It sounds utterly bizarre on paper. A coke-rap collective from the bowels of New York, who are absolutely obsessed with eastern Kung-Fu flicks, to the point of taking their monikers directly from the heroes and villains of Shaolin.
I mean, what? It sounds like a latter-day Spike TV cartoon series, or a particularly awful Warriors gang. But somehow, the Wu-Tang Clan has become one of Hip-Hop’s most pious kindred. It’s incredibly rare for solo careers to match the lustrous divinity of the mother project, but RZA, GZA, Ghostface Killah, Ol’ Dirty Bastard, Raekwon, Masta Killa and Inspectah Deck are responsible for some of the most essential recordings in rap’s brief history. Even U-God’s unassisted records are alright!
With the recent expectation-smashing (in a good way!) release of Raekwon’s Only Built 4 Cuban Linx Part 2, we’re taking a look back on our personal favorite albums from the Wu over their tri-decade subsistence, in further reinforcement that they are, were, and will continue to be, nothing to fuck with.
Masta Killa - No Said Date
It makes sense that we start this list with someone as under-appreciated as Masta Killa. The Wu-Tang Clan have always been a very ‘sum-of-parts’ institution, and to be fair, even on his debut solo record Killah was overshadowed by gloriously pissed-off verses from Ghostface and Raekwon. But the sheer completeness of No Said Date is undeniable.
For an album released in 2004, No Said Date is deliciously retro. It came at a time where the Wu was looking more like a caricature of mid-90s sensibilities rather than a conquering force in the hip-hop community, and it managed to remind us all why we idolized these capricious emcees in the first place. Masta Killa flows like he’s still mired in the 36 Chambers, unaffected by his alleged cred or marginalized position. Sixteen straight-up, no nonsense hip-hop songs; it's something from which a lot of rappers could learn a lesson.
GZA – Liquid Swords
Probably the most enigmatic member of the group, GZA’s drifty, disengaged style and thesaurus-rivaling vocabulary jostled the rap world in 1994 with the release of Liquid Swords. A masterpiece in atmosphere, Liquid Swords features some of the RZA’s most elusive production to date; (the unsettling parlance of the title track and the musty brass of “I Gotcha Back” standing out in particular) while GZA slowly unravels couplet after couplet of major-league catchphrases. “Where money don’t grow on trees/ and there’s thieving MC’s/ who cut throat to rake leaves.”
Liquid Swords is an achievement of limpidity. Though understated in execution, it surreptitiously slithers into your psyche, playfully teasing your synapses before vanishing into the yonder. It’s a record that knows exactly what it wants to do, and hits its target with unrivaled precision. They don’t call him The Genius for nothing.
Ol’ Dirty Bastard – Return to the 36 Chambers: The Dirty Version
Hip-Hop will probably never see another figure like Ol’ Dirty Bastard. Although his champions Lil' Wayne and Busta Rhymes try to carry his bereaved mantle of weirdness, no one can ever come close to the sheer irregularity of ODB’s groove.
The Dirty Version remains the primary artifact of the Bastard’s style, and fifteen years later it’s a little melancholy to listen to the deceased emcee fly off the handle as compellingly as he did in ’95. He doesn’t stop for anything - drugs, money, cheap times or no-good women. His flow fights uphill, relentlessly, across all seventeen tracks. And how could we not mention that cover image? Ol’ Dirty Bastard’s furry mug across his actual food card – it only adds to the transparency of his determination. The Dirty Version stands as a retrospective testament to one of hip-hop’s most uncanny and consistently inventive ringmasters.
Raekwon – Only Built 4 Cuban Linx...
The astonishing brilliance of Raekwon’s potentially hare-brained sequel, Only Built 4 Cuban Linx...Pt. 2 was one of 2009’s most delightful surprises. In an era of gimmick-rap, lazy production, and jerking, it came as a prestigious affirmation for the immortal relevance of storytelling and savvy lyricism. These seeds were, of course, planted by the amaranthine and influential prequel, Only Built 4 Cuban Linx...
Unlike its introspective cousin Liquid Swords, Only Built 4 Cuban Linx... has no problem with grandiloquence. Its hour and a half orbit sprawls across a legion of heavenly choirs, austere horns and similar RZA-isms, with a healthy grip of Wu-Tangers throwing heat on crime, punishment, coke addictions, and mob wars – it’s almost a little exhausting in scope. Raekwon created on of rap’s first thinking-man’s deep-concept album, and it requires endurance and sonic perseverance to get through in one sitting. It’s one of hip-hop’s most difficult yet incredibly rewarding albums.
Method Man – Tical
To put it lightly, 36 Chambers is a pretty hard act to follow - after all, it’s widely considered to be one of the most important relics in hip-hop and is responsible for the general evolution of Gangsta Rap to this very day. But all that exaltation helps make Method Man’s Tical an even a bigger triumph than it already is.
Coming barely a year after the reverberating impact of the Wu’s debut, Method Man’s outlandish flow and heedless lexicon separated him from his compatriots. While the rest of the clansmen released solo records bevy with guest verses from depths of the Wu-Tang, Method Man's solo debut is almost entirely singular. Save for the eruptive duet with Raekwon on “Meth vs. Chef,” Tical is purely a Method Man effort. Pumped full of amniotic sleaze and cosmic eccentricities, it’s a deeply deranged album and one worth revisiting time and time again.
Ghostface Killah - Supreme Clientele
Ghostface has enjoyed a hefty amount of adoration during his solo career. Throughout the last decade he’s released a prolific seven albums, each garnering a respectable amount of commercial and critical acclaim. Even his R&B album wasn’t too bad! However, the true renaissance of Ghostface came in January of 2000, where, amidst a dwindling East Coast rap scene and an aloof, hermitical RZA, he dropped the still-shining Supreme Clientele.
One track in and you know you’ve entered unfamiliar territory. Ghost’s breathless, whirlwind prose seems to coast almost unintentionally, as if excavated from the filthy corners of Manhattan. The impossibly dense production slides along with impeccable grace, like a final conclusion to the dusty cheerlessness of the 36 Chambers. It's a record that resists categorization with ease, and something that represents the effortless innovation of one of rap's most influential groups.
