• Voto:
Alzi la mano chi, almeno una volta nella propria vita, non si è ritrovato a mangiarsi le mani per qualche occasione d'oro clamorosamente sprecata. No, signor Gates lei non fa testo. Suvvia, si tolga quel sorrisetto ebete dalla faccia e la smetta. Non fa ridere nessuno sfottendo tutti quelli che han fatto meno soldi di lei. Dunque dicevamo? Ah sì. Quante volte vi sarà capitato di invocare Anubi, dopo un traversone a porta vuota, durante il tradizionale confronto tra scapoli e ammogliati? Chi può dire, senza timore d'esser smentito, di non aver mai respinto le effusioni amorose della ragazzina bruttina del primo banco, che di lì a un paio d'anni si sarebbe trasformata in una figa da circo?
A Clifford Smith, in arte Mr Meth, è capitato di peggio. Avere a disposizione dodici (12!!!) beat di un RZA al massimo dell'ispirazione (se si tiene conto del fatto che, "Liquid Swords" e "Only Built 4 Cuban Linx" dovevano ancora uscire) e non riuscire a tirare fuori un disco che entrasse nella storia del Rap, direttamente dall'ingresso principale. L'anno è il 1994. Le coste Est e Ovest, i blocchi Nord, Sud, Sud-Est e tutto l'hinterland fino a Catamarano sui Navigli, sono ancora scossi da quel terremoto che rappresentò l'uscita di "Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers)", primo mattone su cui di lì a poco, inizierà a poggiare un vero e proprio impero. Un impero che la crew di Staten Island costruirà a suon di dischi memorabili, live incendiari e sapienti strategie di marketing.
Il Ticallion Stallion nel frattempo si è già fatto notare fuori dal gruppo d'appartenenza, grazie ad una stupefacente performance solista (omonima) contenuta nel disco e uscita come singolo, e a qualche strofa sparsa su lavori altrui (su tutte: "The What?", sul disco d'esordio di Biggie Smalls). L'arte di saper parlare del nulla, senza annoiare l'ascoltatore, è sempre stata nelle corde di Dirty Meth. Caratteristica che insieme ad un timbro vocale caratteristico e riconoscibile dal primo ascolto, un'innata predisposizione per l'allitterazione e un carisma fuori dal comune, ha negli anni fatto la fortuna del rapper, consacrandolo come Wu Brother #1.
L'impressione che si ha immergendosi nell'ascolto del suo esordio solista, è però che nel voler uscire con questa sua prima fatica, sia stato più animato dall'esigenza di battere il ferro finché era caldo, piuttosto che prendersi più tempo per partorire un disco più ragionato e maturo. Del resto, come lui stesso cantava un anno prima: cash rules. Il disco si compone di 12 tracce, più due remix. Se di questi si tiene conto che, uno è identico a quello già comparso sul debutto del Clan, l'altro è prodotto da Puff Daddy, con tanto di ritornello cantato da Mary J. Blige e sfruttando il medesimo campione della versione originale, s'intuisce già che all'Olimpo dei classici targati Wu-Tang, questo disco può guardare giusto col cannocchiale. E dire che le premesse sono ottime: la titletrack e "Biscuits" son due tracce belle grasse, che proiettano l'ascoltatore in quell'incredibile atmosfera fatta di suoni oscuri, campioni orientaleggianti, dialoghi e rumori di combattimento estrapolati da b-movie sulle arti marziali. Che dire poi di due dei tre singoli estratti? "Bring the Pain", tecnicamente perfetta, una produzione che farebbe muovere la testa anche a un paraplegico e The Iron Lung che se la mena, con un flow talmente musicale che potrebbe rappare pure l'elenco telefonico (tanto fuori dal suo quartiere, chi cazzo vuoi che lo capisca cosa dice?!). "Release Yo Delf", sberle al posto dei rullanti, bassone frantuma vetri, fiati da marcia trionfale e sfanculamenti come se piovessero. Con la corista che fa il verso a Gloria Gaynor nel ritornello. Divertentissimo poi, il duello a colpi di slang di "Meth vs Chef", con un Raekwon in forma strepitosa a regalare la collaborazione migliore del disco. E poi, e poi... E poi basta. Spiace ammetterlo, ma laddove la parte musicale non subisce mai cali qualitativi eclatanti, lo stesso non si può del Rap di Johnny Blaze. Che come forse qualche lettore attento avrà già intuito, non fa molto altro che affibbiare a se' stesso una valanga di soprannomi, mandare simpaticamente a quel paese incauti nigga che lo sfidano, farcire cartine e descrivere la propria cricca come forza più devastante dell'universo dopo la Morte Nera. Salvo poi scadere nella melensaggine cafona (e totalmente fuori luogo) di "All I Need" (e relativo remix) e gettare al vento un gioiellino di beat come quello di "What the Blood Clot", usandolo per salutare tutti i suoi amici, conoscenti, ex compagni di scuola e parenti fino al dodicesimo grado. Non colgono nel segno nemmeno "P.L.O. Style", penalizzata dal featuring di tale Carlton Fisk (scandisco: P-E-S-S-I-M-O) e l'immancabile posse cut "Mr Sandman", per la presenza del già citato Fisk e di uno Streetlife ancora acerbo. Veramente un'occasione sprecata. Naturalmente per gli amanti della musica.
Le quotazioni dell'Uomo Metodo invece saliranno alle stelle, rendendolo praticamente onnipresente su tutti i dischi Rap che contano (e che puntino al platino) da lì alla fine del millennio. Le occasioni per rifarsi non sono certo mancate; ma ad oggi, Mr Smith non ha ancora dato alle stampe una produzione realmente degna di nota, col suo nome capeggiante in copertina. Escluso forse, il divertente "Blackout!", in compagnia dell'altro spinellone newyorchese per eccellenza, Redman. Provaci ancora Clifford...
Elenco tracce testi e samples
01 Tical (03:56)
*sounds of fighting*
"You've been lucky... I wish I got you last time.
En garde, I'll let you try my Wu-Tang style."
"I'd like to try your Wu-Tang style, let's begin then!"
Intro: Method (and others)
From the tip top?
(Aiyyo aiyyo, what the fuck's up with light dude?)
Yup
One two (no doubt, no doubt)
One two one two
Yo one two, uh, one two one two (yeahh, we gon' be up in that)
Ah one two, uh, one two one two (yeah light that shit up)
Ah one two yo, check me out
Chorus:
What's that shit that they be smokin? Tical... tical, tical
Pass it over here... tical... tical, tical
What's that shit the niggaz smokin? Tical... tical, tical
Pass it over here... tical... tical, tical
Verse One:
Check it, I got styles, all of em sick
Niggaz ain't fit to walk a mile in the dead man's kicks
I make em shit about a pile, of bricks to show
He ain't nuttin but another, a lone John Doe
That wanna flow, here it is, comin up shit's creek
I come to throw monkey wrenches in your program, sleep
and I'ma grow, like a rash on ya nasty ass
In a whip, with no breaks and I'm hittin the gas
It's a bird, it's a plane, take a look in the sky
Method Man on some shit, niggaz call me The Fly
Cause my style, dates back to hoppin turnstyles
Make ya fear, if ya cutie in the chair, you can bet I'll
get severe on the double I harass it
I don't look for trouble, I'm already trouble
Ya bastard, check the wicked flows that I crafted
Open up a deadly venom style to be mastered
By a psychopathic, way beyond an average
Joe, with a hellafied flow, there ya have it
Chorus
One two, uh, one two one two
One two, uh, one two one two
One two, uh, one two one two
Check it out
Verse Two:
What goes off? What goes on? The Meth shit
that we got is to stay high, no question
Lethal weapon, ain't no time for half steppin
When brothers start wettin everything in ya section
Move that, niggaz came strapped, shoulda knew that
Do dat, pussy cat rap, boy, I'll screw that
To' up, from the flow up, don't even show up
To the battle, I heard you rattle now hold up
Is there a fuckin snake in my garden?
Starvin, for a rap treat, steppin on my feet
Pardon yo delf, before ya find yo delf
In a FUCKED UP situation, without no help
I'm not playin, cause I don't play with nobody
God damn kid, know what I'm sayin, I'm peelin niggas wigs
I be sprayin, brother with words
Cause I got a spit PRAAA-BLEM
Chorus
One two uh, one two one two
One two uh... (stick a fat tical in your butt, yeah baby fuckin with tical)
(yeah niggaz better recognize... tical...)
02 Biscuits (02:49)
Intro:
What? What you want?
Represent represent represent
Yeah, represent, check it out check it out
Yo mama don't wear no drawers!
I saw her when she took them off!
Standin on the welfare line, eatin swine
Tryin to look fine, with her stank behind
You can ask the bitch and she'll tell ya fast
Meth-Tical got STYLE with his nasty ass
Verse One:
Are you ready, to face the consenquences and suffer?
I even tell ya momma you ain't shit, motherfucker
Bring it, and let that killer bee kid sting it
And rep-resent, it's like heads up a brick, when I'm swing it
Get lost, I break you off something
I'm pumpin, like a Reebok, with a pump, from the jump and
You was nothin
Bet ya thought ya fuckin clan had ya fuckin back but they was frontin
Smokin dirt blunts and fuckin nasty stunts and
Ya take the naked gun without the bullet, what ya bustin
Get ya ship sunken, fuckin with a drunken
Master disaster at enemy rap functions
Interlude:
Huh, just an echo
Yoo-hoo ripin-ripin in the valley
Yoo-hoo ripin-ripin so to bring back
Sweet memories of you
And you can even ask your crew
Betcha bottom dollar that they tell ya fast
Meth-Tical got STYLE with his nasty ass
Verse Two:
Who said the Wu-Tang Clan? Was it you or your man?
You wanna point the finger, I'll bring ya
36 chambers, be out, youze in danger
Let me pull ya brain outcha ass with a hanger
Didn't momma not tell ya not to talk to a stranger
Now ya got ya neck, in the noose, of the strangler
Just recline, keep the Meth in mind
I'll even test the knuckle check on the hands of time
What? And I'll be more than glad to bust that ass
All up and down the block, the street, the isle
Whatever, smokin on a Spike Lee joint
Hey I'm Mo' Better, I'm hopin niggaz get the point
Cause they coul never, stop the veteran, word to God
When I'm severin the HEAD of a mental vegetarian
The Method, at the weekend, with a whole lot of credit
The cuties I desire, I be the first to set it
off, flame on like the Human Torch
Fantastic Four for all the fans in the store
You can eat it all and it'll tell ya fast
Meth-Tical got STYLE for ya nasty ass
Outro:
94 baby, word up, recognize, recognize
Wu-Tang killer bee
The RZA and the Method MZA
Raider Ruckus, where you at?
03 Bring the Pain (03:09)
Basically, can't fuck with me
Verse One:
I came to bring the pain hardcore from the brain
Let's go inside my astral plane
Find out my mental's based on instrumental
records hey, so I can write monumental
Methods, I'm not the King
But niggaz is decaf I stick em for the CREAM
check it, just how deep can shit get
Deep as the abyss and brothers is mad fish accept it
In your Cross Colour, clothes you've crossed over
Then got Totally Krossed Out and Kris Kross
Who da boss? Niggaz get tossed to the side
And I'm the dark side of the Force
Of course it's the Method, Man from the Wu-Tang Clan
I be hectic, and comin for the head piece protect it
Fuck it, two tears in a bucket, niggaz want the ruckus
Bustin at me bruh, now bust it
Styles, I gets buckwild
Method Man on some shit, pullin niggaz files
I'm sick, insane, crazy, Drivin Miss Daisy
Out her fuckin mind now I got mine I'm Swayze
Chorus:
Is it real son, is it really real son
Let me know it's real son, if it's really real
Something I could feel son, load it up and kill one
Want it raw deal son, if it's really real
Interlude: Booster
And when I was a lil stereo (stereo)
I listened to some champion (champion)
I always wondered (wondered)
Will now I be the numba one? (Tical! hahaha)
Now you listen to de gargon (Gargon!)
And de gargon summary
And any man dat come test me (test me)
Me gwanna lick out dem brains (it's like that)
Verse Two:
Brothers want to hang with the Meth bring the rope
the only way you hang is by the neck nigga poke
off the set comin to your projects
Take it as a threat, better yet it's a promise
Comin from a vet on some old Vietnam shit
Nigga you can bet your bottom dollar hey I bomb shit
And it's gonna get even worse word to God
It's the Wu comin through sickin niggaz for they garments
Movin on your left, southpaw em it's the Meth
Came to represent and carve my name in your chest
You can come test realize you're no contest
Son I'm the gun that won that old Wild West
Quick on the draw with my hands on the four
nine three eleven with the rugged rhymes galore
Check it cause I think not when this hip-hops like proper
Rhymes be the proof while I'm drinkin 90 proof
Huh vodka, no OJ, no straw
When you give it to me aiy, give it to me raw
I've learned when you drink Absolut straight it burns
Enough to give my chest hairs a perm
I don't need a chemical blow to pull a hoe
All I need is Chemical Bank to pay da mo'
What, basically that, Meth-Tical, ninety-four style
Word up we be hazardous *car crashing* *horn passing me*
Northern spicy brown mustard hoes
We have to stick you
*horn sound of car racing by*
Chorus
Outro:
I'll fuckin, I'll fuckin cut your kneecaps off
and make you kneel in some staircase piss
I'll fuckin, cut your eyelids off
and feed you nuthin but sleepin pills
You motherfuckers
(So???) So fuck the hoe
Fuck the hoe
(Look at this nigga, this motherfuckin...)
05 What the Blood Clot (03:24)
[Intro: RZA, (Method Man), {Y-Kim}]
Shit is bangin! You see what I'm sayin? Our shit is bangin!
(Our shit is stainin, son) Yo, Shaolin runnin this shit, son!
Runnin this shit! (Stainin) What's up, Y-Kim? 'Sup, nigga?
{What's up, man? What's up?} What's up? Representin Brownsville
Know I'm sayin? Base, peace to all my Brownsville niggaz!
{The alcoholics son} What's goin on, son?
Peace to all my Putnam Avenue motherfuckers! Bedford-stuy!
(Yeah, peace to the valley goat..)
Peace to my Wild Wild West Brighton niggaz!
(Big up The Bridge!)
[Method Man]
All I hear is gun shots
Can I touch somethin? What the Blood Clot!?!
Nigga want Tical, make it happen
You know my fuckin style, fuck the rappin!
We can take it back to eighty-five
if you wanna start actin like you live
It's all good, I'm rollin' with my click
Owls, Backwoods and Phillies
Smokin cess blunts, mixed with illy
Got me flusted, now the whole world looks dusted
I'm in the area with the skill that never rusted (What?)
For real, nigga, touch it and you burn
When will motherfuckers learn?
What be spreadin like a germ? Haha, it's Meth, word
I be that early bird that got the worm and if you check it
I'm on point, like a fax machine you get the message
It's be no question it's them, bust the second guessin's
Keep your thoughts on your lessons
What the Blood Clot!?!
To tell the truth, you don't amaze me
Killa Hill Project, a Star Trek phaser couldn't phase me
What? Check the Raider Ruckus, fuck this
Smoke a Dutchmaster, have 'em screamin for the dutchess
Yeah, I gotta have it, so I strive to stack my papes
If I don't do it for mydelf, I'ma do it for Case
cuz that's my peoples, we givin you injections that be Lethal
Weapons, when niggaz start the half steppin
Then I get evil
but don't let that negative vibe right there mislead you
I'm humble, a fuckin Killa Bee, far from bumble
I sting you *BZZZT* and I bring you
Thirty-six Chambers of head banger, bitch
Why I deal with? I think the mic's on the fritz
Faggot soundmen, they be sabotagin shit!
Look up in the sky, it's a bird, it's a plane...
Meth-Tical, let the whole world know my fuckin name
What the Blood Clot!?!
[Outro: Method Man, (RZA)]
Yeah, yeah, you know what I'm sayin? (Yeah, what? What!?!)
First of all I'd like to give a big peace and shout out
to my brothers in the belly of the beast
Raider Ruckus, y'all got my back and one love
(Y'all niggaz better start stackin)
June Lover, Shitty Brown (Y'all niggaz better get real)
Pussin, Pil, P.L.O., Stack DAT, Dusty, Storm
(All my real ass niggaz get down, to all my niggaz locked down)
SUUU! We still in here, nigga
(Y'all gotta party, locked down in the street, nigga)
Jamel, one love, nigga, Nice, Uncle Eric AKA Shane
(You get your ass beat in the streets)
I ain't forget you, nigga, Shakim, nuttin
Big Sha, K. Fisk, Big Free from Cipher Heat
For all the fugitives on the run
Everybody from Riker's Island to San Quintan
And a big major shout out to my old dad who just got home
on work release, keep your heads up niggaz
Oh my God (You what I'm sayin? Peace to the Gods)
Here we go, here we go, here we go
(You see that, nigga, fuckin Dirty Bastard?
That nigga is fuckin crazy!)
07 Sub Crazy (02:15)
Intro/Chorus:
We can all get by if we want now
Get a phat piece of the pie if we want
Motherfuckers gettin mad high when they want now
I will survive, recognize it be Tical
Verse One:
Word up, our niggas is strapped, ready for war on the ill block
Things just ain't peace no more, fuck it
If you ain't with me then forget me
Niggas try to stick me, retaliation, no hesitation, shifty
Creepin niggas in the dark, triggas with no heart
Rippin ass apart, I'll be swimmin with the sharks now
Stay out my water or it's manslaughter
Kid, you oughta start reachin for that nickle-plated auto-
Matic, my thoughts get sporadic, loaded raps
Bustin mad shots to ya attic
They say this hazard, this flows a hazard
Straight from Hazard County with a bounty on his head, and it said
"Wanted Dead or Alive," I swear by the whites of they eyes
To never take a dive I will survive
Chorus
Verse Two:
Shit's gonna happen if niggas start actin
Like they want problems, you want em, you got em
Rap contact, is writin this exactly, the way it should be
Attacked, Killer Beeeees on a swarm
So what my martial law drops bombs like Qur'an
The ism helps to stimulate my pugilism
I bust rhymes like jizm, impregnate the rhythm with the wisdom
Decipher the flow, I be hyper, I bring all the styles
That rekindle like old flames
Saliva, check the wicked flows I deliva
Oops, I mean deliver like the Hudson River
Styles be tight, trite like a thief in the night
I be the sneaky-ass nigga bustin nuts in yo wife
Blasted, buggin off Bacardi and acid
Flippin on the mic, it's a classic
12 Stimulation (03:46)
Let's come together for the stimulation
Meth-Tical hit 'em with the stimultaion
I got 36 styles on my mind,
Keep it real, Shaolin represent one (time)
All my peoples are you with me, where you at? (suuuu)
All my killer bees on attack, where you at? (suuuu)
Throw ya fuckin' hands in the air if you wanna mix
If ya got ya gats peel a cap for the new year
Blinding devotion,
What's the commotion?
Wu-Tang clan (????)
Flowin' like the ocean (bluue)
I be comin' for your (crewww)
Flyin' guillotine (styyyle)
With the name Meth-Tical
Is it on?
Is it on?
Is it gone?
If I ain't on ya records then the shit ain't really on
One man band from the Wu-Tang clan
Ask who the man, goddamn, it be Method
Here-here I am in the plan (????)
Puttin' Def Jam's on my records
It's onnnn
Let's come together for the stimulation
Meth-Tical hit 'em with the stimultaion
Can everybody feel the stimulation
Meth-Tical hit 'em with the stimulation
I'm here for you son, I gotcha back
As long as you keep it real, word, I gotcha back
Brothers want the drama but don't know how to act
Until the chrome pointed at his dome head crack
C'mon let's keep it real, no disguise, recognize
From my sword chop what a nigga do?
A nigga dies
That's why I'm stressin' that brothers keep they thoughts on they lesson
Ressurect yo mind from the essence
For real
Ill block nigga get rocked like by the dozen,
Whaddup cousin?
Now give a pound to that lounge nigga
Peace, my MZA, killa hills 10304 (????)
So I just, uh,
Make my way for the Wu building
Now I'm chillin' with the neighborhood villans thug life it be on now
Hear the gun blaow as I milk another cow
Let the method show you how niggas do it
I study,
In the life of good, bad, and ugly
Part time call that nigga lovely
But that ain't nuttin'
Before I die, I'm a leave the world,
With something,
To remember me by
The real stimuli
Fool you be frontin'
I keep it when I part like a natural disaster
I keep it live
Time more than '85
And (????) third eye got me thinkin'
Mabye you and I should get together for whatever
You never in ya long ligge-life had it better
Then you got it now
We be lifted, tical
Word, son, I like yo style
Basically,
I'm here for the stimuli
To get high and for doughnuts
Meth-Tical, it's 9-4, and it's raw, once more
The Wu-Tang saga continues
Wu-Tang clan, forever
No we don't die we just multiply forever, and ever, and ever...
Carico i commenti... con calma
