Wu-Tang Clan: 20 Years Later

Yesterday marked the 20th anniversary of one of the most important cultural documents of a generation: the Wu-Tang Clan’s Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers). The album was crafted in a dojo in Staten Island, New York — better known as Shaolin — by a nine-man collective (sorry, Cappadonna) with a staggering amount of talent, and it was released into the world on November 9, 1993. Mystical, lyrical, fantastical, aerobic, hysterical: They were an evolutionary flock of young guns with old souls. To celebrate the group’s debut — which launched a swarm of solo careers, a hive of affiliated artists, a clothing line, a loose philosophy of life, and a few terrible movies — we asked nine Grantland staffers to represent for their favorite member of the Wu, just as they did back in ’93.
Method Man

Chris Ryan: Back when Wu-Tang got big, saying Method Man was your favorite Wu-Tang Clan member was like saying Han Solo was your favorite thing about Star Wars. Like, of course. You almost had to make an exception. “OK, I mean besides Meth, who is your favorite?”

Yeah, the answer is still Method Man. Just like the answer is still Han Solo. Meth was definitely the guy in Wu-Tang Clan who could lean back in his seat, stall a little bit, and smoke Greedo with a smirk on his face. I don’t know if any rapper has ever been so magnetic, let alone while making that magnetism feel so natural. In the years after Enter the Wu-Tang, Raekwon would make better solo albums, Ol’ Dirty Bastard would become a larger cult hero, Ghostface would capture the imaginations of critics, and RZA would become known as the group’s de facto auteur. But Method Man was the star. In a group of rappers who played fast and loose with nicknames and identities, he was the one whose name would be an instantly recognizable song title. “C.R.E.A.M.” was the hit; “Method Man” was the anthem.

If you jumped me in a parking lot and asked me to rap my favorite Method Man line, I’d probably choke. But if you put on a Method Man song, almost any Method Man song — especially anything off Enter, Tical, Wu-Tang Forever, and Blackout! — I’d be able to rap every line.

The Only Wu-Tang Clan Playlist You Will Ever Need

More than 11 hours of essential Wu.

Blessed with one of hip-hop’s greatest voices, Meth used his rasp to squeeze the most blunted charisma out of the most mundane lines. He didn’t rap in bars, he wrapped in hooks. Every stupid line — “Don’t eat Skippy, Jif, or Peter Pan” — became something to scream at the top of your lungs. “Hey you, get off my cloud, you don’t know me and you don’t know my style” doesn’t mean anything, and yet with Meth’s delivery, it’s one of the great opening lines of any rap song.

There’s a reason Meth is the only guest on Ready to Die; he’s the only one who, at the time, could match Biggie’s world-swallowing charisma. That he was able to project that kind of personality while in a group of such wildly varied talents only made his star brighter. One of the great pleasures of Wu-Tang was the way individual talents resonated in the collective. Nobody burned brighter than him.

Ol’ Dirty Bastard

Molly Lambert: Sure, everyone knows how cool and funny and great the Wu-Tang Clan is, but there’s one thing about them that gets lost in the shuffle: They were babes. And if you were into grimy hip-hop in the early ’90s and also had crushes on boys, there’s a pretty good chance you had a crush on the entire Wu-Tang Clan. More like the 36 chambers of my HEART! Now that I’ve ruined Wu-Tang for everyone by comparing them to a boy band, let’s go deeper into that idea. Meth is the obvious heartthrob, Ghostface is the bad boy, RZA is the sensitive one, GZA is the older brother type … are you still reading? Here’s where I admit that I had a huge crush on Ol’ Dirty Bastard, a.k.a. the crazy one. For the same reason somebody arbitrarily prefers the bassist to the lead singer, O.D.B. was always my favorite member of the Wu-Tang Clan.

I can’t really explain it. It doesn’t have to make sense. I loved his voice and his singsong delivery, how close it veered to sounding unhinged. He was the group jester, and I am a sucker for class clowns. Wu-Tang was always funny, but O.D.B. was hilarious. My imaginary connection to O.D.B. continued through the “Fantasy” remix and Shawn Colvin stage-storming phases of his career, and I bawled when he passed on too soon. In one of the coolest crews ever, he was both the Keith Richards and the goof.

Ghostface Killah

Amos Barshad: GHOSTFACE CATCH THE BLAST OF A HYPE VERSE.

Before “Scooby snack, Jurassic plastic gas, booby trap,” before “Call an ambulance, Jamie been shot,” before “I said a Banana Nutrament, man … smart dumb n—– and shit running around here,” there was just GHOSTFACE CATCH THE BLAST OF A HYPE VERSE. Those eight words — followed by a potent little verse that pings between Tricky Dick and Yasser Arafat and David Koresh — kick off “Bring da Ruckus” and the monolith that is 36 Chambers. First the sword blades whirr, then RZA talks his shit, then Pretty Tone sets it off right. GHOSTFACE CATCH THE BLAST OF A HYPE VERSE.

Along with the Wallabee Champ’s many, many triumphs — treating the rules of the English language like something just a tick above well-intentioned suggestions; making slinging crack sound equally harrowing, instructional, and like quite a good bit of fun — this pulls rank. In order for Wu-Tang to be Forever, it must first be birthed. And here it said “Hello world” with a double-barreled shotgun cocked and planted squat between our eyeballs. Blow! Ghostface. Hype verse. Blow spots like Waco, Texas.