That’s what Wu-Tang Clan did last night.
The room at Mana Wynwood was packed wall-to-wall with people, almost as jammed as traffic outside the venue. The acrid stench of weed smoke from dozens of joints filled the air. Onstage, a pair of high-school-play-looking wooden props — a brick building called "Shaolin Apartments" and a bright-red Chinese pavilion — set the scene. This wasn’t Miami anymore: We had officially entered the 36 Chambers.
One might think they’d be tired of performing tracks they made 25 years ago, but their energy was unstoppable. With all the members bounding across the stage at once, each became the others' hype man, shouting lines and rapping over their deceased comrade Ol’ Dirty Bastard’s lines. This togetherness, this sense of a team effort in action, is what made the show truly outstanding. With rap groups mostly a thing of the past, it was a unique look at a form of tag-team, athletic performance that is shamefully no longer prevalent.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have been doing this shit for a quarter of a century,” Method Man proudly declared at one point.
With their catalogue exhausted, the group ended the performance by going a cappella, spitting rhymes with no musical accompaniment. The verses were long, unwieldy, and unquestionably impressive, fusing mythological imagery with rap bravado. GZA’s turn went so long and floored everyone so thoroughly that the clan decided simply to end things there. It was a display of not only the versatility of the group, whose individual styles complement one another so well, but also the essence of rap, which we so easily forget is an acronym for “rhythm and poetry.”
“No matter where you came from,” Ghostface said right before launching into one of their most bombastic tunes, “we want you to remember one thing: Wu-Tang Clan ain’t nuthing ta fuck wit!”