Grade: B

The dark side of humanity fascinates us. We crave horror movies, sordid crime tales and musicians who draw their creativity and inspiration from subjects that lay below the easily digested aspects of society. It takes a special kind of artist to be able to capture this in their work and successfully affect the audience. Jim Morrison did it with The Doors, and Metallica has been doing it for the better part of the last two decades.

However, it can be argued that a hip-hop artist hadn’t quite delved as deep into the dark side with such passion and conviction until 1998, when DMX exploded onto the music scene with enough force to effectively wipe out the shiny suit age and put Puff Daddy’s albums on the discount shelves. Since his debut It’s Dark and Hell Is Hot, X has been an unwavering voice for the streets. However, what happens when an artist no longer experiences the darkness and pain that he so aptly describes to the delight of millions? This is the dilemma that the Dark Man X faces with the release of his fourth effort The Great Depression.
With his previous albums, DMX established a reputation as someone who distanced himself from the rest of the pack. He spoke for the outcasts and the people who were shunned by society. His songs reflected this attitude, and his albums were deep, symbolic compositions that were sometimes angry, sometimes sad and at times both. However, in the last few years, DMX’s reality has been altered greatly as he has become a multi-platinum artist with a fan base spanning all throughout the hip-hop world. With this difference in his life, it’s no surprise that his music has changed as well.

The Great Depression is an ironic title for an album that is dominated by tracks that are reflective and positive about life. DMX will never be mistaken for an upbeat artist, but as he enters his 30s, his music seems to be evolving with him.

Slowly morphing from the songs of an angry and volatile renegade into the diatribes of a wise veteran, he speaks from experience and possesses the spirit of someone who has been there and done that and now wants something different.

This newfound dimension in DMX’s persona is well reflected on the Dame Grease-produced song “Trina Moe,” where DMX takes aim at other rappers with surprising maturity. “We already know how much your watch is worth/Talk about helping the hurt, or saving a church/Won’t you brag about helping out where you come from, or giving brothers a job that really want one,” he expresses so directly and effectively.

More evidence of X’s changing psyche is exhibited on “I Miss You,” an eloquent letter to his deceased grandmother that features a duet with Faith Evans. The two blend powerfully well together as the song stands out as more than just another run of the mill tribute song. Evans’ beautiful voice creates a perfect soulful backdrop for DMX’s deeply revealing and personal lyrics.

In recent months, rumors have been flying that DMX’s relationship with his management company Ruff Ryder has been less than amicable; and The Great Depression certainly does not help to dismiss this talk. The majority of the album is put together by several producers who are not on his label, and there is barely a trace of his Ruff Ryder family besides the two tracks engineered by in-house producer Swizz Beatz. In fact, the only allegiances that the usually vocal X pledges to are for his new label Bloodline Records.

However, the album does not necessarily suffer because of this new direction.

The production is not spectacular, but nevertheless solid throughout, and when combined with his trademark intensity there is nary an unfulfilling track.

With his murky narratives of crime and despair, DMX has become one of the best-selling hip-hop artists in recent history. This success has been built on his ability to portray a side of life that only a few experience yet many love to vicariously live through him.

However, when an artist is as passionate as X is about truly expressing himself in his work, it becomes difficult to keep on telling these grimy tales when “sometimes the sun shines around the clock.” On The Great Depression, the rapper speaks less about the darkness of the streets and more about how far he has come since the darkness. Taking a risk like this could be career suicide for some, but with a quality effort, the man that the government calls Earl Simmons is able to pull off the feat without compromising anything.