On her second album, recently reissued for its 20th anniversary, the lone woman of Ruff Ryders took the reins and made the loudest statement of her career.
Eve’s debut album cover emphasizes her crew’s name and her position in bold type: “Ruff Ryders’ First Lady” looms right above her paw-print chest tattoos. More than just their resident woman, though, she was easily their most versatile member, a hardcore softie adaptable enough to perform beside street cliques like Cash Money or with pop acts like Nelly and Jessica Simpson on a TRL tour. Her range made her marketable, but what Eve really offered for women in rap was proof of dimension. All she wanted for her second album was the freedom to show it.
Though in interviews at the time, Eve danced around calling herself a feminist, Scorpion is one of the most explicit pro-woman declarations in rap. “My goal is to be known as a strong independent woman who stands up for what she believes in, who stands for something other than taking your money or having you pay my bills,” she told XXL in 2001. “I’m Eve, and there’s no man in the world who can ever speak or try and write (for me).” Mass-appeal party records like “Who’s That Girl?” and “Let Me Blow Ya Mind” double and triple as power anthems and kiss-offs that affirm Eve as a multifaceted, enterprising rapper, singer, and pop star with a high emotional IQ. The cover image fittingly blends three shots of Eve: a front-facing, a profile, and a closeup of one eye gazing outward.
Within a few years of her debut, Philly’s self-professed “pitbull in a skirt” had gone double platinum and become only the third female rapper to earn a No. 1 album. She began scoring invites to fashion events like the Chanel boutique opening and invested in stock. She had enough income at then-22 to buy a house for her mom and one for herself: a lavish three-bedroom in New Jersey that was soon occupied by a live-in boyfriend, Steven “Stevie J” Jordan, a member of Bad Boy’s unstoppable Hitmen production squad who’s now better known as a sleazy reality TV player. Eve’s own real-life intersecting conflicts—her work ambitions, love spats, and efforts toward self-sufficiency—exist in equilibrium on the album.
Media celebrated Scorpion as Eve’s declaration of independence; The New York Beacon ran a review under the actual headline “You Go, Girl!” And in fairness, the first half is a total coming-out party amped up by call-and-response records like “Cowboy,” where Eve methodically lists her achievements and lays out future ones. As Swizz Beatz plays hypeman over his typically exuberant production on “Got What You Need,” Eve cautions women to demand more of aspiring ballers, ending her first verse with a shrug: “If he actin’ cheap then, fuck him, you ain’t need that.” Her flow is relentless and newly melodic across the album—she harmonizes and sings most of the hooks, and proves herself more than capable.
The album’s timeless centerpiece, lead single “Who’s That Girl?” starts with a rhythm that evokes Morse Code: nine short horn bleats, the ninth note elongated, then two quick ones, and the cycle repeats before the beat hardens into a vibrant Mardi Gras-style collision of bells and bass, all produced by Teflon. (The deluxe reissue comes with three additional remixes, the best being a dreamy, mellowed-out version by C.L.A.S.) In this one song, Eve raps enough affirmations to adorn a SheEO merch line. The lyrics might sound like empty slogans in a post-girlboss world, but in Eve’s voice, they become smooth mantras. She can fend for herself financially (“Eve want her own cash, fuck what you bought her”), that she has influence (“Power moves is made every day by this thorough bitch”), and the world is her oyster (“Bottom line, my world, my way, any questions?”). In “You Ain’t Gettin’ None,” she entertains lust for a guy while making it clear that the decision to go further is hers. “Should I give in? Ready to open my garage/And let you park in the dark,” she raps, later deciding, “Dinner was lovely, but I really gotta go.”
When Eve brags about writing her own rhymes on “Let Me Blow Ya Mind,” it’s both a boast and a reality check: this is a job, and songwriting earns her royalties. Dr. Dre’s workhorse beat pairs with breezy Scott Storch keys to produce a classic pop-rap earworm. It was Eve’s idea to collaborate with Gwen Stefani, who later said Dre was so hard on her in the studio that she cried afterward. The meta-hit about the power of a hit song somehow only peaked at No. 2 on the Billboard Hot 100 but won the Grammy’s first-ever Rap/Sung Collaboration award, solidifying Eve as a household name. The album reissue adds a summery Stargate remix that underscores how well the original beat amplifies Eve’s swagger.
As always, her music lands firmly on the side of scorned women. Stevie J appears on Scorpion as both a rose and a thorn in her life; he figured prominently in her interviews at the time. (In a Rolling Stone profile in 2001, he gauchely reveals Eve’s spending habits, claiming, “She spent a hundred grand real quick.”) The couple’s on-again, off-again tension manifests in a skit and a breakup anthem, “You Had Me, You Lost Me,” where Eve sounds legitimately fed up as she vents about the audacity of a cheating partner. “You fucked around and played around and now you’re feeling sad,” she croons in the chorus above a dub of herself singing the familiar playground taunt “na-na-na-na.” Ironically, Eve had reunited with Stevie by the time the album dropped, making the song’s heartfelt fury more relatably tragic. The song lives on as a document of her growing pains.
Scorpion’s backend is a collection of boutique collaborations meant to showcase Eve’s range: a laid-back reggae cut featuring Stephen and Damian Marley sits alongside a duet with soul legend Teena Marie about resilience. The records feel like icing on an already decadent cake, but they’re the sum of Eve’s parts that helped her step so fluidly into pop on her own terms. On the crew anthems—a staple on all her albums—labelmates DMX, Drag-On, and The Lox appear as shadows in her journey and risk eclipsing her message even as they line her path toward independence with flowers. Solidarity is nice. But at that point, she didn’t need the backup.
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