photo: john sears · cc by-sa 4.0 ↗Anderson .Paak (born Brandon Paak Anderson) grew up the only boy among three sisters in a Southern Baptist household in Oxnard, California, learning drums in church at 10 — "you're dealing with the Holy Spirit! God's working through your hands!" he's said of it. Both parents were incarcerated before he finished high school; he drummed for rent money at his hometown church into his twenties, then was briefly homeless with his pregnant wife before Sa-Ra Creative Partners' Shafiq Husayn took him in. A NxWorries single, "Suede," reached Dr. Dre, who put Paak on six songs of Compton (2015), signed him to Aftermath, and later executive-produced Oxnard (2018). Solo albums Venice (2014) and Malibu (2016) built a fusion of funk, soul and hip-hop around his own drumming — a one-man case that the kit and the mic can share a body.
In elementary school show-and-tell, while classmates brought in teddy bears, Paak brought in Dr. Dre — memorizing "Dre Day" and "Nuthin' but a 'G' Thang" well enough to perform them for a bewildered class. "His music was everything to me," he told Rolling Stone in 2018. "It molded me." A second interview, for the Showtime documentary Word Is Bond, doubles down: coming up, he says, "I was influenced by Snoop and Dre. There was nothing bigger than that." Years before Dre became his mentor and boss, he was already the standard.
listen forPlay "Nuthin' but a 'G' Thang" first — that whining synth lead and the unhurried, lean-back groove of Dre's Chronic-era G-funk. Then put on "Tints," the Oxnard single featuring Kendrick Lamar that Dre executive-produced: the same loping, bass-heavy pocket is there, but Paak sings through it as much as he raps, his live band thickening what was once a drum machine into something closer to a groove you'd two-step to.
Paak names the moment outright: "I remember when D'Angelo came out it fucking hit me like a ton of bricks," he told Songs for Whoever in 2016. "Everybody was making this cheesy R&B and then he comes and just smacks you in the head with some super soul shit, laid back." It isn't a passing comparison — he's placed himself, half-joking, "right before Prince and a little after D'Angelo" in his own private lineage. Malibu is the album where that debt surfaces loudest: gospel testify over a groove that refuses to hurry.
listen forCue up "Chicken Grease" — the beat lands behind where you expect it, D'Angelo's falsetto mumbling instead of enunciating, the whole track sounding like it's dragging its feet on purpose. Then play Paak's Malibu ballad "Silicon Valley": the same unhurried pocket, a vocal that slides and slurs rather than snapping to the grid, guitar and keys left loose enough to breathe. Neither song is in a hurry to resolve, and that patience is the inheritance.
Paak came to J Dilla late — "I was a late learner to Dilla and that whole scene," he told Apple Music's Zane Lowe in 2020, "and then when I got older and got into Dilla, it was like that's all I wanted to listen to." The catch-up became tribute: as half of NxWorries, his duo with producer Knxwledge, Paak sang a lyric lifted straight from Dilla's "Won't Do" into their own song "Sidepiece" — a duo he's called "a pre-homage to the old Stones Throw tradition," the label most associated with Dilla's beat-tape era.
listen forPlay Dilla's "Won't Do" first: his voice, half-sung and slurred, sits just behind a beat that seems to hiccup and drag by design — the lurching, off-grid drum feel that made him legendary among producers. Then cue NxWorries' "Sidepiece," where Paak interpolates one of Dilla's own vocal lines over a Knxwledge beat built from the same loose, sample-warped logic. It's the clearest paper trail in this record: a direct lyrical quotation, not just a shared mood.