HIP-HOP PREVIEWWu-Tang Again and Again
Method Man storms the charts with his new album while the RZA introduces his alter ego, Bobby Digital.H.V. CLAYTOR JR.
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Tical 2000: Judgement Day
Method Man
(Def Jam)
RZA as Bobby Digital in Stereo
RZA
(Gee Street)
"Now if you want beef then bring the ruckus/Wu-Tang Clan ain't nuttin' to fuck wit'," the RZA spit in 1993, a warning of what was to come from the rhyme slangers from Staten Island. Since then, the Wu-Tang Clan has become a dominant force not only in hip-hop but in the entire record industry, establishing commercial success with three platinum and five gold albums in a five-year period.Three weeks ago, Mariah Carey, Whitney Houston, Jewel, Seal and Garth Brooks brought the ruckus, releasing what their record companies hoped would be holiday blockbusters. Brooks' Double Live sold over a million copies, setting a new record for first-week sales. Without anything like Brooks' concert specials on CBS or his exposure on the Nashville Network or even regular rotation on mainstream radio stations, Wu-Tang's Method Man caught the pop superstars by surprise when his sophomore album, Tical 2000: Judgement Day, pulled into the No. 2 spot behind Brooks.
Method Man is the most personable member of the Wu-Tang Clan, blossoming into a legit hip-hop star recognized by folks outside the culture. Donald Trump has a brief moment on the joint, and Janet Jackson's ghetto-girl skit is a trip. Ed Lover and Chris Rock drop witty routines, poking fun at Meth's many aliases (John Blaze, Iron Lung, the Panty Raider, Ticallion Stallion, Mr. H-O-T, et al.).
These high-profile guests confirm the mainstream appeal of Method Man, yet the overall gutter content of Tical 2000 is not for the fragile pop ear. The beats produced by the Wu-Elements are as dirty as ever, and the lyrics of Meth and his many guests ain't too clean either. Producers from outside the WTC, Erick Sermon and Havoc, contribute dope beats to the album, especially on Havoc's "Play IV Keeps." The Track Masters' "Break Ups 2 Make Ups" is the nicest song on the joint, a stinging tale about Method Man's ex-girlfriend that features D'Angelo crooning the hook. The RZA-produced "Retro Godfather" has a radio-friendly beat, but Meth's verses aimed at the many wick-wick-wack MCs would never pass FCC regulations.
Maybe censors should have checked RZA as Bobby Digital in Stereo. The RZA's first solo album is by far the foulest material to come from the Wu-Tang Clan. Everybody has a little freak in 'em, and the piously reserved head of the Wu-Tang breaks out into the uncivilized Bobby Digital, a crazy, whoring, wild-ass heathen. Four extra songs are included on Bobby Digital, and new listeners should begin with them to hear the RZA in his normal steelo. The rest of the joint is gritty audio pornography, a crassly intelligent, well-crafted verbal excursion into the dark side.
The beauty of the album lies in the production, as to be expected from the RZA, one of the better, if not the best, beatheads in the game. He demonstrates to all the cats coming up how to maximize the musical output of synthesizers, layering various tracks with heavy bass, snappy snares, piano pluckings and a digital orchestra. "N.Y.C. Everything" is surely bangin' away in clubs back East with its compelling rhythm and Method Man letting loose ("Can't forget Bobby/if I did I'd feel gypped/like my sandwich ain't a sandwich without Miracle Whip"). The dancehall rumble of "Terrorist," featuring Killarmy and Black Knights, is a first for the RZA, and the comtemplative melody of "Domestic Violence" sets the tone for the deep psychological examination of domestic abuse.
RZA as Bobby Digital is the blueprint for how beats are going to be made in the future, while Tical 2000: Judgement Day invents a brilliant formula for digging into the deep pockets of the mainstream consumer without selling out. The Wu-Tang Clan are the trendsetters in hip-hop, and they have blessed headz with a glimpse into the future. That's my word--all y'all gulping down hater-ade need to stop and do the knowledge. The Wu still ain't nothin' to fuck wit'.
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Willamette Week | originally published December 9, 1998