Wu-Tang Clan at Lupo’s
by John Taraborelli
Wu-Tang Clan’s utter failure to put on something at least resembling a good show
when their “reunion tour” rolled into town is completely incomprehensible.
For all the credit they get as musical innovators, Wu-Tang’s deepest and most indelible impact on hip-hop is likely their business sense. As the gravitational center of the music has shifted from New York, and slick, club-oriented music has become dominant, the gritty, minimalist beats and cerebral, paranoid lyrics of the quintessentially New York Clan are no longer the pervasive influence they once were. However, the hip-hop industry as it stands today bears the unmistakable stamp of the RZA’s master plan. The “W” became hip-hop culture’s first real brand name, as innumerable solo projects, vanity projects, a clothing line, several movies, and even deodorant endorsements eventually stood beneath the Iron Flag. For better or worse, the Wu established the hip-hop-artist-as-entrepreneur model that is the industry standard today. It is for this reason that their utter failure to put on something at least resembling a good show when their “reunion tour” rolled into town is completely incomprehensible.
In addition to being musical legends, all-time greats in the annals of hip-hop, the nine men from Shaolin are seasoned veterans of an industry they helped create, successful entrepreneurs, and family men in their mid-thirties. One who paid $35 to see their show at Lupo’s would expect a level of professionalism, integrity, and creativity commensurate with their status—and one would expect all nine of those motherfuckers to show up.
Taking the stage RZA-less after about an hour of pre-show, hypeman buffoonery, the Wu proceeded to rattle off a series of sloppy, half-assed renditions of revered hip-hop classics; I say half-assed because they generally only performed half of every song, before abruptly cutting to a cheap explosion sound effect and moving on. The stage presentation was barren, save for a large banner bearing the famed “W” and, perhaps mockingly, the names of all nine Wu members. The sound was muddled and failed to do the RZA’s classic production any justice. The performers themselves appeared to be uninterested in anything except soaking up some quick adoration from the crowd (which they got in droves) and getting back on the tour bus as quickly as possible. Only Method Man lent the operation any sense of credibility or responsibility to the audience, as he not only tried to get the crowd into it (which he did), but also to inspire his fellow performers to put on a memorable show (which he didn’t). This kind of amateur night hack-work might be acceptable from a lesser act, but the Wu-Gambinos rightfully place themselves in the upper echelon of hip-hop acts, and as such, they owe the loyal, ticket-buying fans an upper echelon show. Legends should not deal in the cheap, hackneyed, lazy clichés of hip-hop concerts, but that’s exactly what they did, going so far as to dedicate a full twenty minutes or so of their set to hauling girls on stage to dance for the rappers’ delight.
If the Wu is no longer willing or able to deliver the goods musically, I at least expected them to have the good sense of veteran showmen and businessmen. If they demonstrate this kind of unprofessionalism and flagrant disregard for paying customers in all aspects of their careers, it’s a wonder they’ve lasted this long—but it would also explain their long drought of relevance and dominance. To see a bunch of grown men who should know better on stage acting as if they don’t is to see firsthand why their stock has steadily been in decline since 1997’s Wu-Tang Forever. Perhaps greatness has passed them by. Perhaps they’ve grown too far apart to “form like Voltron.” Perhaps I’m just being too cranky and critical (the majority of the crowd’s reaction seems to attest to that). Or maybe the Wu-Tang Clan just need to get their shit together and start acting like the legends they claim to be. Either way, next time I won’t pay the $35 to find out.
