After Further Review: Ghostface Killah’s “Supreme Clientele”

Oliver Wang and David Ma discuss Ghostface Killah’s “Supreme Clientele” and the trajectory of the Wu-Tang Clan around the turn of the century.

By Oliver WangNovember 3, 2025

• Music

“After Further Review” was an idea I came up with years ago to get into one-on-one discussions with fellow writers about revisiting key recordings long after their original release. The core conceit was to explore whether the passage of time led to a change of perspective on certain songs or albums, or gave rise to new insights. For this one, I invited a longtime colleague from the Bay Area, David Ma, to talk about one of the great Wu-Tang Clan albums of the 21st century, Ghostface Killah’s Supreme Clientele, which celebrated its 25th anniversary in February.
—Oliver Wang

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I’m about to save hip-hop like Ghost did the Wu.
—Freddie Foxxx, “R.N.S.” (2000)

FOR MOST OF the mid-1990s, the Wu-Tang Clan seemed bulletproof. With their stunning debut, Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) (1993), the Staten Island collective shifted expectations on what hip-hop could sound like with their flurry of lyrical styles, dramatic street stories, and off-kilter, dissonant production. For several years running, it felt like every new Wu-Tang solo album—including Method Man’s Tical (1994), Raekwon’s Only Built 4 Cuban Linx… (1995), and GZA’s Liquid Swords (1995)—only further burnished their record of excellence, culminating in 1997 with their hefty double album, Wu-Tang Forever.

In the following years, however, cracks began to form. Some (meaning this author) found Wu-Tang Forever to be bloated. More concerning, the next set of solo albums failed to land with the intensity of earlier releases, especially the uneven second efforts from Method Man (Tical 2000: Judgement Day, 1998), Raekwon (Immobilarity, 1999), and GZA (Beneath the Surface, 1999).

Meanwhile, hip-hop tastes were shifting. The success of the Wu emboldened other aspirant cliques, such as the Diplomats, Cash Money Millionaires, and Ruff Ryders, to elbow their way into the fold. Rap was now in its “shiny suit era,” filled with synth-based, chart-driven production styles that were a far cry from RZA’s grit ’n’ grind sonic mayhem. As remarkable as the Wu-Tang’s run had been, there was genuine concern that the group was on a slow decline to an ignominious end.

Then came Supreme Clientele.

Ghostface Killah, one of the Clan’s core members from the jump, had already released a solo debut, Ironman (1996), and was heavily featured on Cuban Linx. Supreme Clientele not only reinvigorated the passions of listeners but also thrust Ghost forward as the Clan’s new standard-bearer, a position that he arguably still holds 25 years later.

This year brought both a long-awaited vinyl reissue of the album—the first in 15 years—but also a sequel: Supreme Clientele 2. To mark these drops, I sat down with music journalist and multiple-time Wu-Tang interviewer David Ma to answer the question: does the original Supreme Clientele still live up to its reputation? Let’s grab some ziti and strawberry kiwi and get into it.

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OLIVER WANG: Before I heard Supreme Clientele, I rated Ghost on a tier below Method Man (coolest voice) and Ol’ Dirty Bastard (biggest personality). While I thought Ironman was a solid album, it was never my favorite of that first wave of solo LPs. I had few expectations that Supreme Clientele would be as good as it was.

Dave, what were your general impressions of Ghostface prior to Supreme Clientele, especially in relation to the larger Wu-Tang Clan?

DAVID MA: I always liked Ghostface, but he wasn’t a favorite at first. I liked him on 36 Chambers and definitely thought he was killer on Cuban Linx, but he was always second after ODB when it came to that sense of unhinged energy. My favorite of the first-generation Wu was always Liquid Swords, but these days I revisit Cuban Linx more; maybe that’s because I’ve exhausted Liquid Swords and feel like I know it on a molecular level. To your point: Ironman was my least favorite! It’s a project with moments, great moments, but forgettable to me then—and now.

I interviewed Ghost years ago, and he said that he was in a real dark place during Ironman, that a friend had just passed, and he’d just found out he had diabetes. He also said it felt rushed and that he doesn’t feel like it’s a proper debut. He said that Supreme Clientele is his true debut. Maybe Supreme Clientele is more akin to Naughty by Nature’s or Mobb Deep’s sophomore efforts, which felt more like an arrival than their actual first albums. If Supreme Clientele falls into this category, boy, what an arrival it is.

I understand the comparison that you’re making between his two albums, though I think Ironman landed with a considerably bigger splash compared to Mobb Deep’s Juvenile Hell (1993) and certainly compared to Independent Leaders (1989), if that’s the “first” Naughty by Nature album you were talking about, back when the group was still called the New Style.

Were you a fan of the Wu’s records from Wu-Tang Forever through the end of 1999? For me, the collective had lost some of its luster by that point.

You’re so right. I remember how “All That I Got Is You” was everywhere. I liked it as a high schooler but definitely don’t consider it as elite Wu, although I know it’s really beloved. After the first-generation Wu-Tang releases, I checked out. I could not take another “Killa Rugged Swarm Monk” release, ha ha.

What about those years made you feel like they had lost luster? Was it the production aesthetics for you, or the rhyming aspect? How did you dive back into Wu?

It was mostly the production. Not that I don’t appreciate good lyricism, but if the beat isn’t grabbing me, even the best-written or -performed song is unlikely to enter my listening rotation. The production on many of those Wu albums from 1997 through 1999 just didn’t have the same appeal to me, but in fairness to RZA and his production team, literally hundreds of tracks were lost when RZA’s Staten Island basement got flooded twice in the mid-1990s.

I heard about the floods back then, but I didn’t fully comprehend how devastating this was for RZA and the Wu as a whole. It sidelined entire projects for years, and the ones that still moved through the pipeline usually featured other producers because RZA couldn’t magically recreate multiple albums’ worth of beats again. This is why, for example, Inspectah Deck’s debut, Uncontrolled Substance, was delayed from 1995 until fall of 1999. I do think Wu-related recordings in that late-nineties era suffered as a consequence. Basically, there is an alternate universe where better plumbing would have rewritten hip-hop history … but c’est la vie.

For you, meanwhile, it sounds like the massive wave of “Killa Rugged Swarm Monk”–type releases had you feeling either overwhelmed or underwhelmed (or both). I’m guessing there’s no Sunz of Man poster hanging in your bedroom. What wasn’t working for you during that era of releases?

No Sunz of Man poster, no La the Darkman, no Killarmy. It wasn’t one specific thing that wasn’t working—it was the entirety. I felt swarmed. Everything was saturated. Ironically, it’s not unlike what’s happening now with Griselda, which is kind of fitting, since they borrowed so much from Wu in terms of sound and business structure. Objectively, all the post-1999 releases neatly fit into the formula that Wu had established, but it felt achingly derivative. It also didn’t help that the second round of solo albums were big letdowns: GZA’s Beneath the Surface broke my heart.

Everything after Wu-Tang Forever felt like an SNL skit of the Wu. Do you remember those Wu-Tang name generators? It was like every Wu affiliate was making songs through a Wu-Tang music generator, like an AI version of Wu before AI existed. Plus, around then, I was really struck by what El-P was doing with Def Jux, and simultaneously expanding my musical taste, so Wu felt old and boring.

Let’s center it back to Supreme Clientele. When did this land on your radar and what was your first reaction?

What immediately struck me about Supreme Clientele was how much it sounded like a “classic” Wu-Tang album, by which I mean something the group would have released in 1995. By 2000, I just didn’t know if we’d be getting that Shaolin soul style anymore, but when “Nutmeg” hit after the intro, I thought—like many—Oh shit, is the Wu back?

Side note: “Nutmeg” is one of the best opening songs on any Wu album. I’d probably put it number three behind “Bring Da Ruckus” off of 36 Chambers, and “Knuckleheadz” from Cuban Linx. “Shimmy Shimmy Ya” would have been number two but the intro to Ol’ Dirty Bastard’s Return to the 36 Chambers: The Dirty Version (1995) is damn near five minutes of him incoherently rambling. I know you’re a big fan of GZA’s Liquid Swords and I’d say the title track is in the top five too. But I digress …

Since you were so skeptical of the Wu post-1999, what led you to finally listen to Supreme Clientele?

By 2000, all the Wu world-building had hit a wall for me. Just like the Star Wars franchise: I loved the first three, liked the second three, didn’t care about the 10,000 that came after. Also, the Wu affiliates were never as strong as the original core, rapping-wise or production-wise. To your point, the beats (and just overall vibe) on Supreme felt like a return to form. Ghost was explosive! The beats were grimy! I think it wasn’t until 2002 or maybe even 2003, after hearing so many glowing reviews online, that I finally sat down with it.

I heard Supreme out of order. The first track I came across was “Child’s Play,” which is still a huge favorite. That production and overall feel, like you said, reminded me of old Wu. But the abrupt beat switch on “Child’s Play” felt new, plus Ghost being absolutely hilarious is what sold me. It’s one of only two songs on here that are linear—it’s a bit of a story—while the others were just Ghost going ballistic. Once I gave the whole thing a full spin, like you said, “Nutmeg” was a grenade right out the gate. Ghost kicked it into fifth gear and felt truly one-of-one.

For a year or two, off the strength of this album alone, Ghost was top five for me. It’s easy to pick apart the album’s greatness now, but what other specific moments stuck out to you at first? You mentioned the production. This had different producers but was able to sound cohesive too. What are your favorite beats on here?

“Child’s Play” remains my favorite song off this LP, but that isn’t just for the song’s production (though it’s fantastic work from RZA). The song is inherently nostalgic—as many of Ghost’s songs can be—and the beat helps accentuate that feeling. On the other hand, there’s also something rather uncomfortable about listening to a grown man rap about his sexual awakening as an adolescent, talking about “pretty little Sally […] with a Betty Boop bum” and how she used to get his “ding-a-ling hard.” I don’t usually put on Wu-Tang songs expecting a pedo vibe, but here we are.

That song aside, Supreme Clientele’s cup runneth over with stellar production. My understanding is that this was the first Wu-Tang album where RZA, after that flood, was finally able to supervise the overall music. Half of the songs credit him as producer, but both he and Ghost have said in interviews that they also “reworked” beats by other contributors. It seems reminiscent of how Q-Tip was the unofficial beat doctor on Mobb Deep’s The Infamous (1995), helping give that album its signature sonic texture. Ironically, or perhaps appropriately, that means Supreme Clientele had the most consistent music on any Wu-Tang album since Ghost’s Ironman, in my opinion.

After “Nutmeg,” for example, is “One,” produced by JuJu of the Beatnuts, who does incredibly effective work with just a two-bar loop. “Apollo Kids” is dramatically explosive and energetic, a surprise turn from Haas G of the UMCs (Staten Island’s original hip-hop hitmakers from the early nineties). And in terms of the tracks that RZA directly produced, it’s hard to outdo “Buck 50,” which, like “One,” is deceptively stripped-down yet packs a wallop of a punch.

In fact, listening to this album again, I was struck by how, at a time when so many other rap artists pursued a glossier, synthesizer-driven sound in the early 2000s, Supreme Clientele consistently finds how to make more out of less. “Stroke of Death,” for example, is a droning, single-bar loop built around the sound of a record being pulled backwards, beneath the stylus. It’s all incredibly sparse and incredibly effective.

RZA directly producing the lion’s share of the album, plus overseeing it, is why it succeeds. Even if you remove Ghost’s unrepeatable performance, I think the sequencing and collective feel is still stunning. It’s certainly one of the best overall-produced Wu albums.

As you mentioned, “One” is incredibly effective, such an uppercut out of the gate. It’s crazy to me how many of the other producers I wasn’t aware of, but I’m assuming they’re part of the second- and third-tier Wu affiliates we touched on earlier. If that’s the case, RZA once again plucked the best of the best to present to the masses.

There are two dudes named Carlos on here with production credits? Choo “The Specializt”? Who the what? No idea, but “Malcolm” is an emotive beat—how it sinks into Ghost’s voice as soon as the dialogue sample drops out. So much tension. The Inspectah Deck–produced “Stay True” has that dark piano sample, which Ghost then weaves in and out of. Besides “Child’s Play,” most of the beats are just outstanding one-bar loops. They all hit too. “Apollo Kids” by Haas G is another sterling beat. I didn’t realize the Staten Island connection until you mentioned it! I love common threads like that.

This album is a case of the beats and vocals marrying, a sort of recentering of RZA’s sound post-flood—and, man, the more we talk about it, the more that flood feels like hip-hop’s Library of Alexandria.

Talk a bit about how Ghost struck you as a lyricist when you first heard him, both as a solo MC and as part of the group dynamic.

My enduring memory of Ghost, pre-Supreme, was from the “crazy visions” skit that opens “Glaciers of Ice” off of Raekwon’s Cuban Linx, where he’s talking about dyeing Wallabee desert boots—“blue and cream!”—with gusto. He sounded bugged out in this memorable way; “bugged out” isn’t a bad way to describe Ghost’s general affect as an MC.

It’s not that I thought Ghost lacked punch or charisma, but given how huge even the core Wu team was, it was hard to give each member equal listening time during that prolific mid-nineties portion of the Clan’s discography. I also just never gelled with Ironman as an album either. That’s on me, not the album; I probably need to sit down with it again, but back then, very little of it left an impression on me—besides “Daytona 500,” which still goes hard, almost 30 years later.

By Supreme Clientele, I was far more appreciative of Ghost’s brand of seemingly non sequitur barrages of rhymes. As I alluded to earlier on the intro, this line from “Apollo Kids” has stayed with me for decades: “Ayo, this rap is like ziti, facing me real TV / Crash at high speeds, strawberry kiwi.” What does it mean? I have no idea, but I’m ok with that. On this album, Ghost feels like a Blaxploitation character—unflappably cool, yet scowling too—dispensing wisdom so advanced that we’re still catching up to it.

Oh man, I don’t think I’ll ever catch up to some of these lines, but if Ghost thinks that “rap is like ziti,” who am I to argue? Part of this album’s undying intrigue is deciphering Ghost’s words as if they were ancient hieroglyphs.

I want to also mention “Ghost Deini” because it has the album’s only instance of calm (besides the skits). Right after Ghost directly references Rakim (“How can I move the crowd? / First of all, ain’t no mistakes allowed”) he goes full a cappella on the bridge with “Tupac, Biggie, oh, how we miss you so / We want y’all both to know, we really love you so.” Not only does he associate himself with arguably the biggest rappers to ever do it; it’s also a reminder that Ghost can sing—not in a traditional sense at all, but in that he pulls off not-so-great singing. Not unlike, for example, Biz Markie, who could make a hook all his own, completely emotive, super entertaining and fitting what the song needs.

As for some other favorites: “Buck 50” feels like a return to form, a hype posse cut that reminds me how Redman, in an alternate universe, could’ve been a perfect core member of the Clan. By the same token, Cappadonna reminds me how aggressively mid he can be.

We’d be remiss not to mention “Mighty Healthy.” I get goose bumps when that Sylvers’ “Wish That I Could Talk to You” sample hits, and then Ghost cannonballs into the beat. Just electrifying.

Great picks. “Buck 50” is definitely a favorite of mine, and as you note, it’s cool that Redman got invited to join the Clan members, especially given all the duet work he was doing with Method Man back then. What I also appreciate about “Buck 50” is that the Baby Huey sample powering the track had already been in hip-hop use since the late 1980s, but somehow, in RZA’s hands, it still sounds fresh.

Personally, “Stay True” comes to mind immediately as a standout. Besides that great piano loop you mentioned, I just love this early part of the song where Ghost raps, “We rock jean jackets, thick shirts over turtlenecks / Certified doctors in hoods that still oil TECs.” I’m not one to normally dissect songs line by line, but that’s an incredible sequence.

The first line is all evocation. I find myself picturing what that outfit looks like: is he wearing three layers? A turtleneck, then a thick shirt, then a jean jacket? (Ghost was probably the most sartorial of the Clan members, and many of his songs allude to his wardrobe; “Stay True” has at least half a dozen references.) The very next line, you get an equally striking image of scholars in doctoral hoods, practicing proper maintenance on semiautomatic weapons. This is just in the first few bars of the song; there are dozens more to follow, all with the same kinetic flair. (Bonus: “Stay True” also inspired the title of our good colleague Hua Hsu’s memoir!)

On a very different vibe, I also enjoyed “Cherchez LaGhost,” which is the closest this album comes to a club song. It’s based on the mid-1970s disco hit “Cherchez la Femme” by Dr. Buzzard’s Original Savannah Band. While other rappers might try to make a song like this into a radio single by switching up their style to be more palatable, Ghostface and U-God don’t aim for the lowest common commercial denominator—though they are less esoteric here compared to other songs. I wouldn’t want an album’s worth of songs with this sound, but I do appreciate the brief departure in tone.

Lastly, I’d be remiss in not showing some love for the album’s various skits. On Ironman, I got annoyed at all the samurai/kung fu film dialogue they’d run before the songs began, but on Supreme they produced actual skits, including the crack-spot drama “Woodrow the Base Head.” My favorite of these is “Clyde Smith,” where a voice-altered Raekwon inhabits an alter ego as a veteran street figure. The skit starts satirically but gets serious in the back half, when Rae/Clyde issues some very direct threats against fellow rapper 50 Cent (who, at that point in his career, was really only known for “How to Rob,” a joke song about, well, robbing rappers). Most of his peers were not amused, including, apparently, Raekwon.

Despite Wu-Tang’s (specifically RZA’s) penchant for having memorable skits, I am always one to fast-forward to the song. Having said that, of course, skits aren’t always filler: “Clyde Smith” really recenters the album’s dark undertone on the back end. But I must admit, at almost three minutes, I skip it when I throw the album on now.

That said, I do enjoy the hilarious “Woodrow the Base Head.” Ghost’s natural charisma shines. It feels like something Prince Paul would’ve put together, a dark comedy with moral complexity where Ghost finds himself refusing to sell to ’Drow at the end, suggesting that his conscience won’t allow crack sales during Christmastime. Wow.

That really speaks to the duality of Ghost on here—absolutely wild and unhinged, but also tethered to a personal set of ethics. It also perfectly sets the table for the melancholy piano that anchors “Stay True.” We’ve touched on our favorite moments, but tell me this: does the album hold up for you 25 years later?

Not only does this album still totally hold up for me a quarter century later, but it also launched what became a very prolific and consistent discography that—since this album came out—has included something like 10 solo studio albums and another half dozen collaborative LPs. I don’t think it’s overstating things to suggest that, more than any other Wu-Tang member, Ghost ended up becoming the Clan’s standard-bearer.

For a moment, Ghost felt like the only exciting Wu member. I think these days, that nod goes to Meth (his recent guest verses have been exciting!) But let us also not forget Fishscale, which came out six years after Supreme. I also want to add that listeners who want a more subdued but no less entertaining Ghost should check out The Pretty Toney Album (2004). I just wish we got to hear the original version, where RZA apparently didn’t clear the samples.

The Fishscale era (More Fish too) seemed like Ghost was actively trying to regrasp the energy felt on Supreme Clientele, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. His more recent releases, however, leave a lot to be desired.

Irrespective of how Supreme Clientele 2 turns out, Ghost’s earlier work will always merit a listen. He’s an unpredictable supernova, at once fiery and ominous (“Lyin’ with the snakes, tongue kissin’ cobras”) or innocently nostalgic (“Those were the days, made faces, school plays”). Twenty-five years removed, I feel like Supreme Clientele was truly the final classic Wu release. When I asked Ghost about what makes that record so special, he responded (in very Ghostlike fashion): “Clientele is just me killin’ shit, nah mean?”

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David Ma is a writer and editor whose work has appeared in NPR, Wax Poetics, The Guardian, The Ringer, Billboard, Rolling Stone, The Paris Review, Pitchfork, and the San Jose Mercury News. For over 25 years, he has provided music journalism through a historical, research-based lens—writing reviews, features, and profiles that contextualize artists and their work. He is a lecturer at San José State University and co-owner of Needle to the Groove Records.