Method Man
Tical

Raise your hand if, at least once in your life, you haven’t found yourself gnawing at your own fingers for some golden opportunity shockingly wasted. No, Mr. Gates, you don’t count. Come on, wipe that silly grin off your face and stop it. It’s not funny mocking all those who have made less money than you. So, where were we? Oh yes, how many times have you pleaded with Anubis, after a glaring miss in front of an open goal, during the traditional battle between bachelors and married men? Who can say, without fear of being refuted, that they’ve never rejected the amorous advances of the not-so-pretty girl in the front row who, in a couple of years, would have turned into a circus diva?

For Clifford Smith, aka Mr. Meth, it was worse. Having twelve (12!!!) beats available from an RZA at the peak of inspiration (considering that "Liquid Swords" and "Only Built 4 Cuban Linx" had yet to be released) and failing to create an album that would make its mark in Rap history through the front door. The year was 1994. The East and West coasts, the North, South, Southeast blocks, and all the hinterland up to Catamarano on the Navigli, were still shaken by that earthquake which marked the release of "Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers)", the first stone upon which a true empire would soon be built. An empire that the Staten Island crew would build through memorable albums, incendiary live performances, and savvy marketing strategies.

Meanwhile, the Ticallion Stallion had already made a name for himself outside the group, thanks to a stunning solo performance (self-titled) contained in the album and released as a single, and a few scattered verses on others' works (most notably: "The What?", on Biggie Smalls' debut album). The art of talking about nothing, without boring the listener, has always been within Dirty Meth’s reach. A characteristic that, alongside a distinctive and recognizable vocal timbre from the first listen, an innate inclination for alliteration and an extraordinary charisma, has over the years paved the way for the rapper's success, consecrating him as Wu Brother #1.

The impression you get when diving into his solo debut, however, is that in wanting to release this first effort, he was more driven by the need to strike while the iron was hot rather than take more time to produce a more thoughtful and mature album. After all, as he sang a year earlier: cash rules. The album consists of 12 tracks, plus two remixes. If you consider that one of these is identical to the one previously appearing on the Clan's debut, the other is produced by Puff Daddy, complete with a chorus sung by Mary J. Blige and using the same sample as the original version, it's already apparent that this album can only look at the Olympus of Wu-Tang-branded classics through a telescope. And to think the premises are excellent: the title track and "Biscuits" are two hefty tracks that thrust the listener into that incredible atmosphere of dark sounds, Oriental samples, dialogues and combat noises extracted from martial arts B-movies. What can be said about two of the three singles? "Bring the Pain", technically perfect, a production that would make even a paraplegic nod their head, and The Iron Lung boasting, with a flow so musical he could rap the phone book (since outside his neighborhood, who the heck would understand what he says anyway?!). "Release Yo Delf", slaps instead of snares, glass-shattering bass, triumphant march horns, and insults raining down. With the backup singer echoing Gloria Gaynor in the chorus. Amusing too, the slang duel of "Meth vs Chef", with a Raekwon in great form delivering the best collaboration on the record. And then, and then... And then that's it. It's unfortunate to admit, but while the musical component never suffers from glaring quality dips, the same cannot be said for Johnny Blaze's Rap. As perhaps some attentive readers may have already noticed, he does little more than heap a torrent of nicknames upon himself, humorously curse out heedless niggas that challenge him, roll papers, and describe his crew as the most devastating force in the universe after the Death Star. Only to slip into pointless sentimentality (and totally out of place) in "All I Need" (and its remix) and squander a gem of a beat like "What the Blood Clot", using it to greet all his friends, acquaintances, former school buddies, and relatives up to the twelfth degree. Neither "P.L.O. Style", hindered by a feature from a certain Carlton Fisk (spell it out: P-E-S-S-I-M-O), nor the inevitable posse cut "Mr Sandman", due to the presence of the aforementioned Fisk and a still green Streetlife, hit the mark. Truly a wasted opportunity. Certainly for music lovers.

Meth Man's stock, however, will soar to the stars, making him almost ubiquitous on all Rap records that matter (and aim for platinum) from then until the end of the millennium. There were plenty of opportunities to make up for it; but to this day, Mr. Smith has yet to release a truly noteworthy production, with his name headlining the cover. Perhaps excluding the entertaining "Blackout!", in the company of the other quintessential New York stoner, Redman. Try again, Clifford...