The Game: LAX

There are plenty of

reasons to hate The Game: the cheap nostalgia and stupid beefs, the

glorification of gang-banging, the cynical exploitation of his stint in a coma

after being shot (that's gangsta!), the constant toadying up to mentor Dr. Dre,

the gratuitous name-dropping, his love of G-funk clichés. There's only one

reason to like The Game: With invaluable assists from top producers, he's

turned out two very respectable albums of retro-minded gangsta rap.

Only three major-label

albums into his career, The Game has already appropriated the angst of rap's

most beloved icons. With a surplus of chutzpah, the Compton rapper compares his

pain to that of Nelson Mandela ("Letter To The King") and tries to out-suffer

Jesus, complaining on "My Life" of being "hated on so much, Passion Of

Christ need

a sequel." (On the same track, Lil Wayne gets his T-Pain on, crooning the

hook.) On the melodramatic "Never Can Say Goodbye," The Game triples his

tributes by rapping from the perspective of 2Pac, Notorious B.I.G., and Eazy E. The Game spends

so much time feeling sorry for himself and bemoaning the fate of rap martyrs

that it seems utterly redundant for him to name a song "Game's Pain." As on

previous albums, the highlights come mostly from the guest list: "Let Us Live"

memorably pairs a slinky Scott Storch beat with Chrisette Michele's breathy

cooing and one of Game's most raspily authoritative performances. Kanye West

production and a Common verse give "Angel" a touch of class. And Ludacris

steals "Ya Heard" with the album's sole blast of humor. The Game has always

borrowed from the greats. Here, he cannibalizes his own tired shtick so

extensively, he lapses even further into self-parody.