Raw I'm a give it to ya...

Yesterday, a man known to the music world as Ghostface Killah retweeted a picture of my beautiful one year old daughter wearing his group's logo on her onesie. That group is the Wu-Tang Clan and on November 9th, 1993 they dropped their debut LP, the timeless Enter the Wu-Tang: 36 Chambers.

Anyone who has an understanding of Hiphop music and the culture surrounding it is well aware that the nineties were an era chuck full of classic albums. It was a time when emcees weren't afraid to be themselves, they pushed boundaries both sonically and lyrically to gain interest in their crafts. The vibe of the time, in New York especially, was linked to an aesthetic of rawness and clever wordplay that the music world hasn't experienced since. At the forefront of this movement was a nine man collective from Staten Island or "Shaolin" as they called it. Nine emcees with completely different voices and lyrical content, that somehow managed to mash together musings on street life, styles of martial arts, metaphors about movies and comic books, that would all weave together and form their mythology for many years to come.

At the helm was the crew's producer and business mind, The RZA, at the other end was his cousin, the late, legendary mad man, Old Dirty Bastard. In between was a group of men, some would become stars (some not so much) but all capable of getting your head nodding at least once with a classic verse (ready? theres a quiz later) The GZA, Method Man, Inspectah Deck, Masta Killa, Raekwon the Chef, U-God and the aforementioned Ghostface Killah.

As a white kid in his early teens, submerged into the Hiphop culture of the day, these nine dudes seemed like Superheroes to me when they first stormed the scene. Up until then I was heavy into groups like Public Enemy, N.W.A and Run-D.M.C and of course the big time solo acts like Snoop Doggy Dogg and 2-Pac but never had their been a crew that was as intimidating and mysterious and intense as the Wu. And being such a large group made it fun to learn their unique styles and find a new favorite every other month.

It wouldn't be long after I made a daily habit of sneaking into my Brother's room and throwing on his 36 Chambers cassette that I started to mimic their words with verses of my own. I would sit by his boom box with my pen and pad, listen to a track or two, then put together rhymes that were piss poor knock offs of theirs but planted the seeds for my own foray into music. A craft of rhyme writing that I still practice to this day and if may say so, have become quite good at.

In the 20 years that have followed their platinum selling debut, they've released four more group albums and countless solo projects, some going double platinum, some going double plywood. Members have been in movies and television shows, The RZA has become somewhat of a staple in Hollywood, scoring movies and acting in several big budget films.  They've spawned many spin off groups and solo artists. They've had their own clothing line and cologne back before those things became the norm, they even had their own video game. To say they are the greatest rap group of all time would not be in the least bit hyperbole.

But perhaps the most endearing part of their legacy is their fans. Case in point. After Ghost retweeted me last night, bells and whistles went off in my phone for the rest of the night. People from all walks of life retweeting and favoriting a picture of my wide eyed little girl with a big yellow W on her chest. It's because we understand exactly what ODB meant when he interrupted Puff Daddy at the Grammy Awards to proclaim "Wu-Tang is for the Children". He didn't necessarily mean that their explicit, bass heavy, sometimes violent rap music is actually suitable for kids. He meant that children like me, children of the nineties, Hiphop children will continue on their legend.

I've seen them a handful of times live, at various venues. Each time I stood shoulder to shoulder with guys and girls of all races, colors and creeds, sometimes waiting a few hours for them to take the stage. But it never mattered. We were waiting for the Wu-Tang Clan, we had an unspoken connection to one another, we understood what were about to witness.

As a white guy from the suburbs of New Jersey, turning 32 in a couple weeks, that spends his days surrounded by Minnie Mice, Princesses and other various glittery pink things, my admiration for the Wu has not faded at all. I wait in anticipation for everything from a solo U-God album (I'm serious) to the much talked about reunion LP. They have a legacy that intertwined itself into the fabric of Hiphop culture and it all started two decades ago today.

Amblin

My newest EP... http://www.audiomack.com/album/areeyedouble/amblin

Remembering my Father. One year later.

I jogged. 

Felt the crisp air in my lungs and Harper tug anxiously at her leash. Made my way across the railroad tracks, it was a couple blocks by then, I was tiring. Pondered turning around and making my way back home but I decided to go on, toward the Italian Sons and Daughters of America building, the "club". That was my Father's favorite dwelling place during the winter months. As I made my way across the carnival grounds I imagined a familiar sight.

The usual suspects gathered around playing poker, discussing football and small town politics. Most of them I've known since I was a boy. A good group of guys, the epicenter being the man stretched out on his favorite leather recliner. Decked in his trademark flannel and dusty baseball cap, I imagined he'd be watching something sports related on the flat screen before him, either that or an episode of his favorite show at that time, Game of Thrones. Harper picked up speed as the club was in earshot, we entered, it was exactly how I pictured. He turned around and spotted us, a small grin and then "Harpley!" he exclaimed, purposely screwing up her name. Another trademark of his.

I was only there long enough for him to feed Harper a bowl of meatballs and very loudly inform everyone in the club that Harper was a "real dog" unlike the "shit dogs" they all had. He then proceeded to give a rudimentary explanation of Game of Thrones to me, stating that I would probably like it because "it had monsters and dragons in it"  and reminded me as we exited that my brother Dave was treating us all to Oyster Creek that coming Friday night, something about a bet. 

That was one year ago today. 

In the days that followed, my Parent's house was filled with sandwich trays and watery eyes, family members and friends sharing stories and the occasional laugh. The house, which had become quiet over the years was once more filled with life. The night of his viewing, cars overflowed the church parking lot out onto the highway, an unprecedented mass of people waited in line, some in the snow, to pay their final respects. 

Much has changed in the 365 days since my Father's passing, for one is the feeling of loss. It lingers but it has dulled ever so slightly. My Family and I can't help but to think of him every time my daughter Nina does anything, from the big things to the little things, like breaking some wind, which he would have admired so. Moments we collectively wish he was still around for, to hear his gruff voice, to watch his mouth widen, hands rub together and his silent laugh echo throughout time. As she flashes a huge smile, I look into her eyes and at times catch myself getting angry at the thought of her being robbed of a wonderful Grandfather.

Sure, it would be easy to mope now and again. But would he want us to?

Of all the things I learned from him, the one I keep going back to, the one that got me through his passing was the ability to go on. To patiently persevere, in good times and more importantly, the bad ones. It's that patience, that spirit, that love of life no matter what, that I watched and admired. He taught my Brother and I through his actions, never through heavy handed talks or lectures. I like to believe we're good men because of it, because of him.

What I knew of my Father was that he worked himself to the bone. He managed to make people angry and chuckle, usually at the same time. He spoke too loudly now and again, but always meant everything he said. He loved my Mother unconditionally. He afforded the opportunity for Dave and I to come of age, both in our own ways. To find ourselves and each other again, through him. In the final years of his life he loved my wife Jamie like his own daughter, some of my fondest memories are the two of them teasing each other and sharing a big laugh.

I was able to have one good Summer on the farm with him. One night we were working late and he wanted the four of us, he and my Mother, Jamie and I, to have dinner together. It was simply ordering some Chinese and eating it on the picnic bench smack dab in the middle of the packing house. The huge loading dock doors were open, a light breeze swept through, carrying the song of a July evening in South Jersey. He called it "dining al fresca". He was happy.

I remember him that night. I remember Dave and I climbing all over him on our living room floor or boxing us out for a rebound in the backyard, a growl as he exerted himself.

I remember a perfect night in Epcot, under the fireworks, a cardboard tray of hot chocolates and churros. Him and Jamie wrapped in their brand new Mexican blankets.

I remember May 1st, 2010. When he owned the dance floor, swinging his bride and then mine, then all of his nieces, every lady on the floor from 9 to 95.

Mostly I just remember him. 

On this day and always.