. Dre and The D.O.C., circa 1989 (Image from Rolling Stone Magazine)

If No One Can Do It Better’s A-Side is the D.O.C. and the Doctor showing they can beat the East Coast icons at their own game, the B-Side resets the board entirely, offering a preview of the paradigm shifting sound with which Dre would ultimately become the gold standard for hip-hop production.

In a brief postscript at the A-Side’s close, the D.O.C. offers a minor spoiler for the B-Side tracklist.

“Listen to number one, that’s the s*** to me,” he boasts before conceding that “Dre think number two is the s***.”

History has since born out that when in doubt, trust Dre’s ear. D.O.C.’s pick, “The D.O.C. and the Doctor,” is an 808-powered banger epitomizing late ’80s grandiosity. Dre’s pick, the hypnotically funkafied title track, sounds like the future.

“No One Can Do It Better” may not quite coalesce into what would soon be known as G-funk, but all the elements are in play. A buttermilk-thick bassline and menacingly atmospheric synths put every speaker frequency through its paces as the mid-tempo groove seeps into your pours like the California heat. The D.O.C. slows down his tommy gun flow, leveraging his down home drawl to strategically extend syllables. Unlike later G-Funk masters, he retains his live wire energy and staccato cadence giving the track a combustibility rarely felt in West Coast staples of the ’90s.

While “Whirlwind Pyramid” lives up to its name, with D.O.C. riding every crease and crevice of the cacophonously frenetic drums, “The Formula” returns to the still nascent G-Funk well. The result is arguably D.O.C.’s signature song. Legendary Los Angeles radio station KDAY scored a copy of the eventual third single in spring of ’89, well before the album’s August release. While the rest of the country was still getting acquainted with “It’s Funky Enough,” “The Formula” was bumping out of lowriders and backyard barbecues from Watts to South Central.

The breezy percussion and airy Marvin Gaye sample capture the leisurely warmth of Southern California often obscured by the bracing brutality of gangsta rap. Lyrically, the D.O.C. dials back the bluster to bask in the alchemy he and Dre have achieved.

High energy flowin’ with the wisdom
Sense of a rich man, knowledge and the rhythm
This is what I’m using to come up with a style
So I’ll interact altogether better with the crowd
Nervous for a second, then the record starts spinnin’
And I fall into the state of mind of what I’ve just created
Pump it like the Doctor D into the R-E
Suckers ready to leap up on the tip when we made it
Creative, so I’ll never be regarded as a regular
More than just a little bit better than my competitor
You should never underestimate the passion
I hold for the stage, whether I’m coolin’ or thrashin’’
Clockin’ the concoction created by me
When read you read E = the D-O- to the C
Knowledge and the talent that my mother had born to her
Equals an artist that won’t be worn, what is that Dre?
[Dre] It’s the formula

After commanding the mic solo for the first 10 proper songs, the D.O.C. enlists Dre’s N.W.A running mates for “Grande Finale,” a torrid posse cut that feels like a West Coast re-imagining of Marley Marl and his Juice Crew’s “The Symphony”. Ice Cube delivers arguably the most technically proficient verse of his N.W.A-era career, while MC Ren, the crew’s best pure spitter, feels right at home running the lyrical relay’s second leg. Not to be outdone, it’s the D.O.C. who brings the song and album home with a shapeshifting closing verse calling back previous flows and lyrics as if to remind us of the sheer magnitude of what we’ve just experienced.

It’s telling that The D.O.C., whose potent pen provided killer contributions to N.W.A’s Straight Outta Compton and Eazy-E’s EZ-Duz-It, steers clear of the gangta bravado that pushed his compatriots’ projects to multi-platinum ubiquity. Perhaps more revelatory, Dre, later renowned for pressuring his artists to “bring the burners out,” didn’t push D.O.C. to hoo-ride. No One Can Do It Better was clearly intended to position him among rap’s elites by keeping the focus squarely on his technical skills rather than an outsized persona.

It worked. The D.O.C. became the first artist from outside the region to gain respect as a first tier MC from New York’s notoriously insular hip-hop community. While Ice-T, N.W.A, and even Too $hort had sold records in the East, their names weren’t spoken in the same breath as Rakim, Kane, or KRS in any barbershop or editorial office north of Baltimore. For an all too fleeting moment, the D.O.C.’s was, subtly opening jaded Northeastern ears to outsiders. Given his Texas origins and California residency, the D.O.C. likely made the road easier for future stars from both regions.

Months after No One Can Do It Better’s release, the D.O.C. was nearly killed in a car crash that crushed his larynx, permanently damaging his one-of-a-kind voice. He continued penning classics for N.W.A, and later, Dre and Snoop. Yet, the D.O.C. was gradually relegated to a footnote as a new generation of rappers stormed to prominence in the ‘90s.

While No One Can Do It Better is no longer a staple on “greatest album” lists, neither has it been completely forgotten. In 2000, Shyne scored a radio hit with “That’s Gangsta,” essentially a rehash of “It’s Funky Enough”. Just when you least expect it, a stray bar from the album will still find its way into a modern rhyme, or D.O.C.’s unmistakable voice sampled into a hook.

Perhaps most definitively, his debut hits as hard today as nearly any ’89 album. Given Dre’s track record of picking stars and D.O.C.’s proven ghostwriting success well into hip-hop’s next era, it’s not unreasonable to suspect that with enough time and catalog, he could have been a contender. Instead, his legacy is sadly contained to a fleeting moment in which no one could do it better.

By the Numbers

Production: 10
Lyrics (how the words are put together): 9.5
Delivery & Flow: 9.5
Content (Substance): 7.5
Cohesiveness: 9.5
Consistency: 9.5
Originality: 8
Listenability: 9
Impact/Influence: 8
Longevity: 7.5

Total — 88

Backspin is a look back at the albums that shaped and defined hip-hop. It explores what made them resonate, the impact they had on the culture, and where they fit in today’s ever-expanding hip-hop canon.