Blindspotting: Wu-Tang Clan, "Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers)"

The Legacy: Just when it looked like West Coast hip-hop was poised to dominate the rap charts for years to come, a passel of comic book-loving kung fu movie enthusiasts came together on the streets of Staten Island to form the Wu-Tang Clan and wrest back the crown. The group's origin story isn't that simple, of course — and that's putting it extremely mildly — but it contains enough of the basic gist to explain the excitement generated by their first single, "Protect Ya Neck," which landed them a deal with RCA's Loud imprint and saw their debut LP, Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers), reach stores in the fall of 1993.

Loudly and proudly designed as a business that just so happened to produce breathlessly acclaimed hip-hop, the Clan started spinning off solo records and side projects almost immediately, which is how the Wu-Tang family tree was a steady presence on the airwaves throughout the '90s despite coming together only sporadically. If you weren't a hardcore fan, the amount of Wu-Tang Clan product could be overwhelming and/or bewildering: GZA, RZA, ODB, Method Man, Raekwon, Ghostface Killah, Inspectah Deck, U-God, Masta Killa... it's a lot to keep up with, and I'm not going to try and cover it all here. The point is simply that the group revolutionized the way hip-hop collaboratives functioned from an artistic as well as commercial standpoint, and it all started with the triple-platinum neutron bomb they set off when Enter the Wu-Tang was released.

First Impressions: For me, as an extremely casual listener of hip-hop in general, the early '90s were a time when rap acts stopped being fun and became wholly fixated on projecting a cartoonish flavor of hyper-machismo. This is not me pining for the days of Tone Lōc or MC Hammer, but I do think there's a lot to be said for balance, and I stopped feeling it from mainstream hip-hop around the time The Chronic was released. Whether it was fueled by George Clinton-indebted West Coast sounds or more familiar East Coast production techniques, the gangsta stuff didn't interest me, and anything that bore the slightest whiff of aggression was enough of an excuse to turn the dial. Not because it offended me, but because it felt so pervasive that I was bored by it — the same way I developed a thick husk of reflexive disdain for music made by dudes who wore flannel, played in BADGBE tuning, and stared at the floor.

I'm sharing all this not as a point of pride, but as a way of once again being perfectly transparent about the number of incorrect snap decisions I've made as a (frequently professional) listener over the last four decades or so. If you've listened to Enter the Wu-Tang, you know that while it's definitely not lacking for toxic male bravado, it also has a sharp sense of humor that's supported by wildly imaginative production. Cut out the intermissions, and the record still sounds fresh.

(Here's a semi-random aside that doesn't really have a place in this post, but has been nagging at me for days: When the group gave a nod to Hall and Oates' "Method of Modern Love" in "Method Man," it highlighted just one of the many ways in which the difference between the sound of 1993 and the sound of 1984 couldn't have been starker. The distance public tastes traveled in that nine-year span is incredible in retrospect, especially when you consider how little mainstream sounds have changed during the more than three decades since. Anyway, back to our regular programming.)

Reams have been written about Enter the Wu-Tang, and as is the case whenever I write about a hip-hop record, I'm sure I have little to nothing worth adding to the canon. I'll keep this brief, then: This album is a hell of a lot of fun, which is even more impressive when you consider the number of moving parts RZA had to consider when he was putting it together. Making room for everyone in a group can be murderously difficult even when you're just talking about a four-piece rock band; when you're tasked with corralling a crowd of MCs, each of whom are talented in their own right (or were — RIP, ODB), the job becomes much more difficult. The proof, if you need any, is reflected in the increasingly lukewarm reception afforded subsequent Wu-Tang LPs, as solo careers started taking off and various cracks in the group's creative union widened. They're still enough of a big deal that their "final tour" is one of the year's top draws, but they really captured lightning in a bottle (or maybe it was a bong) with Enter the Wu-Tang. Everything they've done since stands in its shadow.

Favorite Song: This album is so freakishly consistent that it's hard to pick a winner, but since I must, I'll go with "Protect Ya Neck," if only because everything started there — and also because my hip-hop-loving barber made me laugh out loud about ten winters ago when I showed up at his shop after a snowstorm and found the song title scribbled on a note taped to the icy stairs.