“Supreme Clientele” by Ghostface Killah
The last gasp of the Wu-Tang Clan's peak period turns 25.
This album review examines the last gasp of the Wu-Tang Clan’s glory days, a loose, experimental masterclass behind the mic from one of the group’s standout talents.
Genre: Hip-Hop, Gangsta Rap
Label: Epic
Release Date: February 8, 2000
Vibe: 🎙️
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Supreme Clientele, the second solo album from Ghostface Killah, was released a little over a month into the newly-minted millennium, at what was a down period for the Wu-Tang Clan Industrial Complex. I hesitate to say the group was no longer relevant in hip-hop’s global firmament—their 1993 classic, Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers), was still selling well—but the brand’s approval rating was on a downward trajectory. The second round of solo records from individual members like RZA, GZA, Method Man, and the late Ol’ Dirty Bastard aren’t as bad as some contemporary critical reviews would have you believe. Still, they were generally seen as a step down from the so-called glory days of the mid-90s. From 1993 to 1997, the East Coast collective was more or less untouchable.
Their run of excellence was so unassailable that it likely won’t ever be replicated again. Following 36 Chambers and its overnight rebranding of the gritty hardcore rap aesthetic, five of the group’s biggest personalities dropped one stone-cold classic after another in short order. In November 1994, Method Man’s up first at the plate with Tical, best known for the Mary J. Blige-assisted breakthrough, "I'll Be There for You / You're All I Need to Get By.” In 1995, ODB, Raekwon, and GZA came through with Return to the 36 Chambers, Only Built 4 Cuban Linx, and Liquid Swords, three of the greatest hip-hop albums ever made. Then, in 1996, comes Ironman, the solo debut of our protagonist, Ghostface Killah. Plenty of hip-hop heads consider LP the high-water mark for Wu-Tang’s spinoffs, and depending on the day, you could talk me into agreeing with them. Whatever your opinions on those individual releases, their collective heft set a new standard of excellence for how cinematic rap records could and should sound.
Everything peaked for the group in 1997 with Wu-Tang Forever, their glorious, utterly compelling hot mess of a double album. You could almost argue that it was ahead of its time when you consider the shameless, mostly insular fan service at its core. It’s over two hours long, full of dense, self-referential lyricism, and is funny in the same way that a punchline in Season 9 of a sitcom plays off a B story from Season 2 is funny. Their lead single, “Triumph,” epitomizes just how untethered the Wu from hip-hop’s norms, many of which they helped establish in the first place. 10 rappers get on the mic over nearly 6 minutes without serving up anything you’d mistake for a hook or chorus. It’s all killer and all filler simultaneously. On top of that, the music video cost the group nearly $1 million. For better and worse, they were in their blank cheque era.
But, behind the scenes, Ghostface Killah was at his lowest point. Plagued by symptoms brought on by what was later confirmed to be severe diabetes, including blurred vision and unbearable headaches, he didn’t think he had long left to live. Shortly after Wu-Tang Forever dropped, he set up shop in West Africa. He underwent non-traditional medical treatment that, according to the rapper, likely saved his life through a physical and spiritual detox. He emerged on the other side a changed man, gaining a newfound appreciation for an existence that wasn’t reliant on capitalism’s trappings. “F*** all this Tommy Hilfiger, Polo…all this s***…they don’t give a f*** about none of that over there,” Ghostface said of his ancestral homeland. “[They] might be f***** up, money-wise, but trust me, them muthaf***** is happy, man. Them n***** in harmony ‘cause they got each other.”
What draws you into Supreme Clientele from the jump—what makes it so divorced from his rapping on Ironman and other Wu-related guest appearances to that point—is his wild unpredictability behind the mic. His lyricism is as close to pure stream-of-consciousness as you’ll ever hear on a rap record, frequently defying interpretation or “normal” verse structures we’ve become conditioned to associate with “classic” hip-hop music. Instead, he spits bars the way you’d tell a long, involved anecdote to a group of friends, complete with in-jokes, spur-of-the-moment asides, and fudging certain details for dramatic purposes. To try and decipher the writing on this LP is to miss the point. It doesn’t matter if what Ghost says makes logical sense. Neither does the plot of Die Hard, but that’s not why you watch it over and over again. You return to it because it’s fun to see John McClane pick off those terrorists one by one.
Here’s an example from “Nutmeg,” Clientele’s excellent opening track:
Lightning rod fever heaters, knock-kneed a Sheeba for hiva Diva got rocked from the receiver bleeder Portfolio, looking fancy in the pantry My man got bigger dimes son, your s** is scampi*
The internal rhyming at work there is impressive, coupling three unlikely pairs together in the first two sentences alone. I have no idea what a “receiver bleeder” is, but it all works somehow. Also, not only are “pantry” and “scampi” an inventive rhyme, but ending your diss with the name of a pasta dish is (pardon the pun) deliciously entertaining. On the next track, “One,” he crafts multiple standout moments worth mentioning, including this gem:
Love the grass, cauliflower hurting when I dumped the trash Sour mash served in every glass up at the Wally Bash Sunsplash, autograph blessing with your name slashed Backdraft, four-pounders screaming with the pearly ash
Like the best punchlines and putdowns, Ghostface Killah uses language to elevate the art form he’s operating in. His cadence, delivery, and how he uses the texture of certain words to his aesthetic advantage all prove that he let go of whatever pretensions he had about his own rapping pre-African exile. “When I was rhyming on ‘Nutmeg’ and ‘One’ […], I made a style that I couldn’t even tell what it was,” he explained. “I just wanted to use some words that sounded good with each other and everybody’s trying to decipher what I mean when, really, I don’t even know what it means because I had no beat. But something said, Make a record. Write a verse real quick just putting words together, whether they mean something or not. Just put them together.” It sounds easy, but using free association to create art is incredibly difficult. You can’t have any fear or self-judgment holding you back. You have to be able to totally let go.
A separate, more underrated aspect of Supreme Clientele’s greatness is RZA’s growth as a producer and sonic svengali. He’s not the only one behind the board here, but with official credit on half the album’s songs, his behind-the-scenes presence is the most pronounced. Following 36 Chambers, his style had quietly become more stylish, polished, and soulful. You can hear the evolution on cuts like “Buck 50,” with those vintage guitar samples coming courtesy of Baby Huey and the disco-fied goodness of “Cherchez LaGhost.” But RZA proved he still had the power to unnerve on “Stroke of Death,” where record scratches and a repeated droning note instantly create a sense of dread. Even his verse on “The Grain” is a cut above his cameos from around that same period.
Unsurprisingly for such an oddball of a record, Clientele wasn’t a massive commercial smash when it dropped in 2000, though it was certified Gold in the United States. It was, however, a critical darling, landing on various “best of” lists compiled by the likes of Rolling Stone, Vibe, Spin, The Village Voice, Pitchfork, and NME. In the years since its release, its passionate support in online communities has helped it loom large in the eyes of fans who consider themselves the most devout and cultured hip-hop heads. To love this record is to get it. To understand its rightful place in the canon. Oddly enough, Ghost himself doesn’t seem to care to look back that often. He professes not to remember much about his decision-making on this record.
“I don’t remember probably 80 percent of [these bars], because I just do them and I leave it alone.,” He admitted. “I’m the type of artist that don’t even listen to my own albums after a while when I put them out. I leave them alone. I don’t even know when the last time I heard Ironman or Supreme Clientele. It’s been years. I don’t never sit back and listen to my music. I did it, you know what I mean? Because I’ve got a thing with me where it’s like … I know I could’ve did better.”
He’d be hard-pressed to top what’s become a turning point for an entire genre.
Which Ghostface or Wu-Tang track is your favorite? Sound off in the comments.