The 12 Hours of Wu-Tang: #7 - Killah Priest - Priesthood (July 10, 2001)

While doing my research for today’s series of posts, I noticed that I hadn’t written about Wu-Tang Clan affiliate and Sunz of Man founding member Killah Priest in over nine years. I’m sure he’s popped up here and there, but I haven’t approached any of his albums after Heavy Mental and View From Masada. This is partly due to sheer intimidation on my part: some of Priest’s songs sound like homework, as though I should have acquired my Master’s in theological studies before pressing ‘play’. But the main reason I haven’t gone back to the Killah Priest well is because I find most of the music I’ve heard from him to be really goddamn boring, so much so that I feel my life is better because I haven’t actively sought out his later work. This is likely a wrongheaded assumption on my part, and I admit that, so I offer up the first step toward reconciliation: the last Killah Priest album I’ve ever listened to, his third project Priesthood.

Priesthood is the first album Walter “Killah Priest” Reed released on the independent circuit, after having been dropped by MCA Records due to the low sales from his first two efforts. He dropped it through Proverbs Records, his vanity underground label co-run by Louis “Luminati” Lombard, a man who was also known as the guy who created Mic Club Entertainment with Canibus (and, later, for fucking over Canibus financially, but that’s not the story for today). Lombard provides many of the beats and concepts for Priesthood, with the remainder ceded to fellow producer Nirocist.

Priest himself carries sixteen songs full of boasts, threats, observations, and religious imagery, as he is wont to do, and he does so with minimal assistance: cameos include Ras Kass, Canibus, and Kurupt (as The Horsemen, a crew Priest is also a part of) and, surprisingly, George Clinton. Cameos do not include anyone from the Wu-Tang Clan: at the time of Priesthood’s recording, Priest was in the midst of battle with The RZA over financial concerns (a running theme for everyone in the group), and he had temporarily severed his friendships with the original nine members, so there is zero Wu influence on this album.

The cover art for Priesthood appears to have been designed on a shareware version of Photoshop on a computer at Kinko’s, which couldn’t have helped its prospects in stores. Although Killah Priest managed to get the album onto shelves nationwide, it sold even fewer units than either of its predecessors, which kept the man in the underground for several years. Priesthood would later be picked up for re-release by Babygrande Records, automatically boosting the project’s profile, and critics received it warmly enough, although the Wu influence was clearly missed.

I remember listening to this back in 2001 because that’s what a proper Wu stan like myself would have done back then, but I remember jack shit about Priesthood today, so let’s jump in and see how the water feels.

1. INTRO (BLACKBALL ME)

This rap album intro runs for five fucking minutes, which is uncalled for in the first place, but our host’s performance is modified and slowed down (shades of 2Pac on “When I Get Free”) for no discernable reason: playing “Intro (Blackball Me)” at normal speed would likely have helped the cause tremendously. Although Lumaniti’s beat sucks, so we have to take that into account, of course. Priest’s lengthy verses bring to mind The Notorious B.I.G.’s “Juicy”, as our host details his own hardships while denouncing everyone who ever dared stand in his way. Given the title of the song, one of those guilty parties is MCA Records, who Priest claims dropped him from the label because his rhymes were too controversial, forcing him to “take his album underground” because of “lack of promotion and scandalous intention”, when the reality is that MCA was a major label (at least at the time) and Killah Priest wasn’t moving units. Just another case of an artist refusing to accept responsibility and acting deliberately obtuse regarding how an industry actually works, choosing to blame absolutely anybody else. Anyway, this intro wasn’t good, but Priest’s verses weren’t bad, and it was nice of him to swerve past the religious undertones to provide a simple, straightforward rant.

2. MADNESS (FEAT. TY-N)

Nirocist’s instrumental is… not bad, actually, and at least Killah Priest sounds like his normal self on “Madness”, a song which isn’t quite as deranged as he had probably hoped. Our host is back on his bullshit (“guns poppin’ Satan, feel our feather wings”), but for the most part is just a violent street tale told from the perspective of one of its participants. Priest sounds assured and in full control of his instrument, delivering a fine performance that is at once engaging and vengeful. Guest Ty-N provides the final verse, which is merely alright, but even with some of the gibberish he spits (UFO’s factor in to his story somehow), “Madness” still wasn’t badness. Huh.

3. MY HOOD

I don’t know if it’s the man’s rap moniker or his flow, but every time Killah Priest speaks, I imagine the man’s voice coming from a fatigued monarch sitting upon a throne addressing his peons. So to hear him spit a few verses about growing up in the hood and gang mentality seems weirdly beneath him, as these are issues he shouldn’t have had to deal with due to his proper upbringing that only happened in my mind. I realize he has just as much a right to speak on these topics as everyone else. Maybe it’s because Priest isn’t performing “My Hood” with any sense of removal, ironic or otherwise: he may as well be describing the events transpiring outside of his bedroom window right fucking now. I have no idea. But the Nastee-produced “My Hood” just didn’t work for me, even though the instrumental was surprisingly peppy and funky. Ah well.

4. HORSEMEN TALK (FEAT. HORSEMEN)

Oh yeah, the original Slaughterhouse, the Horsemen. Kind of forgot this was a thing that existed. Nirocist’s instrumental for “Horsemen Talk”, an excuse for Kurupt, Ras Kass, Canibus, and our host to try and outdo each other in the shit-talking department, is too weak to withstand the pressure, but at least everyone sounds game enough. Interestingly, Priest turns in the shortest verse, ceding time to his companions that he undoubtedly makes up by performing the chorus all by himself. Kurupt Young Gotti doesn’t sound good (and likely never will again), but he does seem to give more of a damn on here (except when he literally says, “Featherweights come with the reinforcements / And force the enforcements I’m forcing” – just try to say that one out loud without sending your spittle across the room like Sylvester the cat), while Rassy goes off on bizarre tangents during the best verse on the song. Germaine closes the track with generic early-2000s homophobia couched within his usual overly-wordy bullshit, but I will say that he comes to fight on here, even is his verse isn’t especially good. As far as posse cuts go, I’ve heard worse, but there’s no need for anyone to actually track this one down.

5. COME WITH ME (FEAT. GEORGE CLINTON)

This is more in line with what I expect to hear from our host at any given moment. Over Nastee’s not-bad instrumental, Killah Priest delivers three verses filled with visceral, violent imagery and quasi-religious hyperbabble that actually skews more toward actual religious beliefs than anything else, while guest George Clinton (the fuck?) provides a chorus that didn’t necessarily have to come from him, but it was a nice touch regardless. Priest alternates between his visions and reality on “Come With Me”, dreaming about demons one minute and finding himself behind bars the next, and it’s not a bad creative choice, really. This one wasn’t that terrible.

6. ROYAL PRIESTHOOD

Pedrom’s instrumental sounds like the song that plays during the opening credit sequence of a fast-based, intense cop drama. Killah Priest matches that energy with a seemingly breathless performance that is much more excitable than the man’s typical work, even though at times he paradoxically sounds like a slower Nas. Our host is back on his bullshit, but to his credit, Priest doesn’t sound as obtuse with his boasts-n-bullshit steeped in minor religious imagery. “Royal Priesthood” could have appeared on View From Masada without anyone batting an eye, and it was fairly enjoyable., Not bad, man. The way our host half-assedly shouts-out Sunz of Man toward the end was also amusing,

7. CRIME STORIES (INTERLUDE)

A one-verse wonder in which Killah Priest narrates the tale of a criminal who is murdered and ends up in Hell. The Ascended Masters instrumental is bleak and pretty solid, and our host’s bars are on point, painting a very clear picture of a man doomed to spend eternity alongside those he had damned himself just by selling them drugs. That description reads like a “Just Say No” campaign gone hilariously wrong,. But Priest manages to make this “poem” (his word) much more engaging than that.

8. WITNESS THE KING

Our host wastes no time on “Witness The King”, a Nirocist-produced exercise in hip hop dominance, or at least that was the intention. Priest’s three verses aren’t bad, as he attacks the microphone as though he were running onto the battlefield, but some of his bars are executed in an awkward manner, and his hook, while okay-sounding, is fairly silly. Killah Priest tends to operate in one of two modes, philosophical and gangsta, and “Witness The King: is an example of the latter, but even with a beat that grows on the listener after a while, the song never fully gels, and its imprint on you will be nonexistent.

9. HEAT OF THE MOMENT

There are a couple of lines on “Heat of the Moment”, a misguided Asia cover, that could be read as allusions to his then-current beef with the Wu-Tang Clan, which means I’ve been doing this for way too long and my brain now resembles cottage cheese filled with conspiracy theories, rendering me insane. (Why else would he make a reference to “nine soldiers”? Nine? You have to read this with your third eye, son!) The Niorocist production is weak as hell, which won’t compel any of you to do anything the man commands, as you’ll be too busy catching a nap to give much of a shit. Unless you like reading too deeply into things to find connections that flat-out don’t exist, anyway.

10. C U WHEN I GET THERE (FEAT. TY-N)

The shortest song on the album (not counting the interludes) finds Killah Priest sending love to old friends who have passed on (and also Bob Marley and Marvin Gaye, inexplicably). The Luminati instrumental isn’t very memorable, but it’s suitable for subject matter such as this, and our host’s lone verse (and lengthy outro) sound fine. Guest Ty-N’s crooning throughout grates on the ears, though: you know, it is possible for a rapper to share their sincere feelings without having to throw in some bland R&B singing to underline their sentiment.

11. THE ONE (FEAT. GEORGE CLINTON, FUNKADELIC, & P-FUNK LADIES)

Even with that guest list, Nirocist’s beat work for “The One”: doesn’t sound very funky. Instead, it’s more like an instrumental Jay-Z would have used for a song featuring Snoop Dogg, and given that example, you can certainly imagine how utterly bizarre it was to hear Killah Priest going overboard with his religious imagery (we get it, God is very important to you) while George Clinton kind-of sings on the hook (and during the outro). I didn’t hate “The One” at all, but I also didn’t care for it. Is it possible to have no opinion about a track during one of these reviews?

12. THUG REVELATIONS (FEAT. MACCABEES)

Just because there was no direct Wu-Tang Clan involvement on Priesthood doesn’t mean Killah Priest has severed all of his ties: “Thug Revelations” features the original iteration of The Maccabees, a group consisting of Salahudin, Daddy Rose, and Priest himself, all of whom are known best as Wu-affiliates from way back. (They also appeared on View From Masada.) Rose, who also produced, handles the first verse, setting the stage for a song filled with quasi-religious hyperbabble, which, come on, the group called themselves The Maccabees, what else did you expect? He sounded pretty good, though, as does Salahudin. Priest’s final verse evokes images of streets being filled with Neo-Nazis, which was weirdly prophetic, but his verse quickly crawls up into its own asshole and pisses on anything resembling accessibility. “Thug Revelations” is a rap song that takes itself far too seriously, although to be fair, that’s just Priest’s way. He thinks he’s making the world a better place by releasing these songs. And frankly, if you’re an artist who doesn’t feel that way about your work, you should give up now and get a real fucking job.

13. MY LIFE

The Luminati instrumental reminded me a little bit too much of Curt Gowdy’s work on View From Masada’s “Whut Part Of The Game?”, and even though I proudly admit that I haven’t listened to that particular project since writing about it way back in 2009, I feel foolishly confident enough to say that Killah Priest’s rhymes approach similar territory. Which is fine: rappers recycle topics of discussion all the time. We all do. But when the only memorable part of “My Life” is at the beginning of the third verse, where our host recognizes that the song is about to end so he should start wrapping things up, that’s a but worrisome.

14. PLACES WHERE PHARAOHS GO (INTERLUDE)

Spoken word poetry in the vein of the title track from Heavy Mental. Eminently skippable.

15. THE LAW

You know when you hear a song’s melody and start digging it, but then weak-ass cheap drums pull up to provide the rhythm section and all you want to do is leave the scene immediately? That.

16. THEME SONG (FEAT. LUMINATI)

Nirocist’s instrumental on “Theme Song”, the final song of the album, is leagues ahead of whatever the hell was going on with the previous track. Which can only be beneficial for our host, as this plays like something that legitimately could be his entrance theme music. It isn’t bombastic and showy, though: instead, it’s measured and dramatic, as serious as our host takes himself., His boasts and threats on “Theme Song” resonate because everyone involved gave enough of a damn to close Priesthood out with fucking dignity.

FINAL THOUGHTS: So here’s the thing: Priesthood isn’t a good album, but it does feature a handful of excellent songs that make it clear that Killah Priest’s talent wasn’t squandered entirely when he lived within the major label game. His bars, when he gives a damn, are delivered with care and conciseness, as though he has something important to say and wants to make sure you understand every syllable. The quasi-religious hyperbabble is out in full force, but thankfully Priest doesn’t fill every track with his beliefs: instead, he goes out of his way to tell stories, relay philosophical arguments, and, in some of the better instances on Priesthood, simply talk his shit. Killah Priest brings a gravitas to everything he touches, and Priesthood is no exception, even if the album as a whole isn’t great. The music on here is almost uniformly weak, as though Priest spent all of his money forming the Proverbs Records company and had nothing left to pay for actual decent instrumentals, and the cheapness of the beats mirrors the lack of funding available for the album artwork. As much as he tries to overcome all of these obstacles, Priest succumbs more often than not, which makes the actual good songs on here sound that much better, because they’re earned. You may not wish to put in that much effort just to listen to what is ostensibly a rap album, though, and I get that.

BUY OR BURN? Burn this one, folks. There’s no need to go out of your way here – Heavy Mental is still the man’s best work.

BEST TRACKS: “Come With Me”; “Crime Stories (Interlude)”; “Theme Song”

-Max

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Catch up on the Killah Priest saga here.