"Liquid Swords" by GZA
I go deep on one of the greatest hip-hop record of the 1990s.
This album review throws it back to one of hip-hop’s gold standards for setting a cinematic atmosphere through production and sampling.
Genre: Hip-Hop, Hardcore Hip-Hop
Label: Geffen
Release Date: November 7, 2025
Vibe: ⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️
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It’s one of the most arresting album openings in hip-hop history. A young child tells his story, patiently and deliberately. “When I was little, my father was famous,” he begins. “He was the greatest samurai in the empire.” This excerpt, taken from the 1980 film Shogun Assassin, is simultaneously jarring and very on-brand for the RZA, whose penchant for turning rap instrumentals into kung fu cinema collages had helped catapult him and his Wu-Tang Clan brethren to superstardom. That said, this intro hits different. The child describes his father as a ruthless assassin, one who dispatched anyone who stood in his way. “He wasn’t scared of the Shogun, but the Shogun was scared of him,” the younger adds. “Maybe that was the problem.” The extended sample, which takes up the first 80 seconds of Liquid Swords, sets the tone for everything you’re about to hear next. It’s a masterclass in dark, violent mythmaking, positioning the Genius, aka GZA, aka Gary Grice, as arguably one of the most cutthroat emcees from hip-hop’s golden era.
But, if you’re a more casual fan, you’d be forgiven if you’re unable to pick GZA out of a lineup next to the Wu-Tang’s other, more outsized personalities. That might be because he’s less obvious a spotlight seeker than the likes of Method Man, Raekwon, and the late Ol’ Dirty Bastard. All those men have personas distinct enough that, in some instances, they help elevate what I’d consider okay-to-bland rhymes. Whether it was the unique bite Method Man put on his delivery, Ghost’s stream-of-consciousness rabbit holes, or ODB’s brand of surrealism, you wouldn’t call any of their styles unassuming. But GZA is in his own category, at times much more literary and philosophical than his peers. He never overcomplicates his lyrical approach or delivery, and he never sounds like he’s getting too high on his own supply, qualities that, in the Wu-Tang universe, aren’t necessarily commonplace. Without that essence, that in-point, I don’t think you get Liquid Swords.
But here I am, speaking like he’s the only one responsible for creating what’s one of rap’s most treasured classic albums. This is as much RZA’s album as GZA’s, with production falling almost exclusively under his purview—the only exception is “B.I.B.L.E. (Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth),” which was handled by 4th Disciple. To say it’s his most controlled, cohesive effort at the helm of a Wu-Tang solo project doesn’t do his brilliance justice. The gritty, crackling aesthetic that he popularized on *Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers)* is even stranger and more understated here, featuring sample choices and sonic layering that take more risks than he had to at that point in his career. To listen back to Liquid Swords, as a newbie or a devoted fan, is to marvel at RZA’s confidence as a world-builder. It’s no surprise he’d go on to score several films as a solo artist, including Kill Bill, which includes a nod to the same film included in this LP’s opening track. Like I said, world-building. Or maybe it’s more brand-building. Or both.
To fully appreciate the appeal of GZA’s smooth, calm intimidation, especially when set against production this uncompromising, you have to remember where hip-hop was as a genre in 1995. The biggest song of that year was Coolio’s “Gangsta’s Paradise,” snatching that top spot away from multiple competing tracks from TLC and Boyz II Men. Simpler times, my friends. Simpler times. The Bad Boy shiny suit era was in full swing, and G-funk was about to enjoy yet another stint of mainstream success when 2Pac’s opus, All Eyez On Me, dropped the following. In stark contrast to 2025, rap was the de facto pop soundtrack in North America, a moment in history the Wu-Tang Clan took full advantage of. In 12 months, the collective released four projects that would eventually peak inside the Top 10 on the Billboard 200: Method Man’s Tical, ODB’s Return to the 36 Chambers, Raekwon’s Only Built 4 Cuban Linx, and Swords. All four would eventually be certified Platinum stateside, too. It’s the kind of run I doubt we’ll see again in rap culture, mainly because the industry prizes bloated, streaming-friendly tracklists over leaner, meaner records like this one. When asked about the timing to write and record this LP, GZA said, “We (Wu-Tang) were on a roll, and it was the perfect time to get in the studio and just do it.”
Though “just do it” may be overstating the speed with which this one came together. In an interview with Wax Poetics, GZA described his writing process as “real slow,” adding that an underlying perfectionism for hitting the perfect word combinations in his bars led him to rework verses dozens of times before he was satisfied. “For a few tracks on the album, I remember, the beat would be running, and it’d be four o’clock in the afternoon. We’d be smoking, and you know how weed takes its toll on you. I’d just get tired and sit in the same spot all day,” he said. “I’d take a nap, hang out, nap later, wake up, and finish a track. RZA would leave and go to the city to handle business. He’d come home hours later, and I’d still be writing the same s*** I started when he left. [laughs].” The fact that his rhymes, like the beats he spits them over, feel hand-forged by a wise old sensei reinforces the cult of personality that underpins every second of every track.
GZA’s lyrical devices of choice are similes and metaphors, tools he wields like a surgeon wields a scalpel. In the eponymous opener, he gets off several all-timers in just two verses, describing his flow as being “like blood on a murder scene” and his energy on the mic as a force that hits like “roundhouse kicks” and “cyclones or typhoons.” If those weren’t sharp enough, he caps it all off by observing, “I drop megaton bombs more faster than you blink,” proving that you don’t have to speakl in grammatically correct sentences to leave your opponent shaken. GZA follows that song up with another gem, “Duel of the Iron Mic,” the cut he singles out as his favorite on the entire album. The wordplay gets more complex, with the Genius serving up this head-spinner about a minute in: “The liquid soluble that made up the chemistry/A gaseous element that burned down your ministry.” We used to care about great prose in this country. “Duel” also features memorable appearances from Inspectah Deck and ODB, the latter of whom plays a deranged hype man in contrast to the others’ cool remove. It’s up there on my list of the most slept-on Wu songs ever recorded.
Other highlights include “Cold World,” a dirge about survival that’s guaranteed to give you the chills. Ghostface’s cracked-heart verse colors paranoia with a hard-bitten empathy, half-haunted by memories, pushed along by a beat that sounds like it’s barely breathing at times. There’s also “Shadowboxin’,” where Method Man pops up to shift the tone to something more in line with battle rap, all while GZA maintains a steady, calculating presence. You can feel them testing each other’s balance, however playfully. And then you have “4th Chamber,” which plays like a found footage transmission from a post-apocalyptic scene, full of chopped sitars and thunderous kick drums, pure chaos wrapped in rhythm. “Making ‘4th Chamber’ was crazy because I didn’t have a rhyme ready for that one,” GZA said. “That’s why I went last on it. [laughs] Plus, Ghost killed it with his verse, so I knew I had to come correct.”
There’s a moral geometry running through Liquid Swords, a kind of code beneath all the grit and grime. Violence here isn’t spectacle, just a logical outcome to the harsh realities navigated by the anti-heroes at the center of this story. Every death, every betrayal, every flicker of rage feels measured against something larger, some invisible order GZA seems to understand better than anyone. He builds up these larger ideas from small truths, expressed with the utmost precision. Even the Shogun Assassin interludes are lessons in disguise: stories of vengeance that double as blueprints for discipline. RZA’s production amplifies that kind of focused restraint, leaving pockets of silence where other producers would be quick to fill those spaces in with noise. The emptiness becomes language. The cold itself becomes part of the rhythm.
30 years later, Liquid Swords still feels like the moment intellect became a lethal weapon in hip-hop. Braggadocio sounds like an even bigger flex when your vocabulary is more varied and your historical references run that much deeper. Add the calm remove to that, and it’s unnerving. Like watching a master fighter who never breaks stance, there are no wasted movements on this record. No filler, no gloss, just immaculate swordsmanship from GZA, the Wu’s oldest member, His voice cuts through the dark, steady and exacting, like a teacher who’s been waiting for you to catch up. “It’s hard to say something is gonna be classic or not,” he’d remark later. “But I can say that I felt the magic with that one. I actually saw it grow and come together, and felt that it was special as we were doing it.”
What’s your favorite Wu-Tang Clan solo record? Liquid Swords or another project? Shout it out in the comments.