Membership has its privileges. In this case, the privileges were extended to me by my girlfriend’s sister. She landed me a ticket to a panel discussion at Carnegie Hall featuring Lou Reed, Natalie Merchant, RZA, and Leila Josefowicz. Woohoo! I’m a fan of the Wu-Tang Clan, but more specifically RZA, who produced the Wu-Tang albums and many individual projects by Wu-Tang members. General admission means that the graduate student sits front-row center. Hell yeah.

Rather than detail the whole panel, I’ll just give impressions…

The moderator was useless. At one point, after again referring to Lou Reed as old (in not so many words) Lou Reed was pretty much done with him. Reed went into a diatribe about the assholes in the music industry. Reed was clear, charismatic, self-effacing, and insightful. He didn’t seem put off to be there, but clearly didn’t mingle mentally with the audience…who was mainly made up of donors to Carnegie Hall (and one very excited grad student).

The RZA got started slowly. I almost felt bad when he cut off the moderator (good idea) but answered the wrong question. He picked it up though, with some fantastic insights about sampling (he sampled Lou Reed, and the two of them dialogued about the process and Reed’s process in general: “I only allow what I like”) and producing vs engineering (RZA does both, the rest of the panel has very tumultuous relationships with their producers, engineers, and producer-engineers)

Natalie, Natalie, Natalie. You had much to overcome since I saw you mail in the Newport Folk Festival a few years ago. But she was also very clear and charismatic. Sensible? Yes. And I think it’s new. She left major labels recently (inside the last few years) and is feeling the entrepreneurial pressure. She had a weariness to her that came out as she discussed her work running her label, and concluded that she just doesn’t want to.

And Leila? Thank fuck she spoke English. I was ready for a Russian virtuoso diva, but instead we got a mild-mannered American girl who could have been your neighbor. (Not yours, Turnof. Screw Jersey.) She was just fine, but she’s an anomaly because she has a recording contract…and she was much more chipper about the industry than anyone else, despite being paid less.

The general feeling was that as the record companies are making more money off their work, the artists are getting less, through complex contracts that bind them. No shocker. The shock was hearing established and successful performers saying it. If you’re off your first contract, you should have a bit of leverage. Natalie Merchant’s first contract lasted 18 years. Wow.

But this post is getting serious, and you haven’t gotten to the trivia question. But first, irony. Q&A time. 150 Carnegie Hall donors and four recording artists. A 40-year-old man stand in the back and says “This one is for The RZA. I’m in real estate development” What? “and your song Cash Moves Everything Around Me (C.R.E.A.M.) really gets me moving. I can hear it while I’m walking down the street.” Oh Shit. Real Estate development in NYC, contributor to Carnegie Hall, and you’re telling one of the premiere producers in hip-hop that you dig his jive. I no longer have any reason to be embarassed for myself…does it matter whether the man was black or white? Guess which he was.

After the Q&A is a reception, but none of the artists look like they’re going to make an appearance. So I’m drinking with my girlfriend and her sister and her sister’s friends when The RZA walks in. Sweet. Walks right by me, so I grab his hand and tell him how (at this point I black out a little and get kind of stupid. I was about to call him a genius, but the GZA is the Genius, and RZA is the head, so if you’re not a Wu-Tang fan you have no idea what I’m talking about now) fantastic his work is. And that’s my brush with The RZA.

See, I used to listen to the Wu-Tang in the car on my way to hockey games, mostly with my buddy Jeremy. And the last song we’d listen to was “Method Man” where he spells something. And in five years of playing hockey, I had no fucking clue what he spelled. This morning, I emailed Jeremy to tell him I was going to find out. And I wasn’t going to miss this opportunity because I had a moment of stupidity.

So if you’re the tallest person and a celebrity, but most people in the room hadn’t seen you before that night…you end up against a wall, hanging out and waiting for people to come up to you.

“Hey there”
“Hey”
“I know I said hey already, but I’ve got to ask you one thing”
“Yeah?”
“It’s trivia, and I’m sorry to bug you with an old question, but I’ve listened to Enter the Wu-Tang a million times” (blood leaving brain, IQ diminishing to shoe size) “and I’m sorry to be that guy, but” I gesture to my sportsjacket, as if to imply that I am a dork from the suburbs “I’ve got to know what Method Man was spelling”
“What?”
“What Method Man was spelling.”
“On what track?”
“Method Man…his track. Torture. He spells something…B-A-N-T-Y-R-E-I”
“Oh, oh! Panty Raider.”
“Panty Raider? Dammit. I never heard the D-E-R”
At this point, The RZA is rapping at me.
“P-A-N, T-Y, R-A-I, D-E-R” …and he keeps rapping… “Yeah, his name was Panty Raider before I named him Method Man. Tha’s a good question, man. A good question.”