Pitchfork

There's a strain of nostalgia that Civil War recreationists and classic rock devotees often fall victim to, in which they cling to sugar-coated perceptions of the past in a desperate attempt to stave off the horrible present. The things they froth over are decades and millennia old, lending credence and legitimacy to the subject of their devotion. And then there's Westside Connection, whose second album longs for the halcyon days of 1992, when bitches were bitches, tricks were tricks, and rags and gats were the coin of the realm.

Which is odd, really, since Terrorist Threats is an album that also celebrates post-9/11 terminology. Osama bin Laden and the Taliban are name-dropped alongside 911 and Saddam, while members Ice Cube, Mack 10 and WC giddily assert themselves as old-school terrorists who pose a bigger threat than al-Qaeda, Hamas, and Hezbollah combined. Opening with a ominous Keith David-esque narration that lets you know you're in for a very serious experience, the album's first song, "Call 9-1-1", quickly slips into traditional gangsta-rap fare, with politics running a distant second. On songs like "Terrorist Threats" and "Lights Out", the trio refer to themselves as "the young Osama with that al-Qaeda drama," and more impressively, "Saddam, bin Laden and O.J. in a Chevy."

But rather than confronting the endless ammunition of a Patriot Act world, Westside Connection prefer to look backwards. In the world of Terrorist Threats, the drive-bys and color wars of early 90s L.A. are still great fodder, while the more topical 50 Cent and 911 just make for good rhyme schemes and half-hearted stabs at controversy. The soundtrack is perfect for a throwback. With a batch of producers from longtime Cube collaborator Sir Jinx to new darlings Midi Mafia, the album is equal parts G- and P-Funk. Even Nate Dogg shows up to croon on "Gangsta Nation", the album's most infectious track.

Terrorist Threats delivers on the challenges Westside Connection throws out to the softer new-school, with clever verbal feints and menacing rolls. In fact, most of this record would be great if not for its overarching lack of currency. In the early 90s, the record would have made a nice snapshot of gangsta rap in its prime, but coming out 10 years late, it offers no revelations-- hearing three renowned professionals defy innovation and return to their already well-traveled ground tends to suck the joy out of even this album's most compelling moments.

Given that Ice Cube helped change the face of rap music a decade ago with N.W.A. and his first two solo records, his new move from the streets of Compton to the policies of Washington comes as something of a disappointment. Here, his output's gradual decline sadly culminates in what amounts to a retread of his career, "Bop Gun" and all. In the years since gangsta's birth, rap has made huge, evolutionary leaps; it's a shame that Westside Connection haven't.