http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cbfGkiecl2M

It seems like it’s been a decade since Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All was touted as the next Wu-Tang Clan, but surprisingly, it was a mere two years ago, fresh off the breakout success of Tyler, the Creator’s “Yonkers” video. At the time, the Los Angeles rap collective carried that same air of danger that defined the Wu-Tang Clan’s masterful debut, “Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers).” The disappointment of Tyler’s wildly uneven “Goblin,” paired with a string of underwhelming releases from other members, revealed Odd Future for what it really is: two prodigious talents (Frank Ocean and Earl Sweatshirt) surrounded by a ragtag collection of undistinguished amateurs. What once felt shocking to my 17-year-old self soon came across as nothing more than the juvenile musings of overstimulated kids. However, the Wu-Tang Clan not only survived the first wave of hype but its members have flourished both within and outside of the group since “36 Chambers,” which reached its 20th anniversary last week.

The album begins with a clip from the kung-fu film “Shaolin vs. Wu-Tang,” insisting: “If what you say is true, the Shaolin and the Wu-Tang could be dangerous.” As listeners would learn immediately, the Wu-Tang was dangerous, an unimpeachable force of lyrical violence to be reckoned with. Where Odd Future plays pretend miscreant, the Wu-Tang Clan was truly terrifying, sending all adversaries running for cover. For all the fuss that’s been made about today’s trendy hip-hop collectives (Odd Future, Black Hippy and the A$AP Mob), none can match the Wu-Tang’s depth and clarity of purpose. Wu-Tang wasn’t out to simply make music; it was, as de facto leader RZA reveals on “Can It Be All So Simple,” “trying to make a business out of this.”

RZA’s insatiable ambition would turn a dizzyingly talented collection of rappers into an impeccably managed brand that still carries significant street cred. From clothing, books, a video game and film cameos, the myth of the Wu-Tang only grew as the ’90s wore on. It didn’t hurt that its members released a number of classic solo albums throughout and beyond the decade, constantly reminding hip-hop fans that they were as vital as ever.

But let’s return to “36 Chambers.” The album leads off with “Bring Da Ruckus,” a vicious statement of purpose that made crystal clear Wu-Tang’s intentions: it was out for blood, and it wouldn’t settle until hip-hop was in its clutches. After RZA’s demand that his underlings “bring da motherf—— ruckus,” a series of hard-nosed, straight-to-the-gut verses start the proceedings with a bang. Against RZA’s sandpaper drum machines and teakettle squeaks, Ghostface Killah, Raekwon, Inspectah Deck and GZA’s rhymes land like body blows.

The next track, “Shame on a N—-,” introduces Ol’ Dirty Bastard and Method Man, Wu-Tang’s most idiosyncratic and technically proficient members, respectively. Every great hip-hop collective needs a jester, and ODB fills that role admirably on “36 Chambers.” His garbled, congested delivery is one of hip-hop’s most distinctive, and it serves as a colorful counterpoint to the razor-sharp flows of Wu-Tang’s superstars, chief among them Method Man. Largely considered the group’s most talented member, the latter works internal rhymes like speed bags, all the while maintaining an undercurrent of levity. In that sense, he’s the bridge between ODB and the rest of Wu-Tang Clan, embodying all of the group’s strengths. There’s a reason he’s the only one who gets a solo track (the appropriately titled “Method Man”); even when he’s not saying much, he can make you hang on to his every word.

From here on out, the album is startlingly consistent. Every track hits with the same potency as the last, a rarity for a genre that specializes in sprawling, hour-plus LPs. Much of that focus can be attributed to RZA, who mans the boards—with occasional assistance—for the entire album. One of hip-hop’s finest auteurs, he can create and sustain a mood like few producers in any genre. On “36 Chambers,” he coats traditional golden-age hip-hop beats in layers of static and grime, plunging you into the depths of his gothic vision. Skin-crawling piano loops serve as something of an aural signature, constantly reminding you that RZA’s in control. There’s a crackling menace to these beats that producers have attempted to replicate for years. Yet none would match the locked-in-a-dark-basement vibe that characterizes “36 Chambers.”

Twenty years later, “36 Chambers” sounds as fresh as ever. Hip-hop has flirted with the stylistic tenets of rhythm-and-blues and EDM in recent years, but great verses and production don’t expire. Rap Genius may make the dense wordplay clearer, but it doesn’t make it any less compelling. Though some ’90s hip-hop icons (I’m looking at you, Ice Cube) have softened with age, Wu-Tang Clan still ain’t nothing ta f— with. Up from the 36 chambers, Wu-Tang came to conquer. And conquer they did.