This is the way things always were for the Wu-Tang Clan-the explosive disputes, the factitious divisions, the general sense that nobody's sure what's about to happen. Years later, U-God will sue the rest of the group over unpaid royalties. When U-God tells me about "twelve years of miscommunications, twelve years of burned bridges," it's pretty clear that he considers Divine to be, at the very least, part of the problem. Divine isn't a Wu-Tang member, and U-God drips with disrespect for the man. When I mention that I've spoken to Divine, brother of the RZA and CEO of the Wu Music Group, U-God is incensed. At one point, he asks me directly, "What am I, your seventh favorite member in the group? Eighth?" (I hem-haw something about how I don't put them in a hierarchy like that. But U-God is also intensely conscious of his place in the Wu-Tang pecking order, and it's a point of some consternation. When a postal worker shows up to collect that day's letters, he immediately recognizes U-God and gets starstruck. It's a freezing afternoon, and my too-big tape recorder is awkwardly resting on top of a nearby mailbox, but he just keeps talking. He's garrulous and spirited and generous with his time. (At this point, Cap is still driving an unlicensed taxi in Baltimore.) And the Man with the Golden Arms also has a chip on his shoulder. When I reach an audibly depressed Cappadonna on the phone, he's not even sure whether he's going to be invited on the tour. I sit around for four hours at the "Back Like That" video shoot in Jersey City to get 10 minutes with Ghostface Killah. I sit outside a restaurant for an hour waiting for Inspectah Deck, who never shows. I'm working for the Village Voice, trying to interview as many Clan members as I can wrangle, and it's pure chaos just trying to get in touch with the right people. They're mad about not getting enough money and about not getting enough respect.
The Wu-Tang members are mad that they're playing clubs instead of arenas. The members of the Wu-Tang Clan are about to reconvene to play their first tour since the 2004 death of Ol' Dirty Bastard, and things are messy.
"Di- vine? What the fuck you talk to that n*gg* for?" It's the winter of 2005, and I'm outside a Manhattan comic book store, talking to U-God.
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