Dre Day

Murder Was The Case

August 1993

Dre POV

The studio hummed with energy, as my fingers deftly move switfly across the drum machine, setting the rhythm that permeated the room.

"Yo, feel that vibe?" I glancd over at T.A. and D.O.C., their heads bent in deep concentration.

"Absolutely," T.A. nodded, scribbling furiously in a notepad. "It's the groove we need for Snoop. The lil' nigga needs the best shit ever and I'm gonna make sure he becomes a muthafuckin icon fo'sho."

D.O.C. chimed in, "Death Row's making these muthafuckin moves, homie. 'We gotta stay sucker free in '93. gon' be the next rap Motown!'"

"That's the code," I agree, my gaze focusing on the MPC drum machine . "We're all about keepin' it real."

T.A., caught up in the flow of the music, began jotting down lyrics. "Check this out, 'Gin and juice, laid back, with my mind on my money and my money on my mind...'"

D.O.C. nodded approvingly. "Yeah, that's the vibe right there. It's Snoop's essence. That shit is hard T!"

I leaned in, a hint of determination in my voice. "We gotta make it stick, something that grabs 'em."

D.O.C., his eyes gleaming with excitement, added, "Death Row's on the rise, don't even trip Dre. This album's gonna be explosive. 5 million incoming playboy."

T.A., finishes writing before he stretches his arms. He then picks up a guitar lying in the corner, its strings not quite tuned.

I heard a raw, unrefined riff escape from those strings. "Hold up," I interrupted. "That's dope, T."

T.A. glanced up, a surprised grin spreading across his face. "For real?"

"Yeah," I nodded, excitement building. "That's gonna be our baseline for this track."

He looked at me, a hint of uncertainty. "But Dre, this guitar ain't even tuned right."

"Don't touch it," I insisted. "Play that same rhythm again, just like that."

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded, understanding the direction. T.A. strummed the guitar once more, the untamed, raw sound filling the room. It was imperfect, yet oddly perfect for what we were creating.

The air crackled with that bomb G-funk flavor, the guitar's raw rhythm weaving its way into our brainstorming session. T.A. and I exchanged excited glances, vibing on the unexpected spark.

"Yo, that's got some flavor, my nigga" I laughed, feeling the energy surge patting T on the back. T.A. strummed the same unrefined tune, tapping into a unique groove.

Amidst our laughter and excited chatter, the studio door creaked open. Suge strolls in, his expression serious. A nervous-looking Snoop trailing behind him, his demeanor a sharp contrast to his usual laid-back aura.

"What's up, Snoop?" I asked, noticing his unease.

Snoop leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. "Dre, the police, they're after me."

My heart skipped a beat. "Why, bro?" The confusion etched on The D.O.C.'s face mirrored my own.

Snoop's whisper carried an ominous weight. "They're chargin' me with murder."

Silence enveloped the studio, heavy and suffocating. The vibrant energy evaporated, leaving behind a tense stillness. The weight of his words hung in the air, shattering the euphoria of our creative bubble. The air in the studio had shifted, the buoyant atmosphere now replaced by an eerie tension that hung thick in the room.