Rapper Gary Grice is a man of many words
Brooklyn rapper Gary Grice is a man of many words by any measure.
One of those measures recently was taken by the online magazine Polygraph — which, in its own words, “explores popular culture with data and visual storytelling.
“Literary elites love to rep Shakespeare’s vocabulary,” Polygraph’s Matt Daniels wrote. He was interested to see how hip-hop artists’ vocabularies compared, so he looked at the number of unique words in prominent rappers’ music.
Grice, who performs as GZA or Genius, loves chess and metaphors, science and storytelling, had the second most. The 6,426 unique words in his first 35,000 lyrics trailed only those of Aesop Rock, another New Yorker, born Ian Bavitz. Both men placed ahead of Shakespeare and Herman Melville.
As a member of WuTang Clan, Grice, 49, contributed to the classic “Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers)” in 1993. As GZA, Grice put out his own album, “Liquid Swords,” in 1995. Twenty years later, that recording, full of assured, imaginative storytelling, retains its luster. He’ll play the entire album this weekend at the Houston Whatever Fest.
Since they rely heavily on pop-culture references, hip-hop albums can age quickly. But “Liquid Swords” has endured. Part of its success is Grice’s boundless wordplay. But, like the best writers, he also possesses an editor’s eye. As he rapped for Wu-Tang: “Yo, too many songs, weak rhymes that’s mad long. Make it brief, son, half short and twice strong.”
Grice presents a world both fantastical and frightening on “Liquid Swords.” His cousin Robert Diggs (RZA), who produced the album, threaded it with audio snippets from the 1980 samurai film “Shogun Assassin,” juxtaposing them with Grice’s lyrics about Brooklyn, which in the early ’90s was not the affluent area it is today.
This narrative approach — flitting between the mundane and the magical — echoes the work of the jazz iconoclast Sun Ra, who found in “the Magic City,” the nickname for his troubled hometown of Birmingham, Ala., a metaphor for escape to a better place. “The best thing to do is change things, if you’ve got the power,” Ra once said.
Grice hasn’t resorted to capes and costumes like Ra did, but their guiding principles were similar: to become masters of domains of their own creation. Grice took a rough and tumble reality and created a musical comic book, casting himself as the hero. “Liquid Swords” can be described as reportage (sample titles: “Investigative Reports,” “Living in the World Today”) and escapism (sample titles: “Swordsman,” “Liquid Swords”) in equal measure, a balance not easily attained.
Grice has done heady work since, including a work-in-progress called “Dark Matter,” a perfect title given his interest in physics and stories from the streets. But “Liquid Swords” should sound as good this weekend as it did 20 years ago, the dense writing conveying struggles and triumphs.
Which isn’t always the case for his mates. The Wu-Tang Clan’s live performances can present problems, not uncommon for a group that has numbered eight since the death of Russell Jones in 2004. So many voices can result in a muddy vocal mix.
A solo Grice show may have less variety than a Wu-Tang concert, but it also has more intricacy. His words, carefully written and edited, can be heard and savored.