Author Topic: help someone on d.o.c (Read 165 times)

LyRiCaL_G · « **on:** December 25, 2001, 09:19:41 AM »

hey can someone giv me sum background info on this nigga?

cuz i dont really know much about him

Don Seer · « **Reply #1 on:** December 25, 2001, 09:36:54 AM »

taken from http://www.silverbackrecords.com/bio.htm

The 'rap game' found Tracy Curry, The D.O.C., at the age of 14 on the corners of the West Dallas projects. Constantly shuttled between his mother, father and aunt, young Tray found his talent for rhyming in trading 'the dozens' with neighborhood rivals. Discovered by a local DJ, The D.O.C. would be invited to join a Dallas-area rap group - the Fila Fresh Crew - and soon took his skills to clubs and radio mix shows. When a young DJ visiting from California, Andre Young, heard him rhyme on one of those shows he immediately invited the young rapper to return with him to Compton. "Dre told me that I was the best muthafucka that he had ever heard," The D.O.C. explains. "And if I came back to California he guaranteed that we would be rich." During a one-day trip to L.A., Dre and The D.O.C. wrote several songs in Eazy-E's mother's garage - songs that would later go on to appear on The D.O.C.'s debut album, and cemented a friendship and creative partnership that would span almost two decades. The D.O.C. returned to Dallas. Three months later, and with $50 in his pocket, he finally made the call to California and was soon on a plane bound for Compton.

Crashing on friend's couches, including Dr. Dre's, The D.O.C. began writing Eazy-E's debut album, as well as penning large portions of N.W.A.'s revolutionary Straight Outta Compton. He was involved creatively, but largely behind the scenes, in most of the early Ruthless Records releases. But, as the popularity and buzz surrounding N.W.A. increased, from photo shoots to royalty checks, The D.O.C found himself being forced out of the frame. "One day all the guys walked in with these $200 gold chainsŠI was like 'Damn Eazy, where's mine?' He said if I signed over the publishing rights to all the songs I'd written, he'd get me a chain. All I could think about was getting the jewelry and all the shit rap stars get. I didn't realize I was giving up my art at the time."

But The D.O.C. continued to write to Dre's music, sculpting what the world would later feel was a new genre in hip-hop; a hardened, reality-based view of street-life that was at once shocking and addictive. "I've heard this a lot of times," he says. "People have said this to me: Had Dre and I not hooked-up in California, what you know as West Coast 'Gangsta Rap' would not have been the same. Cube called me N.W.A.'s unsung hero."

When he recorded his own album, his talents became even more evident. Released in 1989 on Ruthless Records, No One Can Do It Better was a musical cousin to the Rakim and Big Daddy Kane schools, a departure from the gangsta rap the D.O.C. had helped spawn on other Ruthless albums. Sonically and lyrically rich, The D.O.C.'s solo debut was critically acclaimed, commercially successful, and heralded the arrival of a fresh, young star. "From Eazy's first album to No One Can Do It Better, I went through a metamorphosis," says The D.O.C. of that time. It became clear that not only could his pen create magic, but that its spells were versatile.

"I had six months of bliss," he says about the time following the release of his album, which saw him touring with likes of EPMD, Ice T, Slick Rick and 2 Live Crew. "And then that shit abruptly ended."

At around 4am on November 11th, 1989, just minutes after he'd been stopped for speeding in Beverly Hills, The D.O.C. fell asleep at the wheel of his new '89 Honda Prelude, a car he'd paid for with his first big check from No One Can Do It Better. The car careened off the highway, and The D.O.C. was thrown from it. His larynx was crushed in the crash. After over twenty hours of reconstructive surgery, The D.O.C. was still unsure he'd ever rap again.

During the next several months of recovery, among the friends who gathered around The D.O.C. in support was Marion 'Suge' Knight, a former football star and security guard who had aspirations in the rap game. With a shrewd mind for business, Suge realized that The D.O.C., Dr. Dre, and others weren't being compensated fairly by Eazy-E and Ruthless Records, and lobbied to get them out of their contracts. The three began talking partnership. "Dre wanted to name the label 'Future Shock' or something like that," remembers the D.O.C. "Then I said 'Well, the East Coast has Def Jam, and since everybody around here acts like they wanna go to the pen, we should call it Def Row." Not long after, Death Row Records was born. But like his early dealings with N.W.A. and Ruthless, The D.O.C. found himself squeezed out of the deal. Dark times followed, in which drinking and drugs only compounded The D.O.C.'s loss of faith in himself and his talents.

In the midst of the storm, however, he would write again. On the epic Chronic and Doggystyle albums, The D.O.C. did indeed help to usher in the age of Death Row. He helped a young rapper by the name of Snoop Doggy Dogg refine his chops, and mentored him in the craft of writing hit songs, not just verses and hooks. Once again the D.O.C. found himself at the core of something great, creating and birthing an empire that would change the game. Unfortunately, he also found himself dealing with an animal in Death Row very similar to the one he'd encountered with Ruthless. He would eventually have to take the label to court in search of a check that reflected his monumental work, a lawsuit that would not be settled for nearly a decade. In 1994, a disillusioned and desperate D.O.C. left L.A. for Atlanta with little but two tape reels holding Dr. Dre beats.

While in Atlanta, The D.O.C. recorded a second album, Helter Skelter, for Giant Records. But without the lethal combination of his commanding voice and Dre's production, the album fell short. "I lost my voice, the one characteristic that made me the shit back in those days, I lost it," offers The D.O.C.

In the mid-90s, changes were happening rapid-fire all over the rap world. Dre and Snoop left Death Row. The East Coast insurgence spearheaded by Biggie Smalls and Bad Boy Records brought on the rap wars. Two of hip-hop's brightest stars were lost. The D.O.C. returned to his native Dallas to heal, recuperate and focus on being a father. His 10-year-old daughter, Amber Lynn Curry, is "more important to me than anything in the world," refects an older, wiser Tray Curry.

Following their combined legal suits against Death Row, Dr. Dre called on The D.O.C.'s pen once again, this time to work on 1999's classic Chronic 2001. Dr. Dre wanted to re-create the magic from the original Chronic sessions. The D.O.C. brought along his new protégé, a talented young Fort Worth rapper by the name of 6Two, to give him a taste of what the game was really about. Suitably impressed with 6Two's skills and delivery, Dre put him down on several songs on Chronic 2001. It was this discovery, the meeting between the legend and the hungry up-and-comer, that encouraged the D.O.C. to continue what he had started all those years ago. "I probably lost millions of dollars years ago," he says. "But I've learned and I'm sharing what I know with the artist I'm producing."

Surrounded by a hungry young crew of Dallas/Fort Worth-area emcees - including 6Two, Uptight, El Dorado, and Cadillac Seville - The D.O.C. has reinvented himself as writer, producer and artist, and has created an independent label and production company, Silverback Entertainment. He hopes to put Dallas/Fort Worth - or D.F.W. - on the map. "People are always asking me about what it was like to work with Dre and Snoop, but I ask them, 'What about the next Dre and Snoop?' We need to find the next generation in hip-hop and that's what I want to do here in Dallas," he says.

*

The D.O.C's new album, "Deuce," is the result of years on the grind. Years of preparation, sweat, focus, and prayer. Even more years of knowledge. Not surprisingly, it sonically reflects the groove-heavy musicality of the classic West Coast sound - layered with familiar samples and complex live instrumentation. Surprising, however, is its lyrical rawness. Surrounded by his young crew of 'Gorillas,' The D.O.C. attacks the sometimes controversial subjects of violence and objectification in urban life with a razor-sharp edge. On eerie tracks like 'What Would U Do" and "Mass Confusion" 6Two and Uptight spit lyrics with an unabashed ferocity, portraying characters with both horror and humor. "If we're doing N.W.A. music down here in Dallas," the D.O.C. says unapologetically, "and I am the driving force behind it, then I'm winning. And I'm in exactly the place I want to be." 'N.W.A. music' resurfaces again, with help from the original cast. "Tha Shit" finds The D.O.C., his voice emotive and fierce in it's icy rasp, holding his own with old friends MC Ren, Ice Cube, and Xzibit. On "Gorilla Pimpin," 6Two's remarkable flow, reminiscent of a young Snoop Dogg with the southern drawl of Andre 3000, is complimented by a growling D.O.C. on the hook. The album's first single, the irresistibly bouncy "Concrete Jungle," finds DPG homies Kurupt mixing it up with the DFW's Silverback Gorillas. The mix is potent. On introspective tracks like the album's "Intro," "Soliloquy," and "Ghetto Blues," The D.O.C. sends out musical prayers to his mother, father, and others who have touched him along the way. But with "Deuce," The D.O.C. does not set out to reclaim a crown that was taken away, perhaps, too soon. With "Deuce," The D.O.C. merely sets out to prove that, indeed, still No One Can Do It Better.