I bought a new copy of Wu-Tang Forever for $30 in 1997. They were definitely price gouging us out here in the boonies. I kept that in rotation for about a decade before someone snatched it. By then, every word was gospel.
I bought a new copy of Wu-Tang Forever for $15 in 2021. That shit was mint. It still had that old school white label over the top, retail-ready. Manufactured back when Bill Clinton was still President, an ancient oddysey written through warehouses across America, forklift accidents, retail shrinkage, chain store death spirals, inventory liquidation sales, flea markets and independent record stores. Currently beat to shit by years of long drives, those two CDs still bump in a Bush-era used vehicle on backroads throughout Vermont & Maine. We live in a young old world.
Back around 2005, I knew a regional rapper who had sold ten thousand units through Best Buy. At the time, I thought that seemed improbable. Much of this life is like that: exactly how it seems. Years later, weaned off of both cocaine & alcohol but still stoned before noon, he explained that he had a high school friend at corporate who signed off on the order, an inside job. None of them sold, though, and he got into minor legal trouble once it came time to talk returns & refunds. He had bigger problems, then and now. He also still has all those CDs, in clean new Pelican cases no less, stacked up in his garage. Retail-ready. Only one box was ever opened.
The whole industry is like that: horseshit & smoke. Attempts to revolutionize the game mostly amounted to promotional stunts, like Nipsey Hussle slanging that thousand dollar mixtape. We lost the war a long time ago. Music consumers were herded into the digital enclosure of the streaming era to be milked, monthly. Instead of cooking the Billboard charts by moving physical product around, now label machines just keep data centers full of bot accounts to run those “Album-Equivalent Unit” numbers up. It’s a system that works.
It’s not a system capable of creating art, though, and that gets more obvious every year. There have been many attempts at replicating the Wu-Tang formula but none have succeeded; at least not anywhere close to that same level of global cultural impact. The vast, cocaine-powered photocopier at the heart of the music business is just like servers running Midjourney or ChatGPT, supercomputers going insane on their own meaningless feedback loops. From New York to Los Angeles to London, these major label moguls are washed, utterly. The only metrics they have left are the numbers they faked in the first place. Everywhere they turn, the signal is garbage. They will die perplexed.
Meanwhile, Shaolin carved out a singular spot. They stand alone amongst ongoing cultural negotiations about Biggie & Pac, Nas & Jay, coasts & styles. The Wu is beyond debate, beyond geography, beyond English. They have a secret album that’s changed hands three times now, from media villain to Federal custody to some shady non-profit, and somehow it still hasn’t leaked. Almost makes you wonder if that Snowden guy was really on the level.
It’s a cliche to say that Wu-Tang Forever changed my life 27 years ago, but think about how insane that is: that this improbable & impenetrable double LP could have altered the course of so many lives that it became a cliche, a running joke, another T-shirt at Hot Topic. Peoria, Illinois remains a reliable barometer as America goes, but they know about the Wu-Tang Clan in motherfucking Tibet. There is no parallel.
While there is nothing else in their catalog equal to their finest hour, it’s not like anyone involved fell off. Shit, even Cappadonna and Killah Priest are better than ever. In an era where living legends only surface at award shows & Illuminati parties, we’ve got Method Man, Inspectah Deck, Ghostface Killah and Raekwon out here dropping killer verses every year, still holding their own with some of the greatest rappers alive. The monks from the 36 Chambers have been nothing but honorable.
We raise a toast to Valhalla. From ’93 til ’24, The W has been the north star, unchanging. Nobody else has exemplified the raw authentic potential of this music better.
In closing, let me voice one appeal to heaven. The Wu-Tang Clan should exert their power more in 2025. As the Old Testament teaches, an important part of Godhood is occasionally burning entire cities to the ground in order to make a point. Jay is too corporate and Nas is too small. Only the Wu can enforce the kind of severe penalty these industry clowns need. Kill them all. Please.