And yet, with no concessions to the mainstream save its blockbuster music video, it went platinum. They were never particularly aligned with commercial trends, but in 1997, at the dawn of the shiny suit era, this sort of wordy mythologizing was especially unfashionable. Over suitably dusty RZA production, with nothing remotely resembling a chorus, they go in for six minutes about Marvel comics and Mortal Kombat Tennessee Williams and Laurel & Hardy champagne bottles and squabbles with rival crews and, of course, the will of the Wu to rule it all. The monumental first single from their sprawling and uneven second album, “Triumph” is the Wu’s last great stand as a nine-man team and one of hip-hop’s greatest posse cuts. What about Raekwon’s white-gold tarantula, rhymed-unbelievably but perhaps inevitably-with “substantial-a”? Even U-God gets an all-timer in there, singing a song from Sing-Sing, sipping on ginseng. They’re great, but they stick in your head above the others partly by virtue of coming first.

No need to address Inspectah Deck’s opening lines, which everyone who cares about the Wu-Tang Clan already knows by heart, and has probably tried rapping themselves at some point. Because nothing sounds better than doing absolutely nothing.

Marc and Sharon Costanzo share a lackadaisical vocal affect-it sounds like they hit the studio directly after getting burned on the beach-but where so many slackers couldn’t be bothered to shape their slothfulness into hooks, Len cares deeply about leisure: They’re committed to wasting away the hours that make up a dull day. Its foundational sample of Andrea True Connection’s disco classic “More, More, More” reveals itself as a grounding mantra, then the bliss goes widescreen once Len crash into the verse. The song comes into view slowly, like a mirage shimmering on the edge of a sun-bleached horizon. Somehow, a pair of Canadian siblings managed to capture the essence of Southern California in a single that turned into a summertime perennial. Of all the great one-hit wonders of the ’90s, Len’s “Steal My Sunshine” might be the most enduring and the most inexplicable.

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