rap, which finally propelled black misery to the top of the charts, a new trap revealed itself: When authenticity is everything, musical evolution is actively discouraged. In hip-hop, the beats have grown steadily junkier, and the wit and dexterity of a rapper's flow matter much less than his street credibility. "I'm not a rapper," the nation's top rapper, Jay-Z, informs his fans in a typical aside. "I'm a hustler/ It just so happens I can rap." But Jay-Z's continued success is an anomaly; more representative is the career of Dr. Dre, who kick-started gangsta rap in 1992 with his album The Chronic. His 1996 follow-up, The Aftermath, went easy on the gangsta stylings and showcased his work as a producer (he's the best in the business). The recordflopped. So he put out Chronic 2001, which returned to the virtues of throat-slitting, drug-dealing, and pimping. It sold well into the millions and was heralded as a return to form. Given this musical climate, the very existence of a group like OutKast—an Atlanta duo that released its greatest hits compilation earlier this month—is more than an anomaly; it's something of a miracle.

OutKast's Big Boi (aka Daddy Fat Sax, aka Antwon Patton) and Dre (aka Andre 3000, aka Andre Benjamin) first got together in their early teens, after trying to best one another in a local cutting contest. They released their first single, "Players Ball," in the winter of 1993, while Big Boi was still a high-school student and Dre a recent dropout. The song, about a New-Year's-party-cum-pimp's-convention,