Imported straight from Shaolin, “Wu: The Story of the Wu-Tang Clan,” dropped Tuesday.
Since I haven’t seen the documentary, here’s my own version of Wu history as chronicled by the soundtrack:
Around the time of its seminal debut, “Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers),” the clan had hip-hop fans in the palms of its hands — or, if you prefer, perilously balanced on the edge of a kung fu sword.
The clan arrived in 1993 with no warning. Nine vaguely related dudes emerged from the depths of dark Staten Island to regale the rap world with battle rhymes set to ghostly piano runs and permeating bass.
Tales of drug deals gone bad were spliced with martial arts sound effects. One imagined the group convening in some rundown New York City studio and huddling around a single mic.
The first six songs on this documentary soundtrack/greatest hits compilation benefit from that early Wu freshness. Personality oozes from each member’s flow.
Ghostface Killah sounds like a nasally foreign correspondent trapped in a war zone. Method Man brings a cleverness and matter-of-fact tone to his verses.
The now deceased Ol’ Dirty Bastard warbles like a morbidly obese lounge singer when he isn’t threatening the listener with cartoonish violence.
Tracks such as “Method Man,” “C.R.E.A.M.” and “Da Mystery of Chessboxin” are nothing less than perfect documents of a bygone era.
Unfortunately, as the clan gained fans and prestige, it lost discipline and decided to flood the market.
Various group members began a time-honored Wu tradition: Release solo albums ad nauseam.
Things came to a head in 1997 with the release of a group follow-up effort, the double album “Wu-Tang Forever.”
The clan made no attempt to hide its state of bloated disarray.
“Wu: The Story of the Wu-Tang Clan” rounds out its middle stretch with selections from a few of the stronger solo projects. “Incarcerated Scarfaces” in particular offers new listeners a taste of the talent concentrated in two of the clan’s members, Ghostface Killah and Raekwon.
The compilation’s final track, “Gravel Pit,” is so heinous in its weak lyricism and whistle-blowing sound effects that it should never have appeared on a Wu album in the first place.
It spotlights Method Man for all the wrong reasons: He apparently has just walked off the set of one of those awful stoner comedies co-starring Redman and considers it his duty to offer endless shout-outs to Ol’ Dirty Bastard’s memory.
At its finest moments, this disc reminds hip-hop fans of the raw immediacy inherent in the first few releases.
The rest of the time, however, it merely struggles in vain to justify its own existence.