But that was then. After making the movie Exit Wounds, DMX is starting to feel his distance from the street. Signaling insecurity, he hauls out his r‚sum‚, insisting, "I can go away for a minute, do some other shit but bounce right back" on the album's first single, "We Right Here," or taunting like a schoolboy: "15 million, nyah nyah nyah-nyah nyah." Yet now he's outside the fray. Instead of tersely reported crime stories such as "One More Road to Cross" or "ATF," DMX falls back on memories and general pronouncements, becoming a commentator instead of a perp. The Lord gets more time than ever. Along with DMX's latest prayer, there's a full-fledged song, "A Minute for Your Son," in which ethereal female voices coo as DMX admits, "I don't wanna run the streets like I used to," and promises to become a preacher.

DMX still has his musical reflexes. Damon "Dame Grease" Blackman, who produced most of the songs, splits the difference between the RZA and Dr. Dre, adding harplike chords and cultivating chorus hooks without clutter. DMX also maintains his hard-rock chops in "I'ma Bang," "Who We Be" and "Bloodline Anthem," overpowering guitar riffs with the distortion box in his throat. Those tracks, and others like "Trina Moe" and the glittering 1970s soul revival (complete with Stephanie Mills) of "When I'm Nuthin'," are definite boombox fodder. But DMX is stuck at the crossroads that confronts every rapper trying to keep it real when reality no longer plays like an action movie. If DMX isn't careful, all that's left of his bite will be his bark.

JON PARELES
(RS 882 - November 22, 2001)

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