I guess when you hole yourself up in Alaska for 6 months with no real ties whatsoever to pop culture or the real world in general, it’s very likely that you’ll miss something good.

One of the somethings I missed? Saul Williams. Perhaps an American predecessor of Dizzee Rascal, only older, smarter, and more intelligible.

I’ve always been in awe of slam poets. An interest strengthened by a close friendship with Memphis slam poet Benjamin (IQ) Sanders. The skill and talent of these guys just blows my mind.

So imagine my joy when I hear the strong delivery, the air-tight rhyme, the emotive sensibilities of a Def Jam session layed down over a guitar shredding metal track. Fucking ecstasy! The greatest thing, though, about Saul Williams’ self titled album, released last September, is that you don’t get a sense of a sloppy meshing of genres–this is not just a concept someone pulled out of their ass and tried to pass off as “art”. This is sound on a pure level. Imaginative, thought provoking.

Unfortunately, I think Saul frequently gets shlupped into the hip hop role, which seems largely due to his own self perception and his portrayal of that image. He talks about hip hop and ghetto and black and gold teef, et cetera. He says “nigga” a lot and seems dissatisfied with the presence of white boys in hip hop. Frankly, though, I think he’d be a disappointment to a hip hop enthusiast with conventional tastes. In all honesty the tracks on this album are incredibly varied, but overall it leaves you with a dub/post new wave/apocalyptic dance fever feel sporting a hard delivery and an inner city attitude. He’s created something that refuses be pigeon holed into as tight a label as hip hop, despite the fact that this album sometimes seems wholly dedicated to the salvation of the genre.

However, as much as he talks about hip hop and the surrounding life and style on this album, he says it best when he says “This ain’t hip hop no more, son, it’s bigger than that.”

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