Amazon.com
The Wu-Tang warrior's second solo joint is so conceptually huge, only somebody who's been high every day for a decade could have imagined it: hip-hop album as science-fiction double-feature as celebrity parade as horror movie as multilayered masquerade as an endlessly Baroque flow of spiels and skits, hallucinatory fantasy, and killer-bee menace. The romantic strains of
Tical have been replaced by pure, sweaty sex, and Meth's image transformation from laidback muscle to bloodthirsty cyborg (with a phone book's worth of guest stars) just means he compacts his flow more tightly. The production is the Wu standard of berserk little loops and spare boom-bap, though RZA's tracks are head and shoulders above those of his disciples.
--Douglas Wolk
Spin
The future-present in which Meth and his multiple personas dwell is a paranoiac, claustrophobic, hallucinatory, Sensurround world.... Producers RZA, True Master, 4th Disciple, and Inspectah Deck surround Meth's awesome gust of a flow with swarms of hornet zithers, stinging atonal guitar licks, and the Wu's trademark urban underbelly piano nocturnes.
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