ou have to doubt the self-preservation skills and business acumen of an MC that comes back to a label like Death Row Records. Kurupt’s return saw him ostracised by his Dogg Pound affiliates, cutting him off from Cousin Snoop, producer Dre and friend Daz. He addresses that subject here on the powerfully personal “I Didn't Change”, swaying between feeling hurt and wanting to cause harm. Similarly, on The Originals Kurupt sees himself as one of the few old-school patricians of a re-energised West Coast Hip-Hop scene and it’s hard to argue against him. His credits don’t lie: an integral part of both Chronic albums and a key player in the rise and fall (and perhaps resurrection?) of Death Row, he’s made his name in the game for a number of years. Seriously, how many gangsta MCs would sound desperately out of place in a group with Killah Priest, Canibus and Ras Kass? Not Kurupt. And while it doesn’t mean much to me, it can’t do an MC any harm to be regarded by Eminem as one of the greatest (see his “Till I Collapse”) in the game.

His last mainstream release Space Boogie: Smoke Oddessey was stylistically all over the place, trying to touch all bases and hitting them only very occasionally. While not a true solo album, this is at least a return to the West Coast sound of his earlier Dogg Pound related material and independent releases with Daz. This compilation of solo joints and collaborations on his own Kustapo label is a showcase for him and fellow West Coast rhymers; a quick heads up before his forthcoming solo Against tha Grain is released.

The charmingly titled and erudite “Eat a Dicc (Fuck Daz)” is one of Kurupt’s most inimical diss tracks to date, tearing into his former partner in rhyme over tablas and handclaps. A retort to Daz’s “Eat a Dicc Ricc”, it’s the usual expletive filled assault on another man’s sexuality and ends with two and a half minutes of accapella abuse.

Guests range from the morally reprehensible to the easily ignored; vocally superfluous Suga Free, a real life mother loving pimp, appears twice here spouting particularly mephitic rhymes on “Break ya Bacc”. Fellow Death Row inmate Eastwood makes his first real impression as a possible contender to Crooked I’s recently emptied seat with the anthemic simple Neptunes style beats of “Californya”. But the real problem is quite simple: if Kurupt hadn’t been as unpopular as Suge Knight, he would have been able to get producers like Soopafly, Fredwreck, Red Spyder and even Daz to lace this compilation with beats hard enough to force Kurupt to push himself to reach a higher level lyrically.

As it is, some of the production here (“I Can’t Stop” and “I Know” especially) sounds unbelievably cheap. This is not an uncommon problem with much of the underground West Coast production style that CJ Ginavece favours here; the dirty low bass sounds, frenetic snares, slow funk, OTT arrangements and high pitched whine melodies all combine for this effect. It doesn’t help that Kurupt sticks to his typical Crip-Hop agenda: talking about search for respect and dollars that sums up the gangsta lifestyle. Oh, mustn’t forget the gats and bitches either. Much like Snoop he employs the odd technique of backing up his own vocals with his pimped-out falsetto.

The West Coast scene needs a larger than life figurehead to bring the underground scene into the light of day. Judging from this release it’s not going to be Kurupt.