Snoop Dogg

Calvin Broadus Jr. has been famous for more than three decades and beloved for most of them. Snoop Dogg — the Long Beach rapper with the drawl that changed hip-hop, the entrepreneur who bought the label that made him, the NBC Olympics correspondent who stole Paris — is the rare star who keeps reinventing without ever losing the plot. The voice stayed the same. Everything else kept moving.

It started in 1992, when Dr. Dre needed a voice. Snoop's appearance on Dre's debut single “Deep Cover” introduced the most imitated flow in rap history — the lazy, melodic, behind-the-beat cadence that made every line sound like it was being thought of for the first time. He stole The Chronic outright (“Nuthin' but a 'G' Thang,” “Let Me Ride”), and then came Doggystyle. Released in November 1993 on Death Row Records, it debuted at number one on the Billboard 200 — the first debut album ever to do so — and went quadruple platinum. “Gin and Juice” and “What's My Name?” weren't just hits; they were the sound of G-funk going global.

What followed was one of the longest careers in the genre's history. Roughly twenty solo albums, from Doggystyle to 2024's Missionary — the long-awaited full reunion with Dr. Dre, the first time Dre had produced a complete Snoop album since the debut. In between: R&G (Rhythm & Gangsta) gave him his first and only Hot 100 number one with “Drop It Like It's Hot” (2004), plus the Pharrell-produced “Beautiful.” There were detours that would have sunk a lesser artist and only deepened this one — the reggae reinvention as Snoop Lion for 2013's Reincarnated, the gospel album Bible of Love (2018), and a collaboration list that reads like a map of popular music: Katy Perry's “California Gurls,” Wiz Khalifa's “Young, Wild & Free,” “The Next Episode” with Dre. Sixteen Grammy nominations, a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, and a catalog that plays at weddings and cookouts in every time zone.

The most poetic chapter of the business story came in February 2022, when Snoop bought Death Row Records — the label that had released his debut, the house that Dre, Suge Knight, and The D.O.C. built — from MNRK Music Group. The artist who had once been paid a fraction of what his records earned now controlled the catalog itself. His first move was pure provocation: he pulled the Death Row catalog off the major streaming services, saying the platforms “don't pay,” and floated the idea of his own app. The music eventually returned, but the point was made. Then came the publishing play — in September 2024, Snoop and Death Row signed a deal with Reservoir Media covering his entire catalog and Death Row's publishing, including 2Pac's “Hail Mary” and “I Ain't Mad At Cha.” Owning the label is where the long-term money in rap sits, and Snoop finally owned his.

The second act has been television, streaming, and sheer cultural ubiquity. Martha & Snoop's Potluck Dinner Party (2016–2020) paired him with Martha Stewart in one of the great odd-couple shows — and it worked because the friendship was real. GGN, his Double G News Network talk show, brought the smoke-room energy to interviews. His Twitch channel turned Madden streams into hangout television. He took the stage at the Super Bowl LVI halftime show in 2022 — an Emmy-winning performance in his hometown stadium — and in September 2024 he debuted as a coach on NBC's The Voice.

Then Paris happened. Hired by NBC as a special correspondent for the 2024 Summer Olympics, Snoop became the breakout star of the Games: cheering dressage like a man possessed, carrying the Olympic torch through the Paris suburbs, showing up at every venue in custom outfits, closing out the Games at the ceremony. He won two Sports Emmys for the coverage, and NBC brought him back for the Milan Cortina Winter Olympics in 2026. A man once known for controversy had become America's favorite uncle — the rare rapper who belongs everywhere, in commercials and the Puppy Bowl and primetime sports.

The empire runs deeper than the screen. There's the cannabis business — Leafs by Snoop and a sprawling portfolio of brands — the food products, the endorsement deals, the media ventures. And since 2005, the Snoop Youth Football League has given thousands of kids in Southern California a team to play for, a quieter legacy than the platinum plaques but maybe the one that matters most.

Three decades in, the trick is obvious: Snoop never chased the moment. He let the moments come to him — G-funk, the streaming era, the Olympics — and met each one with the same unhurried voice and the same grin. The mainstream didn't change him; he changed what the mainstream allows.

Previously covers Snoop Dogg because the legend keeps evolving and the blueprint keeps working: stay yourself, own your masters, and never, ever rush the delivery. Fo shizzle — the stream's live.