How the Wu-Tang Clan drew its roots from vintage Hong Kong kung-fu flicks

Hong Kong to New York

Hip hop is all about connection – bringing people, ideas and communities together across space and time. As an avid hip hop-fan from Hong Kong, I constantly wondered whether a connection existed between hip-hop and my hometown. I eventually found the answer in the genre-defining rap collective – Wu-Tang Clan– and Hong Kong’slow-budget kung-fu flicks. This connection spans eight-thousand miles wide, interlinking the cultural melting pots of New York and Hong Kong.

Whether it is through A$AP ROCKY and Rihanna’s first-born being named ‘RZA’, or through Ghostface Killah’s feature in Kendrick Lamar’s latest album, Wu-Tang Clan’s legacy still shines in the imaginary of contemporary rap fans. Constituting a large cast of nine MCs, each with their own distinctive style and personality, their legacy was cemented in their 1993 debut album Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers). With its grimy and hardcore yet minimal style, its raw and witty lyricism, as well as the unorthodox sampling of film dialogues, this album birthed a new canon of street underground rap. Yet, where did all of this come from – the trademark samples, the lyrics, the energy?

“Everybody was Kung-Fu fighting…”

One answer lies in the 1974 hit single ‘Kung Fu Fighting’ by Carl Douglas, a song that captures the “kung-fu craze” sweeping America in the 1970s. The whirlwind began in March 1973, when Warner Brothers held a screening of the Hong Kong martial art film, 5 Fingers of Death (originally King Boxer), at  Times Square. The film unexpectedly topped the U.S. domestic box office, riveting mainstream commercial audiences. This led to an influx of Hong Kong kung-fu films in America, many flowing through grindhouse theatres on Manhattan’s notorious 42nd Street – a location where RZA, GZA and Ol’ Dirty Bastard frequented to binge kung-fu films. These films were affordable, given they ran alongside ‘B’ genres (pornography, horror, Blaxploitation), and heavily resonated with minority communities. 

Hong Kong martial art films often reflected tough social realities. Set against the backdrop of foreign imperialism and government repression, the protagonist – oppressed yet virtuous – fought against tremendous odds. Enacting revenge required extreme self-discipline, will and mastery of the craft. These narratives and images powerfully transcended geographical and cultural boundaries. RZA summarises the three most influential kung-fu flicks shaping Wu-Tang’s ethos succinctly: ‘From Thirty-sixth Chamber you get discipline and struggle. From Shaolin and Wu-Tang you get the warrior technique…from Eight-Diagram Pole Fighter, you get the brotherhood, the soul.’ 

‘I grew up on the crime side, the New York Times side.’

For a fourteen-year-old RZA, The 36th Chamber of Shaolin, was life-changing. ‘It was like something from the Old Testament or a Greek epic,’ he recalled in his memoir, The Tao of Wu. ‘It changed my life, for real, because its wisdom brought my own story alive…[the movie] drew people like me into the truth of our own history.’ 

The film follows San Te, a young student who narrowly escapes Manchu persecution after a failed rebellion, tragically losing his friends and family. Driven by a burning desire for vengeance, he dedicated years to kung-fu training at the Shaolin temple, methodically advancing through its thirty-five chambers – each with a specific skill. Beginning as a clumsy novice with an ‘outsider’ status, San Te rapidly progresses through sheer determination and discipline, becoming a Shaolin master.

Growing up in the housing projects of Staten Island, New York, members of the Wu-Tang Clan had the shared nightmarish experiences of poverty, lawlessness, and drug addiction. These projects were described as a ‘police state’, entrapping black Americans in a perpetual cycle of state persecution and violence. In these spaces, the ideas of Black Power and anti-white supremacy of the 1960s were widespread. It is unsurprising, therefore, that the Eastern trope of mythic heroes fighting oppressive forces held such emotional currency with the black American community. 

Upon watching The 36th Chamber, RZA describes, “As a black man in America, I didn’t know that story existed anywhere else.” Such was the impact of East Asian kung-fu flicks on the disempowered psyche; they imbued a sense of hope and inspiration through non-Western portrayals of power, resistance and self-transformation. These themes aroused a transnational historicalconsciousness, especially amongst the youth, against social injustice worldwide. Channeling this energy, the Wu-Tang would come to consolidate their own sound in precisely kung-fu style: perceptive, deadly, and cutting-edge. 

‘Our tongue is our sword.’

Part of what crystallises Wu-Tang Clan’s timelessness is their innovative fusion of kung-fu and hip hop. Wielding their lyrics as weapons against rival MCs and the wider establishment, the Wu-Tang Clan creatively reconstructed their identity as martial artists in the hip-hop world. Their hometown Staten Island was reimagined as “Shaolin” and kung-fu was expressed through rapping. The result was vicious, intelligent, and aggressive.

“I smoke on the mic like smokin’ Joe Frazier / The hell raiser, raisin’ hell with the flavor / Terrorize the jam like troops in Pakistan” (Inspectah Deck, ‘Protect Ya Neck’)

“Ghostface, catch the blast of a hype verse / My glock bursts, leave in a hearse, I did worse.” (Ghostface Killah, ‘Bring Da Ruckus’)

The us-versus-them battle ethos became one of Wu-Tang’s defining qualities. Their name ‘Wu-Tang’ itself was drawn from the Wu-Tang sword style that appeared in the 1983 kung-fu flick Shaolin and Wu-Tang. RZA chose it for its invincibility as a sword technique, encapsulating his crew’s lethal and undefeated mentality.

To solidify this new identity, some Clan members such as Masta Killa (Elign Turner) and Ghostface Killah (Dennis Coles) adopted their stage names from Shaolin warrior San Te, i.e. the Master Killer, and villain Ghost-Face Killer from Mystery Of Chess Boxing respectively. Embracing these new personas and rejecting commercial trends, the Clan carved out an autonomous creative space for themselves to let it all out: the brutal realities of their youth, the wisdom of East Asian philosophies, and their unrelenting ambition to change the world.

‘Without wisdom, there is no gain.’

For the Wu-Tang Clan, kung-fu flicks were not just visual aesthetics or an obsessive childhood interest. They embodied a way of life upholding a traditional set of values, such as self-improvement, wisdom, and brotherhood. These values enabled the Clan to collectively pave an alternative path for themselves, refining their craft and breaking away from the cycle of violence inherent in their personal stories. Martial arts became a symbolic medium to confront their past, renegotiate their identities and envision a brighter future. It was this worldview, inspired by kung-fu flicks, that made the style and essence of Wu-Tang’s music so distinct.

originally published on Delilah Magazine