Trying to get all nine members of the Wu-Tang Clan on stage together is like herding cats. Between solo careers, movie work (acting and soundtrack), and legal troubles, it’s a rare event these days, but it is supposed to occur at the Continental Airlines Arena in New Jersey on Thursday. If it does – and with the Wu-Tang Clan, that’s always a big if – it will be the first full-Wu reunion in the New York area in five years.

The Wu-Tang Clan is the unlikeliest of success stories – the exception that proves there are no rules. They are at once one of the most influential rap groups of the 1990s and one of the least recognized by broader culture. Despite emerging in at a period of unprecedented crossover success, the Wu-Tang Clan never really caught on with white, middle-class America. They got lost somewhere between the rise of Dr. Dre and Snoop on the West Coast and the emergence of the Notorious B.I.G. and Puff Daddy on the East Coast. They exist, somehow, outside the timeline of rap.

This, however, is only half the story. A collection of nine MCs – RZA, Genius/GZA, Ol’ Dirty Bastard, Method Man, Raekwon, Ghostface Killah, U-God, Inspectah Dek, and Masta Killa (if that weren’t confusing enough, each has several aliases) – the Wu-Tang Clan behaved like a supergroup before any of the members had tasted success. Their songs were clogged with different voices, styles, and personalities. The rhymes were violent yet playful – equal parts Warner Brothers cartoon and gritty anime – infused with martial arts imagery and pop-culture references: “I be tossin, enforcin, my style is awesome / I’m causin more Family Feuds than Richard Dawson / And the survey said – ya dead / ‘Fatal Flying Guillotine’ chops off your f–in head.”

What held it all together was the production of the RZA, the Wu-Tang’s resident mastermind and spiritual leader. His signature sound was moody, full of washed out minimalist soundscapes, muted samples, and minor-key piano riffs. It harkened back to the intensity of Erik B. & Rakim and anticipated to the grimy sound of DJ Shadow’s “Endtroducing.” In its own time, it established the template for the entire New York hardcore scene, from Mobb Deep to early Jay-Z and Nas.

From the beginning, the Wu-Tang Clan was a go-for-broke, Hail Mary proposition: It would release a group album to establish the reputations of the various member MCs, then spin off solo careers. Miraculously, this far-fetched approach actually worked – for a time, anyway. After the group’s 1993 debut “Enter the Wu-Tang Clan (36 Chambers),” five of the nine members released solo albums, all produced by the RZA. Method Man became the group’s first certifiable star with his 1995 album “Tical,” and Ol’ Dirty Bastard fared almost as well with “Return to the 36 Chambers.”

Meanwhile, the Clan lent its imprimatur to everything from video games, to comic books, and a successful clothing line, Wu Wear, which beat Sean John and Rocawear to the rap clothing market. All this culminated in a Billboard no. 1 album, “Wu-Tang Forever,” in 1997.

But the Clan soon fell victim to its own over ambition and woeful disorganization. As the group’s reputation grew, so did its size. The original nine expanded to an indeterminate numbers of associates, affiliates, and proteges (including entire other groups like Killarmy, Sunz of Man, and the Wu-Tang Killa Bees). The market became supersaturated with subpar material, sullying the Wu brand and confusing even the most devoted fan.

To make matters worse, the group faced mounting legal troubles as Ol’ Dirty Bastard was in and out of court and jail, and the entire Clan came under investigation for gunrunning. By the end of the 1990s, the Wu-Tang Clan was as active as ever, but not nearly as vital.

For those wanting to dip a toe into the pool of Wu, but yet not dive in, a new greatest hits collection, “Legend of the Wu” (BMG), was released late last month. It assembles all of the group’s hits – some in alternate versions – but none of the solo work that, especially early on, was such a big part of the group identity. Highlights include the moody breakthrough single “C.R.E.A.M.”; the sing-along anthem “Wu-Tang Clan Ain’t Nuthin’ ta F’ Wit”; the playful, jazzy, kung-fu smack up “Shame On a Nigga”; and the more commercial sounding, late-Wu fare “Protect Ya Neck (The Jump Off)” and “Uzi (Pinky Ring).”

But the way to experience the Wu-Tang Clan – to see them at their best and worst – is to catch them live. Their concerts are barely controlled chaos. All nine MCs (and often several others) stalk the stage with mics in hand. There’s no telling whose songs they’ll perform, who will show up, or who won’t. In 2000, Ol’ Dirty Bastard escaped from a California drug rehab facility to be at a New York show (he was arrested soon after). Which is to say: Anything’s possible.