Know what I can't stand? People afraid of a little pretentiousness. Now, I'm not talking about bands that attempt to compensate for their shittiness by intentionally ruining a perfectly mediocre song (I'm looking at you Old Time Relijun) and I'm not talking about the vain, intellectual masturbation of prog-rock, but some artists need to have enough faith in the essential decency of their talent and songwriting to take that one extra step towards creating something wholly unique and original. If not for this, we'd be a world without Sgt. Pepper, Ege Bamyasi, and, er, Tales from Topographic Oceans.
Which brings up a good point. Thanks in no small part to certain overindulgent groups who opt for 20-minute synth solos and concept albums crammed with socio-political heresy over more original, unexampled experimentation, critics have been given a fairly good reason to generally slam music that has the slightest hint of pretense. Yet, there are times when even the most seasoned reviewer comes across an album without precedent, defying comparison. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Saul Williams: actor, poet, Old Soul, artist, screenwriter, and leader of the oncoming prog-hop revolution. Catchy?
Fresh off his role as a mental patient in K-Pax, Williams has called in Rick Rubin (producer of such indie luminaries as Slayer and System of a Down) and a small collection of session musicians to help retain that enormous amount of indie-cred he wears on his henna-stained sleeve. The scariest part is that he pulls it off.
Most of you compilation junkies know Saul from his excellent contributions to The Lyricist Lounge Soundtrack, Eargasms, and Black Whole Styles. Drum-n-bass fans might have caught his high-minded ranting on the title track of Krust's Coded Language album (which makes a very welcome appearance here). Each previous outing has found our hero donning new sounds in his quest to find the perfect musical compliment to his spoken word, and this collection is no different.
The first third of the disc is easily some of Saul's most inspired work to date, as the lyrics examine love, life, and the sociological. "La La La" features creaking violin flourishes and a chorus of demonic schoolchildren. "Penny for a Thought," the first single off the album, comes next, and stands as one of the best showcases for Saul's wry sense of wit: "An MC tells a crowd of hundreds to put their hands in the air/ An armed robber steps into a bank and tells everyone to put their hands in the air/ A Christian minister gives his benediction while the congregation holds their hands in the air.../ Hands up if you're confused." All this-- over a chugging, abstract jungle beat and hi-fi headphone trickery-- left me a little breathless. Afterwards, I wondered if I was holding a classic. Sadly, it wasn't meant to be.
Saul has long expressed his dislike for drum machines, devoting whole songs to the subject (the phenomenal "Twice the First Time"), and with this band of session musicians behind him, he's free to pursue whatever it is he thinks sounds better than his more hip-hop-inspired work. It's on the more band-centric tracks that the record's pretentiousness is unsheathed. It wouldn't hurt if the musicians were more diverse in their playing, but with Rubin at the controls they follow a strict formula. Ultimately, it comes off as an amalgamation of soul ("She's Out of My Life") and Rage Against the Machine (whose song "Broken Man" is sampled on the overlong "Om Nia Merican"). It's not that these tracks are particularly horrible, but they seem to distort the flow of the album and sometimes segue in an awkward fashion.
The problem is, I don't know of a place for Amethyst Rock Star. Your level of enjoyment depends on how much you invest in the lyrics and metaphors-- Saul's observations come flying at breakneck speeds and require undivided attention, rendering the album unlistenable as background music. Of course, that's not much of a complaint. Regardless, the man has the confidence and originality that lasting careers are made of. And I can't wait for his masterpiece.
