A few weeks ago, I went to an unusual listening event for the Wu-Tang Clan’s lost experiment, Once Upon a Time in Shaolin [ed. note: we must consider the alternative that the album is merely Cilvaringz fan fiction]. For research, I was listening to a lot of late-period Wu to try to figure out why Wu-Tang still can churn out well-made, accomplished music that hits all the beats that made them one of the most important, influential rap groups of all time. Yet the music itself has largely lost its spark for me.
I think I found my answer in Mach Hommy’s #RICHAXXHATIAN, which I’ve been listening to on a loop. Mach has a generational ear for beats, not just on a song level, but in how he retains a sonic aesthetic no matter which producer he’s collaborating with. And here, his synthesis with Conductor Williams and SadhuGold works better than any Wu project in decades. Mach is as indebted to Wu as Roc Marciano. In fact, the entirety of millennial 2010s-and-on neo-boom bap bears the influence of Wu-Tang’s grainy and layered samples and dense mythological lyrics. It’s a post-modern revision of what was once the bellwether for rap’s post-modern era.
There’s a minimalism in Mach’s work that matches Ka, Roc Marciano, and Westside Gunn. The beats are subdued and stripped down. Mach raps in a monotone that has the effect of trying to communicate with a low-talker in a crowd. You have to lean and pay extremely close attention. Even then, you may not catch it all on a first listen. Clint Eastwood knew when to drop lines of dialogue and Sergio Leon often opted for silence over a blaring Morricone. Mach-Hommy and Conductor Williams do it, too.
“The Serpent and the Rainbow” is my favorite song from #RICHAXXHATIAN for a dumb and arbitrary reason: it has my favorite beat on the album. It’s appropriately cinematic and named after a very weird and problematic book by a Harvard anthropologist, which was adapted into a subsequent Wes Craven horror flick about voodoo and “real” live zombies in Haiti. The beat is a flip of “Amore Senza Nome” from the 1954 Humphrey Bogart classic Barefoot Contessa. It has a dusty fingers, bottom-of-the-stack-pull-played-under-a-transmission-from-a-Martian-satellite quality that evokes Madlib’s work on Madvillainy.
Mach operates at a register that no one else can touch. Sometimes, I just listen passively to his flow dancing on-and-off beat; the production is as fluid as his timing. Mach frequently gets stuck on a rhyming sound like Cam’ron, and like the Harlem legend, he can riff in so many novel ways from so many different directions, while maintaining plot and coherence. The rhymes are never forced. It’s stunning both from a perspective of pen and cadences.
At times, I think the song is about keeping an emotional distance from women so that you don’t become a zombie for uh, love. Or maybe it’s about the effect that he has on them. Or maybe I’m completely wrong. Mach is exacting as both an MC and lyricist, and because he refuses to let his lyrics post on Genius or on iTunes, there’s a Kubrickian quality that demands deeper readings. It makes me think that there’s at least a chance this song is also about faking the moon landing or Pras from the Fugees assassinating key members of the Haitian government for the CIA. – Abe Beame