The 12 Days of Wu-Mas #9: Shyheim - Manchild (June 22, 1999, at least originally)

Shyheim Franklin’s third album, Manchild, was released in 1999, five years after his debut, A/K/A The Rugged Child, which dropped when the guy was only fourteen years old. Or at least that was the plan: Manchild was distributed by Wu-Tang Records, Shy’s first with the label and the very first opportunity he ever had to flagrantly show off his Wu ties (his previous two projects featured a tiny bit of Wu involvement, but he had never officially been a part of the Clan’s label roster before), but its release was recalled almost immediately.

Rumor has it that his previous label, Noo Trybe Records, still had Shyheim under contract, which would have made the dude releasing anything through another company impossible, and for whatever reason Wu-Tang Records hadn’t thought to clean up that bit of mess up prior to recording. It did eventually see official release two years later, at which point Shyheim had already moved on to starting his own indie label, Bottom Up Records, as well as kicking off a minor beef with various members of the Clan while maintaining his friendship with others. So Manchild pretty much came and went without much of a trace.

I’m grinning as I relay that Noo Trybe rumor because I own this album. I picked up the first pressing, prior to the recall, from a Borders bookstore (R.I.P.), of all places, and I distinctly remember purchasing it after the recall had been announced. I probably would have let this one fly by had the recall not been announced, which makes it extra-strange to me that I even found it in the first place. So I have the orange-framed cover art, the non-spellchecked liner notes, and the giant “Executive Producer: The RZA” credit on the front cover, even though RZA had fuck-all to do with any of this shit.

Manchild was Shyheim’s attempt at proving he was now a grown-up, which, in his mind, meant rapping about robbing people and fucking. You know, adult situations. Thanks to the Wu-Tang Records front office, Shyheim was able to secure more Wu involvement on his project than ever before, which boils down to mostly B-teamers, no brand-name Wu-Elements behind the boards, and Method Man throwing in a pity cameo. But this didn’t deter our host from putting his all into his songs, and he had a few surprises up his sleeve that not even The RZA could have pulled off.

1. INTRO

Richard Linklater’s The Newton Boys was not a film I had ever expected to hear an excerpt from on a Wu-affiliate’s project, I’ll tell you that.

2. I DECLARE WAR

Apparently desperate to prove himself as an adult male who isn’t to be trifled with, Shyheim Franklin’s first song on Manchild is the antagonistic “I Declare War”, which consists of two verses made up of boasts-n-bullshit while the (crappy) chorus is the only part of the song that even mentions combat of any sort. Oh sure, our host’s bars reference guns and bullets and all that typical street rap jazz, but that’s normal. The bars themselves are delivered in a hyper, clipped more, not in full sentences, as though Shy were too excited about the prospect of recording for Wu-Tang Records to appear calm, and it doesn’t help, to be honest, but Black Moes-Art’s piano-loop of an instrumental helps keels things relatively subdued. Shyheim also compares himself to an “uncontrolled substance like crack, cocaine, and Inspectah Deck”, thereby tying that Wu-Tang knot for the listener, as though you would have ever looked for Manchild without that connection.

3. FURIOUS ANGER (FEAT. BIG L)

The first song released to promote Manchild’s (I have a CD single of this somewhere) was a no-brainer: if you have the late Big L, with his (alleged) last ever recorded performance, you run with that. Marketing 101. Thankfully, even though I had completely forgotten what this even sounded like (I’m not the type of Wu stan that can recall Shyheim songs on a whim: there’s only so much space in my galaxy brain), “Furious Anger” mostly works in 2019. (I had also forgotten that the title “Furious Anger” draws from Samuel L. Jackson’s famous monologue from Pulp Fiction, at least until the music kicked in for my review today. Lamont sounds fucking fantastic, leading me to speculate, in a rather depressing fashion, what kind of damage he could have done to other Wu-Tang Clan songs as a guest. Shy himself drags the track down significantly, and he just isn’t capable of the nimble delivery of a Big L, and his rhymes suffer for it. But the Jimmy Swag instrumental, which Shy co-produced, bangs in its Wu-bap way, as its Dusty Springfield “Windmills of Your Mind” sample works its magic around the hard-hitting drums, and our host doesn’t have the lyrical strength to override the beat, so “Furious Anger” ultimately knocks. His first bar, though, about how “the state wanna get rid of me”, hits different when you remember that the man is still in prison today, though.

4. UNCONDITIONAL LOVE (FEAT. RAY-J)

The “Unconditional Love” instrumental, attributed to Digga and Un, is fucking awful, a crossover attempt so blatant that it may as well have been paid for by iHeartRadio. But that terrible commercial bait masks the dark truths that Shyheim reveals on the track: this song is dedicated to his addict mother, and their relationship is loving, complicated, horrifying, and inspiring all at once. His flow leaves a lot to be desired (he sounds like he’s struggling to be taken seriously as a rapper), but in fairness to him, this particular subject matter can be tricky to pull off: he has to be both judgmental and empathetic at once, oftentimes within the same bar, and while he never truly pulls that off, the listener still gets the impression that Shyheim cares for his mother. He even strongly considers murdering one of his friends that provided her with drugs because “selling to my mom is some real bitch shit,” and if that isn’t love, well, I don’t know what to tell you. This song still sucked overall, though.

5. CRIME STORY (FEAT. SUPERB)

The Blaquesmiths lace “Crime Story” with a lame, generic loop, but the song itself is anything but generic: with Lord Superb riding shotgun as the Flavor Flav of the piece (and performing a chorus that only exists so that our host can catch his breath), Shyheim burns through a crime tale that plays up the excitement of the score after he robs a check-cashing spot and escapes the cops… which then turns on a dime during the second half, as our host finds himself arrested and thrown in prison. It’s interesting that Shy felt the need to tell the complete story, as opposed to simply diving into a pile of cash a la Scrooge McDuck, and he even has a bar I really liked: after he skips out on his trial date, “they threw the book at me and I’m still reading,” although, once again, it hits different when you remember Shy is still in prison right now. Superb’s contributions sound silly by comparison: during the hook he describes himself as “loungin’… just thinking of crime,” which, okay, and at one point he even coughs up a, “These streets is terrible, son!” Well, duh. Too bad the song itself wasn’t better, because Shyheim’s bars deserve to be heard.

6. VERSES FROM THE ARSENAL (FEAT. SQUIG TRUST)

Features both a random 2Pac sound bite (taken from his “5 Deadly Venoms”, which, given the Wu affiliation of our host, feels appropriate) laid into the instrumental for absolutely zero reason and a rap trope I never enjoy, where a song fades out right in the middle of someone’s verse (in this case, from guest Squib Trust, of Shyheim’s “Shaolin Style” fame and nothing else, apparently). But I still dug “Verses From the Arsenal”: our host spits two stanzas as though he has nothing left to lose, especially if what he’s saying is true and “n----s shoot up the studio trying to kill me”. The instrumental, credited to both Jimmy Swag and our host, is a simple affair, but one that’ll get your head nodding nevertheless. Squib’s hook isn’t a thing that needed to ever exist, but he sounded fine, so there’s also that.

7. ONE LIFE TO LIVE (FEAT. DOM PACHINO, TRIFE DA GOD, & TOMMY WHISPERS)

I’ve mentioned before that the posse cuts, those songs where three or more Wu-Tang-affiliated colleagues band together for the common cause of beating an instrumental to within an inch of its life, tend to be the highlight of these type of projects, and “One Life to Live” is no exception. In fact, it happens to be so little-known that it qualifies for “sleeper” status, which means you should share it with your fellow Wu stans immediately. Jimmy Swag’s instrumental is a melodic four-bar loop (borrowed from Brian McKnight’s “I Belong To You”) that loops around repeatedly, surprisingly never growing old, while our host, Tommy Whispers and Trife da God of T.M.F., and Killarmy’s Dom Pachino all do their best to out-do one another with the boasts-n-bullshit, and everyone actually sounds kinda great? I could have done without the chorus, where Shyheim evokes the names of two different soap operas (including the one that gives the track its title), but the verses are flames. Trife Diesel and Pachino win the day, but Shy and Whispers put up a good fight, and I’m running out of ways to day that this shit was great. I also thought that abruptly ending the track with an excerpt from a folk song was kind of hilarious.

8. MANCHILD (FEAT. TEKITHA)

It’s likely because I first became familiar with Shyheim Franklin when he was a foul-mouthed teenager, but his bars about hustling and fucking and the like leave me staring blankly at the wall: he may recite the words well enough, but I’m not buying it, and I say that even though I readily admit that he likely did all of the shit he raps about. Perception is everything, you two. However, his darker, more serious rhymes are truly depressing, and that, for whatever reason, resonates with me. Case in point: this Nashiem Myrick-produced title track, on which Shy uses three allotted verses to describe just how fucked up his upbringing was. One doesn’t open a song with the phrase, “Damn… woke up again,” without having some severe mental issues that should be checked out. While Myrick’s beat is weak, Tekitha’s hook is unnecessary, and the bookending rants serve only to distract the listener, our host’s writing takes a significant leap forward. I felt for the guy, I really did. His attention to detail here is painful in its way, and for that alone he should be commended.

9. AM I MY BROTHER’S KEEPER? (FEAT. METHOD MAN & INFAMOUS BLUESTEELE)

The Blaquesmiths bring another instrumental that sounds awfully lazy, especially when compared to the work they had previously given Inspectah Deck and Ghostface Killah, but it is what it is. “Am I My Brother’s Keeper?” pays dividends on Shyheim’s choice to include Method Man in the video clip for “Shaolin Style” even though he didn’t actually perform on the track, as Meth contributes the first verse and, unsurprisingly, carries the fucking thing on his back. Shy seems to be energized by Meth’s mere presence, though, and Inf Blue sounded alright as well (even though his verse fades out before it even comes close to ending – grrr…), but ultimately this one just didn’t do anything for me. Ah well.

10. CLUB SCENE

What’s incredible about “Club Scene” is the complete disregard for the mere existence of an audience. Who the fuck was this shit even recorded for? I certainly relate to Shyheim Franklin going to the club and having a good time (not for nothing are my drunk tweets among my most popular), but I dare you to name one fucking person that honestly wanted to hear tales of our host picking up women at the club. Go ahead, I’ll wait.

…

…

…

The fact that “Club Scene” includes a (boring) instrumental from producer-slash-film director Lance “Un” Rivera, the man who signed both Cam’ron and Charli Baltimore to their first record deals but who will forever be known as the answer to the pub quiz question “Who did Jay-Z stab after he found out that he was responsible for leaking his fourth album, Vol. 3… Life and Times of S. Carter?”, may incite a tiny bit of curiosity for you: I implore you to ignore those impulses, because this shit was awful.

11. SPECTACULAR (FEAT. LIL’ VICIOUS)

I admit it is kind of cute for Shyheim to reconnect with Lil’ Vicious, the rap-slash-reggae artist who was also a child when our host guested on his “Life of a Shortie” way back in 1994, but that doesn’t mean they needed to record their reunion. The Blaquesmiths return for one final trip behind the boards for a mindbogglingly soporific instrumental that had to have destroyed multiple brain cells, while our host and his invited guest trade off talking about nothing in particular. Certainly nothing that would warrant the song’s title, anyway.

12. TWIN GLOCKS

Firearms play a major role on this track, but not for the reason you’d think, at least not immediately: “Twin Glocks” is dedicated to the memory of Twin Glocks, Shyheim’s cousin that was murdered when he was way too young (but not so young that he wasn’t aware what a “glock” was). The instrumental (credited to “Golden Fingaz”, who is better known as Goldfinghaz) doesn’t fit the situation in the least fucking bit, but our host’s anger was so palpable, one could bottle it up and sell it at a farmer’s market, it’s that potent. Shyheim is understandably pissed at the motherfuckers who took his cousin away from him, so, predictably, his bars are all over the place, as was his mindstate when he recorded the song, probably: while it starts off with an admission of his low self-esteem early on in his career, it quickly evolves to a fantasy where he takes down the “f----t ass n----s” that killed Glocks. However, Shyheim is no 2Pac: he isn’t able to spin pure unadulterated passion into hip hop gold, so. That skit at the very end of the audio track was also quite the tonal shift.

13. TRUST IT’S ON (FEAT. INFAMOUS BLUESTEELE)

Manchild features the last recorded vocals from Big L, but what a lot of you two may not know, or perhaps you’ve forgotten, but it also includes some of the late rapper’s last bit of production work. “Trust It’s On” is, unfortunately, not so great, but it isn’t Big L’s fault: the instrumental is pretty catchy, if a bit stagnant. It’s just that our host’s bars are meh here, and instead of asking the obvious question to the man that submitted the beat, Shyheim recruits returning guest Inf Blue to spit a verse, and neither ever sound all that committed to the bit. Le sigh.

14. CEASE FIRE (WILDFLOWER 2000) (FEAT. JAMIE SOMMERS)

A curious way to close Manchild, “Cease Fire (Wildflower 2000)” is apparently a direct sequel to Ghostface Killah’s “Wildflower”, which was also an incredibly harsh  and heated diatribe against a significant other. To say that our host comes across as a misogynistic asshole on here is far underselling his vitriol: he sounds like a threat that needs to be neutralized. Shyheim’s having a bit too much fun saying abhorrent things here, a fact underscored by how the man just flat-out stops rapping during his second verse, his work done, while the beat continues to play as the credits theoretically roll. Said beat, provided by Killarmy’s Shogun Assasson, is quite good, and it’s a shame that it was wasted on this trash, which wants to be like its predecessor (and its spiritual sequel, Bobby Digital’s “Domestic Violence” – sheesh, why exactly do any women listen to the Wu-Tang Clan again?) but only manages to sound purely hateful. Oddly, guest Jamie Sommers appears on both “Wildflower” tracks and on “Domestic Violence” – I don’t know what exactly about her drew toxic masculine energy out of three separate Wu-Tang Clan-related artists, but it’s distracting regardless. How the fuck do you end an album on this note, Shyheim?

FINAL THOUGHTS: Manchild, while better than I remember it being, plays as an incomplete thought for the majority of its runtime. Shyheim Franklin is thrilled to finally be able to use his Wu-Tang Clan affiliation to its fullest advantage, receiving discounts at airport car rental locations and a free sandwich from Jimmy John’s on his birthday, but while he certainly calls in a bunch of favors, a lot of this doesn’t add up to much of anything. In his struggle to be taken seriously as an emcee that has aged out of the “kid rapper” genre, Shyheim fails to decide on a lane to drive within, choosing instead to try every single type of rap song trope, which grows exhausting for the audience, as his flow isn’t convincing for a lot of these conventions.

However, one thing that Shyheim has greatly improved upon over the years is with the pen, especially when he tackles the autobiographical elements of Manchild: the man sounds, for lack of a better way to put it, phenomenal. His attention to detail magnifies his social interactions with pinpoint accuracy, and his thoughts and feelings regarding certain events are motherfucking heartbreaking. Shyheim should write a book. I would one hundred percent read that shit.

Rap-wise, his boasts-n-bullshit only manage to sound authentic (relatively speaking) when bouncing ideas off of a third party or several, which is why the best songs on Manchild are all collaborative efforts. The Big L song is a gimme, but thankfully that truly does sound as good as I had remembered. Even better is “One Life to Live”, which proves that Trife da God may very well be the finest Wu-Tang b-teamer the Clan has ever produced, and that’s even with Dom Pachino delivering a stellar cameo. When Shy is having fun with his friends, it comes out in the music, which instantly becomes much more enjoyable.

Manchild isn’t for everyone, or for most audiences, really – there’s far too much bleh and meh on here for me to recommend this to a wider group. Stans only need apply: Manchild does play a bit better than I had remembered, but there’s still a valid reason why I locked it in a crate back in 2000.

BUY OR BURN? A burn is sufficient, but if you call yourself any sort of fan of the Wu-Tang Clan, you’ll check out the below songs and/or add them to your playlist immediately.

BEST TRACKS: “One Life to Live”; “Furious Anger”; “Words From the Arsenal”

-Max

RELATED POSTS:

There’s a tiny bit more Shyheim to be found by clicking here.