The 100 Best Rap Singles of 1992

The year marked the beginning of the second half of the “golden era,” when the genre’s greatest peaks and worst tragedies were just beyond the horizon.

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March 17, 2022

It was in December 1992 — the month that Dr. Dre debuted “Nuthin’ But a G Thang” and The Chronic — when hip-hop in the 90s truly began.

Nearly three decades later, it’s hard to overstate how the former N.W.A producer’s single with Long Beach protégé Snoop Doggy Dogg transformed the genre. Almost immediately, nearly everything on the West Coast was judged against its blend of interpolated P-funk and gangbanger cues, and the accompanying video’s wave of Crip blues. Artists who didn’t or couldn’t replicate its hardcore bromides were eventually sidelined as nerdy “alternatives” out of step with the new rap mainstream. Dre’s sound swept America and then the world — and overshadowed West Coast funk peers like DJ Quik and Above the Law’s Cold 187um — while East Coast artists perfecting a dusty vision of sampled loops and lyrical epiphany struggled for years to match its sales power.

But while Tri-State area acts like Pete Rock & CL Smooth and Boogie Down Productions couldn’t equal Dr. Dre’s new Death Row empire on the charts, they still managed to craft a movement that has had surprising lasting power. Today, it’s not hard to identify countless artists paying homage to what KRS-One called “boom bap,” whether it’s veteran producers like The Alchemist or young adherents like Navy Blue.

The year 1992 may be remembered now for Pete Rock’s jeep beats and Dr. Dre’s G-funk. But it was also a presidential election year where rappers were targeted by opportunistic politicians. Vice-President Dan Quayle criticized 2Pac for his lyrical attacks against law enforcement on 2Pacalypse Now. Democratic Party presidential candidate Bill Clinton rebuked Sistah Souljah for her satirical comments about shooting white people in response to the racism Black folks experience in daily life. Most significantly, law enforcement groups and Republican officials waged a public pressure campaign against Ice-T’s record label Warner Bros. and his metal group Body Count’s “Cop Killer,” a memorable cut from their self-titled debut. The controversy dominated the news for months and eventually led Ice-T to leave Warner Bros. Although he evolved into a multimedia star — a family-friendly icon in TV commercials and police procedurals — he never recovered his pole position as one of the biggest rappers in hip-hop.

Ice-T wasn’t the only artist immolated by the year’s tumult. Tensions between Erick Sermon and Parrish Smith not only culminated in EPMD’s breakup, but also led to the dissolution of Hit Squad. With rising stars like Redman, Das EFX, and K-Solo, it may have been the one East Coast crew with potential to achieve Death Row-like multi-platinum success. A financial dispute prompted Large Professor to leave Main Source just as the trio glimpsed crossover fame with “Fakin’ the Funk’s” inclusion on the White Men Can’t Jump soundtrack. Eric B. & Rakim and N.W.A split up. Paris’ broadside against President George H.W. Bush, “Bush Killa,” led to him being dropped by Tommy Boy Records. Mac Dre was falsely charged and convicted on conspiracy to commit robbery, resulting in a five-year sentence. He didn’t recapture career momentum until the end of the decade and near the end of his life. Even MC Hammer found his reputation waning, thanks to blandly corny hits like “The Addams Family” and Ice Cube indirectly labeling him a sellout on “True to the Game.”

With so much anger in the nation, many critics and fans turned to Arrested Development. The Atlanta group typified a moment when the word “conscious” began to gain acceptance as a differentiator from hardcore “gangstas” like Dr. Dre as well as newly minted “gat”-carrying acts like Brand Nubian and Black Moon. Arrested Development’s major pop hits like “Tennessee” and “Mr. Wendal” burbled with spiritual testimonies, sung harmonies, and Afrocentric awareness. By the end of the year, they were being directed by Spike Lee in the video for “Revolution.” The group sold millions of records before finally generating a significant backlash from heads that found them preachy and overbearing. No wonder that groups like Gang Starr and A Tribe Called Quest chafed against the “jazz-rap” label. They didn’t want to be marginalized, too.

Arrested Development proved a one-album wonder, but it’s impossible to tell the story of 1992 without them. They epitomized how the liberal mainstream struggled to process what was happening in hip-hop culture. How do you reconcile the jeep-funk delight that is Brand Nubian’s “Punks Jump Up to Get Beat Down” with its noxious gay-bashing message? Should Dr. Dre be allowed to get away with bragging about smacking women on “Nuthin’ but a ‘G’ Thang”? What about Cypress Hill using the N-word on “Hand on the Pump”? Arrested Development’s wholesomeness provided fleeting respite from the yin-and-yang tensions fueling hip-hop culture, and the violent shifts that would haunt much of the decade.

But there was plenty of uncomplicated joy, too. Who couldn’t delight in the fast-rap optimism of the UMC’s “One to Grow On,” or happily shake their ass to Sir Mix-A-Lot’s “Baby Got Back?” The year brought a wealth of newcomers who would help define the 90s like Common, the Notorious B.I.G., UGK, O.C., Digable Planets, DMX, 8Ball & MJG, Wu-Tang Clan, and the Pharcyde. 12-inch singles came packed with remixes that were often superior to the original album version — just check Pete Rock’s impressive version of K-Solo’s “Letterman” for proof. It was a cornucopia of thrills that marked the beginning of the second half of what’s now known as the “golden era,” when the genre’s greatest peaks and tragedies were just beyond the horizon.