Resurrection in the 36 chambers

It's been seven years since, "straight from the slums of Shaolin," the Wu-Tang Clan sliced hip-hop down to its gritty essence with the sharp, tiger-style sword of Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers). With raw rhymes from nine unique MCs and grimy, kung-fu sample-laced beats, the record not only paved the way for 14 Wu solo albums, but gave Mobb Deep, Nas, DMX and uncountable other East Coast acts their chance to shine at a time when G-Funk almost conquered hip-hop. From the drunken rambles of Ol' Dirty Bastard foreshadowing Busta Rhymes, to RZA's sparse basement beats turning into fodder for DMX producer Swizz Beats, the Wu laid out the blueprint for hip-hop to come. But while Wu influence lived on, the Clan itself fell into a collective sophomore slump, beginning with the bloated 1997 double album, Wu-Tang Forever, the diluted work of a crew a little too self-content. The slide continued with weak second albums from Meth, Raekwon, Ol' Dirty and the Genius, as well as Inspectah Deck and RZA's solo debuts, all of which were either too strange, uncohesive, or simply dull to restore faith that "Wu-Tang Clan ain't nothing to fuck with." The W, the Clan's third album, arrives with little of the hype of its second album, amid questions about how many musical heads their blades can really chop. Thankfully, the doubts just make this solid Wu-banger all the more satisfying.

"The Clan is a danger to the public...just to hear their name fills men with hate and loathing," says the kung-fu movie dialogue that begins The W, and from the jingling, choppy "Chamber Music" on Wu-Tang starts to put down the sort of tiger-style rap that made them dangerous. Like some sort of hypothetical hip-hop Beatles reunion, it's a delight just to hear all these MCs put their solo careers aside and rap together again. Recent Wu albums were marred by not being fully produced by RZA; on The W, RZA only lets his disciple Allah Mathematics behind the board for one track—and it works. Whether it's his stilted horn loops on "The Monument" or the quirky yet ridiculously catchy James Bond-like sounds on "Gravel Pit," RZA has a knack for distorting tracks in surprising and head-banging ways.

Unlike previous Wu-Tang records, The W boasts a large number of guest appearances, yielding mixed results. Dancehall singer Junior Reid makes his case for adding an 11th member to the Clan on his two guest spots, especially in the decidedly non-dancehall "One Blood Under W." Nas, who gave one of his finest verses ever on Raekwon's "Verbal Intercourse" is back again on "Let My Niggas Live," and the lyrics are almost tight enough to forgive his last few albums. Less successful are the appearances of Snoop Dogg and Isaac Hayes on "Conditioner" and "I Can't Go To Sleep" respectively. The combination of Snoop and Ol' Dirty Bastard, who sounds like he recorded his verse on speaker phone from his rehab center (which he probably did) is dull—Snoop doesn't seem awkward, he just doesn't belong. "I Can't Go To Sleep" is more compelling, but the wailing, annoying spoken-word shouts of Ghostface Killah and RZA don't add much to the beat, a full jacking of Hayes' "Walk On By."

Though some of its quirks keep it short of classic status and will leave fans thirsting for more, The W is really the second album the Wu-Tang Clan should have made, and marks the return of its dynasty. The Lama and Gung-Fu better protect their necks...(Loud/RCA)

—Josh Drimmer

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