Se Saul Williams dovesse guadagnare un'evidente esposizione mediatica e un consistente numero di ascoltatori - come in verità avrebbe già meritato in passato (considerando che ha due ottimi album alle spalle) - grazie alla genesi che ha portato alla nascita e creazione di "The Inevitable Rise And Liberation Of NiggyTardust!", oltre che per come esso verrà diffuso, sarebbe sintomatico della modalità di funzionamento dei meccanismi che regolano il mondo sonoro odierno, però ben venga... (sebbene un pò di rassegnazione dalle mie parole emerga nitidamente).
Fatto sta che, oltre al sottoscritto, anche il signor Trent Reznor è un ammiratore dichiarato del poeta, scrittore, attore (protagonista, tra gli altri, di ‘Slam', pellicola premiata al Sundance Film Festival e a Cannes), filosofo e musicista di Newburgh (New York) e ha quindi pensato bene di collaborare attivamente alla realizzazione e produzione delle quindici tracce e poi ha supportato la causa (oltre a pubblicizzarlo direttamente sul proprio sito) affinché il disco vedesse la luce esclusivamente via web, con la stessa opzione esercitata dai Radiohead, ovvero a scelta tra un pagamento di 5 $ o completamente free. Tutto ciò è importante, ma per motivi e logiche che esulano dal sound strettamente inteso e a noi importa fino a un certo punto, perché quel che vi deve indurre a entrare in possesso dell'opera è il fatto che si tratta di un lavoro (mixato da Alan Moulder, nel cui curriculum vitae troviamo Jesus And Mary Chain, My Bloody Valentine, Smashing Pumpkins, Prick, Cure, ecc.) estremamente interessante.
Definito dallo stesso Williams come "ghetto gothic... hard-core dance", ci offre uno spaccato della catalogazione di crossover aggiornata al nuovo millennio, dove l'hip hop e l'elettronica (già contaminata dei Nine Inch Nails) si uniscono, si separano, viaggiano seguendo strade diverse, incontrano il soul digitale, il rock, il dubstep, lo spoken word e le ambientazioni metropolitane, attraverso composizioni elaborate, sviluppate con intelligenza e creatività, ricche di dettagli, suoni e campionamenti ("Tr(n)igger" è quasi interamente costruita su sample di "Welcome To The Terrordome" da "Fear Of A Black Planet" dei Public Enemy).
Lode a Saul Williams (e a Trent Reznor).
Elenco tracce testi e video
02 Convict Colony (03:24)
I was born
In a Convict Colony
And I was torn
From the land
That mothered me
Mother may I?
She says 'yes you may'
Well, today I
I say right here today
You're a Convict Colony!
If you're running
From the Sun
Your a Convict Colony
A Convict Colony
And you don't really want it
I was birthed
From the earth
Fought my way
To this day
Now I'm gone
Truth be told
I'll be here
'til your gone
You're a Convict Colony!
You're running from the Sun
You're a Convict Colony!
Your reaching for your gun
You're a Convict Colony!
You're running from the Sun
You're a Convict Colony!
A Convict Colony
And you don't really want it
You don't really want it
You don't really want it
You don't really want it
You don't really want it
You don't really want it
You don't really want it
You don't really want it
You don't really want it
You don't really want it
You don't really want it
You don't really want it
You don't really want it
You don't really want...
07 DNA (04:03)
NGH WHT: chaps. 9-12)
Feel the music. Son, we got you programmed like a beat. When I press snare, Yo, guard your grill. ‘Press kick, you move your feet. You can’t compete. I got my hydrants parked on every street. I’m federal NGH. Son of Sun. Come close and feel the heat. I am the streets. The white lines only separate me from me. You hydroplane in false gods name and still crash into me: Sign and Tree; Mountainside; Guard Rail; The Sea. They thought they stole you from my arms then carried you to me. Here’s the key: DNA encoded in a beat. White rocks in a vial, NGH, ain’t got nuthin’ on me. BCH I’m free. Ask these editors at MTV. Far as they, know they’re publishing some new school poetry. Let it be. ‘Cause even that will serve to turn the key. Doorways into other worlds. The Truth shall set you free. YOU are me, I am you, but also I’m (s)he. She-pherd of a bastard flock that grazes in the streets. Feel the beat. Nod your head. Lean back, yo. Touch your feet. Let me see you pop that thang right there girl in your seat. Feel the heat. Count this page amongst your whitest sheets. Comfort in my every word. Slide under. Countless sheep.
Hail Mary, Mother of God. Got the whole host of angels shuffling in my ipod. NGHs learned to raise their voices when I lowered my rod. Staff of Moses. Pharaoh knows it. Son, my word is my bond. Tune my heart with mind. Speak my nature: Divine. With the future in my pocket tightly gripped like a 9. Keep my finger on the trigger waiting for the right time. Ancient NGHs align! Path of Cosmic Design. Blood of kings ‘cause Saturn’s rings don’t need no diamonds to shine. Yes, the reason for the season, ornamented divine. Coded Language of the mystics with my fist in the sky.
Keep your head up. We represent The Real, my NGH. Dead up. Book of the Dead. History bled. This NGH fed up. Led us to despair, some into prayer, and they won’t let up until they got us worshipping them false gods instead of The Realness. God of the streets. My NGHs feel this. We nod our heads and worship through beats. Go ahead and kneel. It’s the LOVE that makes the cipher complete. And it’d displayed through the way the bass line marries the beat.
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