Over the foreboding intro of the aptly titled "Triumph", the Wu-Tang Clan's single biggest commercial splash, a bumbling, typically incoherent Ol' Dirty Bastard invites the listener to follow him and the gang "back to '79." Inspectah Deck then spits one of the group's most memorable verses ("I bomb atomically..."), inaugurating a nearly 6-minute string of relentless wordplay featuring nearly every Wu member in top form. While the Wu solo records of the last seven years have occasionally been retrograde, none of it has been expressly retro in sound or spirit. In fact, since 1997, the group has mired in stasis, presiding over an uneven spate of generally lackluster solo albums and a pair of underwhelming group efforts; ODB's call has been taken in vain.
There were periodic beacons of hope, but nothing that ever materialized into broader success for the group. GZA's excellent 2002 release, Legend of the Liquid Sword, eulogized its roots in both NYC and the Far East with sly mainstream appeal and poignant autobiographical lyrics, reverently pushing the envelope forward like no Clansman since Raekwon on Only Built 4 Cuban Linx. But other members' stabs at innovation have either been too far-flung for mainstream ears or too uneven to make a lasting impression. Ghostface's caustic, free-flown verses have been reliably ferocious, but even his 2000 classic Supreme Clientele was too blowhard to fit in alongside fellow members' more group-minded efforts. Method Man has declined, RZA has branched out in non-hip-hop endeavors, and Ol' Dirty has simply embarrassed.
None of this has boded well for the marginal ninth member of the Clan, Masta Killa, whose presence in the group has been enigmatic at best. Adding to the inauspiciousness is the fact that No Said Date, his inaugural solo endeavor, marks something of a milestone for Wu Tang: Masta is the last Clan member to count a solo album to his credit. From his diminutive (though deceptively strong) performances on group issues such as 2001's Iron Flag, there was little basis from which to expect anything, one way or the other, from Masta-- which is why his stealing the spotlight with the most fully formed Wu solo effort this year comes as such a surprise.
No Said Date is by no means an entirely new outing; many of its tracks have been cocooned for several years, patiently ripening in the 36 Chambers' dankest crevasses, and No Said Date's opportune release-- in the smack-dab middle of a disconcertingly weak year for Wu-- makes its anachronous vibe all the more vital. That these songs sound pungently old fashioned is no mistake: RZA's production is markedly pared-down from more mainstream-minded Wu solo material, and Masta's verses benefit from this unpretentiousness.
The record succeeds on modesty, not reticence; Masta is a rapper's rapper, forsaking high-flown gimmicks for Spartan flows and carefully considered rhymes. His accent isn't as instantly identifiable as RZA's or Method Man's, but Masta's bulwark is rote verbal skill, the kind often shunned for higher targets like aesthetic appeal, production novelty, and uncouth humor. No Said Date packs those elements as well, but in a subtle, refined manner that never upstages the album's focal point: its lyrics.
While devotees may hear this as a back-to-basics approach for Wu Tang (Masta himself has even vowed to "[bring] back that original Wu-Tang sound"), No Said Date owns its share of decisively forward-looking tracks: "Digi-Warfare", with its housey electronics and lusty vocal intonations, could be mistaken for a Basement Jaxx remix, while "The Future" literally teleports decades yonder, handing the mic over to a trio of pre-teen MCs, whose breathless verses rival Ghostface among Clan members in their horrific violence. (Its instrumental track is also one of No Said Date's tightest, though several songs vie for that title.)
That "The Future" is considered a skit in the liner notes is a testament to the record's depth. Masta wisely eschews tedious humor sketches, typically taking a more serious bent. But unlike his contemporaries who make up the so-called conscientious school (Talib and Dilated Peoples are guilty), his gravity is never dogmatic. The title track derives most of its weightiness from a determined beat that samples strings from OutKast's "Skrew It On the Bar-B", while "School" features fluid, appropriately self-conscious lyrics ("Banging on the lunchroom table, I used to speculate/ And watch some of the MC greats throw verses back and forth/ I didn't have the heart to step forth") over a particularly austere beat.
Though explicitly old-school in approach, Wu-Tang could never have sounded this tight and direct 11 years ago on 36 Chambers; the technological just wasn't there. But Masta Killa has delivered one the most urgent, straightforward Wu releases since the group's debut over a decade ago. Maybe it's just refreshing to hear a Clansman whose head hasn't grown swollen yet, but the man at the top of the Wu food chain in 2004 happens to be the group's quietest. Hopefully, Masta's fellow members will take his queue.
