

Each member of the group had a Bed-Stuy-meets-Bruce Lee moniker (RZA, GZA, "The Genius," Method Man, Ghostface Killa, Raekwon, Ol' Dirty Bastard, etc.). On it, the world was introduced to the nine Staten-Island-born-and-bred Wu-Tang members, and the brilliance of the Wu-Tang metaphor - grisly ghetto life placed in the context of the ultra-violent world of kung fu movies. The Wu's 1994 debut album, "Enter the 36 Chambers," was a hip-hop masterpiece. But as always, off in the distance there was still the Wu-Tang Clan. And despite the slew of new rap releases, it was starting to look like hip-hop, for all its vigor, emotion and sheer dope style, was on the verge of buckling under its own weight. and the genre's increasingly passionate - albeit mostly disastrous - romance with R&B ("rap and bullshit," according to RZA) only hammered home the point. The shootings of Tupac Shakur and Notorious B.I.G. The sorry state of what was arguably the most dynamic and powerful music being made just five years ago has recently been decried by critics and the hip-hop community alike. In a word: Word! Truth is, as far as hip-hop is concerned, it's been weak for more than just the last year. "For the last year," he begins, "there's been a lot of music coming out - the shit's been weak." The introduction to the second disc of the Wu-Tang Clan's new double CD, "Wu-Tang Forever," is an extended proclamation by the group's de facto leader, RZA "The Abbot," about the current state of hip-hop and how the Wu's latest fits in it.
