S. H. Fernando Jr. - From the Streets of Shaolin: The Wu-Tang Saga

I smoke on the mic like Smokin Joe Frasier / The Hellraiser, raising hell with the flavor. When Inspectah Deck launched into his iconic opening lines from Protect Ya Neck during a 2018 Wu-Tang Clan performance on Jimmy Kimmel Live! , I couldnt help but crack a smile and feel the goosebumps rising. The nine MCs gliding smoothly and nonchalantly across the stage, now grown men in their late forties and early fifties, were still doing itmaybe not with as much gusto as twenty-five years earlier, but the ecstatic crowd was loving it, and so was I. Flashbacks of the Clans record release party at New Yorks Webster Hall in November 1993the world premiere of these grimy, young upstarts from the mysterious shores of Staten Islandreplayed in my mind. Like a title bout, the place was packed to the rafters with industry types and media, along with a colorful assortment of playas, hustlers, floozies, and a whos who of New Yorks hip-hop massive, who turned out to fete the crew behind Protect, a breakout street hit that had dominated raps collective consciousness for most of the year. As Wu-Tang swarmed the stage with what seemed like half their housing projects, no one even knew who was in the group until they started rhyming. No question, they brought one hell of a ruckus that night, putting Staten Island, or Shaolin, as they called it, on the map. Their unveiling also marked the beginning of a new chapter in hip-hopthe Wu era.

Emerging from New Yorks forgotten borough, the original nine-man collective hit like a Scud missile with Enter the Wu-Tang: 36 Chambers (Loud/RCA, 1993), an explosive debut that permanently altered the rap landscape. Hijacking the charts with a raw, underground sound and storming the gates of the music industry like Attilas hordes, the Clan kept on coming with an unrelenting assault of solo releases that furthered their choke hold on rap between 1993 and 1997. Today, with over forty million records sold worldwide, music attests to only part of their epic saga. At this point, its fair to say they have even transcended the rap game, claiming their place in the cultural zeitgeist.

Man for man, the nine unique personalities of Wu-Tang, each oozing with witty, unpredictable talent and natural game, composed an all-star lineup never before seen in hip-hop. But the chemistry they exhibited as a team was what made them truly special. Commercial success almost overshadowed the fact that one of the main reasons they received so much love was that they represented the underdog everywhere, defying insurmountable odds to make it to the top. Even their whole DIY approach, which was grass roots and underground, made their impact on the mainstream all the more impressive. For generations of youth who grew up under the full sway of hip-hop in the seventies, eighties, and nineties, they are our equivalent of the Beatles or the Rolling Stones.

The Clan first appeared on my radar in October 1992, before Protect Ya Neck started tearing up the underground. After a year of barrio living in Manhattans Spanish Harlem while working on my masters degree at the Columbia School of Journalism, I had just made the move to Williamsburg, Brooklynat the time, a Shangri-la of artists, eccentrics, and delinquents, all drawn by the immense but affordable industrial spaces. One night, a college buddy, Jon Shecter, came over to check out the new digs. Along with fellow classmate Dave Mays, he had started hip-hops premier publication, The Source , which gave me my first byline. Coming straight from the new Source offices on lower Broadway, Shecter brought a cassette that had him pretty hyped. After rolling up the requisite blunt, we popped in the tape, and I heard those iconic karate chops that open Protect Ya Neck for the first of what was to be many times.

Over a galloping kick and snare beat, RZA cut up the siren-like saxophone wail that opened The Grunt by the J.B.sthe same iconic sample that powered Public Enemys classic Rebel Without a Pauseto sinister effect. Random stabs of a guitar riff from LL Cool Js classic Rock the Bells added some unexpected rock n roll swagger. Above the glorious mayhem, eight MCs with distinctly different styles and flows battled for our attention in a nonstop lyrical assault, uninterrupted by hooks. We had to rewind the tape a few more times to even catch some of their witty, intricate wordplay, which was heavy on the slang.

A couple of months later, in January 1993, Kid Capri played Protect Ya Neck for the first time on his mix show on WBLS. No doubt underground faves Stretch and Bobbito on WKCR and Funkmaster Flex on Hot 97 also helped break the single to a wider audience, but New Yorks urban commercial powerhouse playing an independent release from a then-unknown, unsigned group proved to be a game changer for this ragtag outfit from Staten Island. Upon hearing Protect Ya Neck on the radio for the first time, Raekwon the Chef, who stands about five foot five, reportedly jumped so high, he almost hit his head on the ceiling. He probably had no idea that his life and those of his fellow clansmen and their families would never be the same again. Of course, neither would the world of music.

The opening salvo in the Wu revolution lit up the airwaves across the Rotten Apple. The antithesis of the slick, smooth-sounding G-funk of Dr. Dre and his disciples on the West Coast who dominated commercial radio and the charts, Wu-Tangs gritty basement sound recalled hip-hops halcyon days. With roots reaching back into the Bronx bedrock, they were reclaiming rap for the city that started it all. You always knew what was hot on the streets from the sounds booming out of passing SUVs, and Protect Ya Neck ricocheted across the concrete canyons of Gotham like an emergency broadcast from hell. Taking a page from the DIY punk rock manual, as well as their own checkered past, the group pressed the single themselves, pushing it on the streets like a controlled substance. Well acquainted with the drug game, they applied that same kind of hustle to flipping product and moving units. By the time they got rid of that initial run of two thousand records, the major labels came calling.

Of course, Wu mastermind RZA had a plan. He had already been burned once by the music industry after being briefly signed and dropped as a solo artist by Tommy Boy. To do battle again in that cutthroat biz, he needed the support of his whole team. At the same time, he was aware that one record deal wouldnt be enough to feed everyone. RZAs genius, then, was signing the group as a single entity while retaining the rights to sign each individual member to solo deals with other labelsa practice unheard of at the time. It took a fairly new, unproven imprint called Loud Records to agree to such terms, but they paid the group only $60,000, a relative pittance by the standards of the day. The autonomy and creative control that RZA secured in return, however, to fully realize his vision proved to be priceless. Few records of that time can compare with 36 Chambers raw, dusted aesthetic, which in drug parlance represented that pure, uncut dope.