Bob Dylan's "self portrait," Miles Davis' The Man With the Horn: For the hip-hop nation, Public Enemy's Muse Sick-n-Hour Mess Age is a comparable heartbreaker – a stunning plummet of the gods from the clouds. An almost eerie failure. Not a wild, strange experiment that didn't take – much worse: a mediocrity. The Good Book says that those who live by the sword perish by the sword: There may be poetic justice, then, in PE's reversal – like all rappers, they gave no quarter when they ruled. And yet their particular braggadocio was deserved. They were the music's bravest prophets, dropping, with the Bomb Squad, cannon-blast beats and revolutionary exhortations, both Nation of Islam pride and antic humor. Muse Sick-n-Hour Mess Age, its labored title a giveaway, is, of all things, clunky, retrograde, monotonous. Even Flavor Flav sounds spent. Attacking outmoded blue-eyed devil culture ("Hitler Day") may be bracing, but PE played the same trick more radically when they dissed Elvis. The metal-guitar and crunch-percussion thing ("Bedlam 13:13") is also tough, but the strategy's tired. Beset by scene stealers to the West (Dre and crew) and on their own home turf (Wu-Tang Clan, Nas), PE fight back with mere petulance. But it's mainly in light of their own grand, dangerous history that Public Enemy's present sounds so bleak.

Formerly with Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy, Michael Franti leads Spearhead toward one of rap's possible futures. A Gil Scott-Heron acolyte, he mixes upbeat politics and R&B-reggae-blues fusion. Spearhead lean slightly toward jazz (this year's easy move), but their warm rhythm and Franti's supple voice keep things fresh. Lacking even an eighth of PE's heyday power, this crew still boasts a telling advantage: It knows what time it is. (RS 698/699)

PAUL CORIO