The W by Wu-Tang Clan
The W is the third studio album by the American hip hop group Wu-Tang Clan, released November 21, 2000 on Loud/Columbia Records. It was released several years after their previous album Wu-Tang Forever, to which many group members released solo projects between the two albums. The W contains a more rugged, less polished sound than that of most Wu-Tang related albums of this era, and features guest appearances from Isaac Hayes, Redman, Nas, Busta Rhymes, Snoop Dogg, and Junior Reid. The W debuted at number five on the Billboard 200, and number one on the Top R&B/Hip Hop Albums chart with 301,000 copies sold in the first week. It produced several singles, which also charted as well. The album was certified platinum by the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) on December 14, 2000. Upon its release, The W received generally positive reviews from most music critics based on an aggregate score of 80/100 from Metacritic.
<b>100 Best Albums</b> In 1993, the Wu-Tang Clan were a grim, grimy, grindhouse alternative to G-funk’s baroque gangsta cinema: If Dr. Dre’s lush, lowrider-ready grooves were <i>Terminator 2</i>, then the scratchy, bloody, distorted productions of RZA on their debut album were <i>Reservoir Dogs</i>. Emerging from New York City’s most underrepresented borough—the literal island of Staten—here was a sound that, by nature or nurture, existed in its own raw, unapologetic bubble: corroded soul breaks, snatches of dialogue and sound effects from arcane turn-of-the-’70s Hong Kong kung fu flicks, distended keyboard lines, tape noises, snaps and stutters.<br /> Wu-Tang emerged as a nine-member crew in the post-MTV age of small cliques, a mix of styles and voices that eventually carried more than a few solo careers: The violent beat poetry of Raekwon, Ghostface Killah and Inspectah Deck; the drunken sing-to-scream ping-pong of Ol’ Dirty Bastard; the $5 words and scientific flows of GZA and Masta Killa; the boisterous coaching of RZA; the gritty rasp of U-God; and the fame-ready slick talk of Method Man, who was already getting a star turn on his eponymous track. Though melancholy reminiscences like “Can It Be All So Simple”, “C.R.E.A.M.” and “Tearz” made a trilogy of evocative narratives, the Wu provided few easy inroads to their mythology and poetry. Instead, America was forced to enter <i>their</i> chamber, a lyrical swarm of hip-hop slang, the Five-Percent Nation’s Supreme Mathematics and skits that sounded like taped conversations. They brought a singular ruckus and everyone from the similarly crew-oriented Odd Future, the wordy Logic, the mafioso-fuelled Pusha T, the wild-styled Young Thug and the noisy Sheck Wes all owe different types of gratitude.
