November 9, 1993.
I had not been born yet, unfortunately. But on this day, you could’ve walked into a record store and bought a certain two CDs, available to the public for the very first time. Those two albums, although technically the same genre, could not be more different - one opens with dialogue from an obscure 1983 Chinese martial arts film, followed by a hook that sounds hard and vulgar, even within the context of characteristically brutal early ‘90s hip-hop. The other begins with a peculiar robotic narrator, set over the smooth latin-jazz of Cal Tjader. But both take less than a minute to launch into stunningly lyrical rap, swinging with syncopation that harks back to the ‘60s jazz and r&b the instrumentals 'steal' from.
Although I doubt my music history professor would agree, the 1990s were a true musical renaissance often overlooked by all except hip-hop devotees. (Grunge junkies too, but that’s a topic for another day.) I’ve said this far too often over the past couple years, in arguments with music 'purists' and in recruitment bids for my high school club, but hip-hop music runs today’s popular culture, and its development, diversification, and upbringing all inarguably took place in that decade’s span. Studying this stretch of time yields a broad and beautiful selection of music that few brief periods of a genre can rival. The albums that were released on this day in ‘93 are a perfect sample of the amazing diversity that era nurtured, different bloodlines of the genre that both happened to blossom at once.
Enter The Wu-Tang (36 Chambers). Look at any list of quintessential rap records and this will be top ten. Matched in influence only by such works like N.W.A.’s Straight Outta Compton, Public Enemy’s It Takes A Nation, and Eric B. & Rakim’s Paid In Full, the Wu-Tang Clan’s debut still sounds fresh and raw today. Even if you’ve never listened, you’ve probably heard it; from the iconic "C.R.E.A.M." refrain that continues to pop up everywhere, from Drake songs to Comedy Central skits and the occasional tv commercial, to the RZA’s impeccable instrumentals borrowed by acts spanning across genres, like Lauryn Hill, LMFAO, and PartyNextDoor. (Let me remind you, this is rap, the music that’s supposed to take from everyone else.)
It’s unfortunate that the Wu-Tang Clan has become something of a gag in the mainstream, with its omnipresent mall-core merch, ridiculous Martin Shkreli / $2 million album press, and its frequent referencing as the butt of sketch comedy jokes. The group’s music is so much more than just a commercial scheme, its members incomparable to the average silly ‘trap rapper’ of today. A 2012 study by Matt Daniels analyzed the lyrics of eighty-five of the genre’s most well-regarded MCs and tallied the amount of unique words found in the first 35,000 lyrics of their respective catalogs. In his rankings, four (!!!) of the top ten spots and six of the top twenty-five were members of Wu-Tang. Considering the collective houses only ten guys, nine at the time of the debut, that's pretty baffling.
So what of the content? 36 Chambers stands at the forefront of one of the most vulgar and mysogenistic strains of hip-hop. Why were these nine apparent poetic geniuses wasting their time?
I'm afraid that if you have to ask this question, 1993 is not the place to start. The Clan is from the projects of staten island, and unlike many of the imitators who followed later in the genre, their lyrics, for the most part, do not lie. And if you listen closely, they really don't glorify either. The album's tone is dark, almost bleak; “Cash Rules Everything Around Me" is really not paraded as a slogan of braggadocio, but more as a symptom of corruption and a reflection of social and political disrepair. In "Can It Be All So Simple," the album's least menacing cut, Ghostface Killah raps "Though I'm tired of bustin' off shots, havin' to rock knots / Runnin' up in spots and makin' shit hot / I'd rather flip shows instead of those / Hangin' on my livin' room wall,” lines which, like many on the album, describe the way in which rap was a saving grace in the life of a drug dealer or hustler. 36 Chambers comes from the dismal world of new york slums amid the crack epidemic, and uses hard-hitting production and endlessly lyrical bravado to propel the Wu out of it with force. Despite the glamorous reimagination of most ‘90s rap, exhibited, for example, by the corporatized (and notably detached) Wu-Tang brand, 36 Chambers is anything but. The album is a cinematic journey into the depths of an oppressive and bleak reality, where over-the-top male confidence and bravado seemed like the only way out. Though it is a cliché, every time i listen to Enter The Wu-Tang I’m struck by something else i’d never noticed or given much thought before, whether it be a weaving GZA The Genius rhyme scheme, the vinyl crackle of a chopped up soul sample, or one of the countless double-entendres of what i consider top-tier contemporary poetic verse. If you’ve never listened, and hip-hop is not your forte, don’t be dismayed by a violent and gritty skit, or a chorus that seems crude or insensitive—you are supposed to feel uncomfortable.
The flipside - album #2. If we accept the generally regarded consensus that “Rapper’s Delight” was the first mainstream hip-hop song, then by 1993, the genre has been around for fourteen years already. This puts hip-hop in its teenage years, filling it with defiance and unrest. So for a genre already all about defying social norms and rebellion, what does that mean? Enter ‘90s alternative hip-hop, 'jazz rap.' Though not necessarily invented by A Tribe Called Quest, this new iteration of the genre that was becoming increasingly 'gangsta' offered more lighthearted lyrics and jazzier, looser feeling beats. Midnight Marauders, released November 9, 1993, is one of its defining works. Somehow, while RZA’s crew was penning their rhymes for 36 Chambers, Q-Tip, Phife Dawg, and Ali Shaheed Muhammed were crafting what I consider to be their magnum opus. (Their first three albums are all phenomenal - there is much debate as to which might be the best.) The trio feels like an art student’s N.W.A.; relaxed, chill, 'vibing' and having fun while also throwing social issues into the mix. Don’t mistake the swinging feel of Midnight Marauders to be spaced out or negligent; the album is brimming with commentary on everything from the AIDS epidemic to human rights activism and the use of the n-word.
I don’t feel as strong of a need to pen endless paragraphs about Midnight Marauders because unlike 36 Chambers, it’s super accessible to almost all. Rarely profane and fun to listen to, Tribe can be enjoyed with relative ignorance to the genre it comes from or its expansive subject matter. Admittedly, I first discovered the group and found myself enamored with the album before i had any clue of its content; sampling jazz greats such as Lee Morgan and Roy Ayers, and even collaborating with the great Ron Carter, Tribe is the ultimate early example of hip-hop pushing cross-genre appeal. Midnight Marauders includes singles that you might hear at a Chipotle, and music videos that are jovial and fun to watch. With Tribe, you really can just dive right in.
Twenty-four years later, the lines have blurred. Hip-hop trickles in from all directions; we can no longer cast as clear a line between the commercial mainstream and the artsy alternative. All for the better, I say; rappers and producers have multiplied and subgenres have frayed, and hip-hop now offers even more than it did during its ‘golden age.’ We are lucky enough to live in what really is still its early stages; though past its infancy, forty years of age is still quite young for a music and culture as rich and diverse as this. With the releases of November ninth of ’93, we can see with clarity what makes the genre so strongly founded and so defiant and unique - its ability to build on and capture the reality from which it comes. By sampling the music of their parents and highlighting the struggles, debates, and narratives of the day, these albums paint fascinating historical pictures of a time and setting often overlooked by the biased lens of history, and provide a raw, personal, and emotional take that few forms can compete with. But I’m not one to just lament music’s 'better days;' no. There is only progress. The ways in which the music of Wu-Tang inspired artists as radically different as Drake, who has shaped much of popular music today; the effect the swaying instrumentals of A Tribe Called Quest had on people like Kanye West, pulling them to buy an MPC and start making beats; this continuous timeline is why I so adore music and its history, why old music will never sound dated or ‘dusty’ to me. Hip-hop, just like rock music did, and jazz before it, will go through phases, but only grow as its people grow with it. It's amazing, really, that less than a decade in, rap music became politically conscious, and a few years later had already developed its own artsy avant-garde. These two albums, now almost twenty-five years old, provide just a small taste of everything it has to offer, as well as context to see how far the genre has come.
Hopefully I’ve convinced you to go on Spotify or iTunes and give these projects a listen - if not, maybe I’ll get you next time someone tells me of a cool music anniversary and I have a paper to procrastinate writing. Thanks for reading
- frb
originally published on facebook.