The music videos from this era find the Clan at its most charismatic, despite ultra-low budgets that have members repeatedly mugging for the camera with toy swords in hand and the festering decay of Staten Island looming behind them.

Perhaps no Wu-related quote better sums up the true “Legend of the Wu-Tang” than this sampled bit of narration from Clan elder GZA’s second solo album. This DVD collection of Wu-Tang music videos essentially follows that arc, documenting all of the elements that made the Clan’s initial ambush on the rap industry so utterly devastating. Yet as it progresses, the anthology must also trace how the group lost its art due to the distractions of newfound celebrity, a waning sense of hunger and purpose, and the albatross of its near-flawless debut album.

Not surprisingly, more than half of the DVD’s runtime covers the 36 Chambers salad days. The music videos from this era find the Clan at its most charismatic, despite ultra-low budgets that have members repeatedly mugging for the camera with toy swords in hand and the festering decay of Staten Island looming behind them. I can’t even begin to fathom how shocking a video like “Protect Ya Neck” must have been to observers in 1993, back before any of the personalities involved had become known commodities. There they are, all of the group’s most radiant talents (and U-God), carving up doubters with their tongues over one of RZA’s most menacing productions. Sure, the grainy footage and scrolling titles reek of amateurism, but it all blends perfectly with the real-life grimy aesthetic that the group had already perfected. Most of all, it oozes immediate danger and suspense, elements that would gradually dissipate from the group’s repertoire as time wore on.

Subsequent videos allowed for more individual showcases. Method Man, already being groomed for his eventual crossover superstardom, struts and bounces for the camera on his titular solo track. Raekwon and Ghostface Killah demonstrate their impeccable tag-team chemistry for the first time on “Can It Be All so Simple.” And Inspectah Deck reveals himself to be the group’s most criminally overlooked member with his verse on the immortal “C.R.E.A.M.,” perhaps the Clan’s finest hour. There had to be a sense at this point, with the depth and variety of talent on display, that Wu was a collective of limitless potential.

But when the material skips ahead to 1997 with “It’s Yourz/Older Gods,” a fairly jarring transition takes place. Forget those frigid back alley settings...the Clan is now up on a tropical stage, performing for a throng of adoring fans. Not that we ought to begrudge them their popularity; it was more than deserved at this point. However, this leap into the mainstream consciousness cost the Clan their noirish sense of mystery, and also saw them loosen their grip on the kung fu metaphor that had been such a natural fit for their combined talents. The videos from this point forward feature a growing element of needless excess, from the exploding violin on “Reunited,” to the prehistoric misogyny and, uh, climactic martial arts showdown in “Gravel Pit.” Still, for all my lamenting of the later material’s failure to reprise 36 Chambers¸ it’s still by and large excellent, with the epic video for “Triumph” and the goofy ’80s throwback of “Protect Ya Neck (The Jump Off)” standing shoulder to shoulder with the towering accomplishments of the group’s past.