Introducing Saul Williams

Okay, so we must begin with a preface. I suffer from Matt Paterson syndrome. For those of you that weren't present when he and I discussed this, that is to say that I make broad-sweeping generalizations about music that I don't actually believe. I will say something is terrible or brilliant, even though I'm well aware it's really a matter of opinion. In fact, by the end of the month, I plan to have completed mixing a CD for a friend to be entitled "15 Songs You'd Have To Be Stupid Not To Like." Does not liking these songs make one stupid? Of course not. But I'm passionate about music and so take my ludicrous claims with a grain of salt. We're all mature enough to know that music - and art more generally - is a matter of subjective appreciation.

That said, Saul Williams is a modern prophet and I pity anyone that doesn't listen to him with appalling frequency. *laughs*

Okay, some background. Saul Williams is a poet, actor, hip hop artist, and all-around virtuoso (phrase co-opted from Brandon Currie), who I was originally turned on to by my sagacious brother after he saw Williams perform at Bonnaroo (major music festival held annually in Tennessee, that I might go to with him this summer, depending on timelines and what life throws our respective ways). Recently, in exploring music MySpaces while trying to survive the essay crunch (I made it!), I came back to him and was blown away by the tracks "List of Demands (Reparations)" and "Talk To Strangers". I picked up the CD (self-title) and his most recent book, The Dead Emcee Scrolls: The Lost Teachings of Hip-Hop, which I'm stoked to read over the Christmas break. Basically, this dude is what hip-hop should be.

Some of the tracks - I'm thinking most specifically "Talk To Strangers", "Telegram", and "African Student Movement" - sound more like poetry recited over a simple beat, but they're brilliant and contrast nicely with some of the more upbeat tracks like "Black Stacey" and the aforementioned "List of Demands". Throw in passionate shrieking vocals on tracks like "Surrender (A Second To Think)", a stellar Zach de la Rocha collobaration on "Act III, scene ii (Shakespeare)", and all-around to-die-for lyrics, and I dare anyone that can find any redeeming qualities in the genre not to enjoy this man's work. I'll leave you with some lyrical excerpts to whet the appetite. If you're intrigued, drop me a line and I'll ensure you get hooked up with the CD (by helping you find it, not burning it or paying for it). I haven't been pushing anyone this hard since Laurier's own Shad - and I wrote a cover article for that dude.

LYRICS!

From "Talk To Strangers"
We represent a truth, son, that changes by the hour / And when you open to it, vulnerability is power / And in that shifting form, you'll find a truth that doesn't change / And that truth's living proof of the fact that God is strange / Talk to strangers, when family fails and friends lead you astray / When Buddha laughs and Jesus cries and turns out God is gay / 'Cause angels and messiah's love can come in many forms / in the hallways of your projects or the fat girl in your dorm ...

And that's what I've been looking for, the bridge from then to now / Was watching BET like 'What the fuck, son? This is foul' / But that square box don't represent the sphere that we live in / The earth is not a flat screen; I ain't tryin' to fit in / But this ain't for the underground; this here is for the sun / A seed a stranger gave to me and planted on my tongue / And when I look at you, I know I'm not the only one / As a great man once said, 'There's nothing more powerful than an idea whose time has come.'

From Black Stacey
Now here's a little message for you / All you baller playa's got some insecurities too / That you could cover up, bling it up, cash it in and ching it up, hope no one will bring it up, lock it down and string it up / Or you can share your essence with us / 'Cause everything about you couldn't be rugged and ruff / And even though you tote a glock and you're hot on the streets, if you dare to share your heart, we'll nod our head to it's beat

From "Telegram"
The ghettos are dancing off beat. stop. The master of ceremonies have forgotten that they were once slaves and have neglected the occasion of this ceremony. stop. Perhaps we should not have encouraged them to use cordless microphones, for they have walked too far from the source and are emitting a lesser frequency. stop. Please inform all interested parties that cash nor murder have been included to the list of elements. stop. We are discontinuing our line of braggadocio, in light of the current trend in realness. stop. ... Give my regards to Brooklyn.

From "Act III scene ii (Shakespeare)"
I didn't vote for this state of affairs / My emotional state's got me prostrate, fearing my fears / In all reality, I'm under prepared / 'Cause I'm ready for war but not sure if I'm ready to care / And that's why I'm under prepared / 'Cause I'm ready to fight, but most fights got me fighting back tears ...

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now / For you share the guilt of blood spilt in accordance with the Dow Jones / Dow drops fresh crops, skull and bones / A machete in the heady / Hutu, Tutsi, Leone / An Afghani in a shanty, Doodly dandy yank on / An Iraqi in Gap khaki, Coca Coma come on / Be ye bishop or pawn? / In the streets or the lawn? / You should know that these example could go on and on and ... / What sense does it make to keep your ear to the street? As long as oil's in the soil, truth is never concrete / So we dare to represent those with the barest of feet / 'Cause the laws to which we're loyal keep the soil deplete / It's our job to not let history repeat ...

If they ask you to believe it, question whether it's true / If they ask you to achieve it, is it for them or for you? / You're the one they're asking to go carry a gun / Warfare ain't humanitarian - you're scaring me, son / Why not fight to feed the homeless, jobless, fight inflation? / Why not fight for our own healthcare and our education? / And instead, invest in that erasable lead / 'Cause their twisted propaganda can't erase all the dead / And the pile of corpses pyramid on top of our heads / Or nevermind, said the shotgun to the head.

Convinced yet? You should be.