Fear Of A Black Planet : Public Enemy : Review : Rolling Stone

It's been almost two years since Public Enemy released It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back – two long, hot years filled with controversies over Tawana Brawley, Yusuf Hawkins, Willie Horton, Do the Right Thing and rap's breakthrough on the pop charts. That doesn't even include Public Enemy's own crisis, which saw the group pitted against its "minister of information" – the loudmouthed Professor Griff – and the Jewish community. That's a lot to absorb, but Public Enemy has never aimed for anything less than a comprehensive view of contemporary black America. With their brave new work, Fear of a Black Planet, rappers Chuck D and Flavor Flav and DJ Terminator X complement this ambition with stunning maturity and sophistication.

Fear of a Black Planet – twenty tracks and over an hour long – opens with snippets of newscasts, speeches and screams that define the album's direction: "There is something changing in the climate of consciousness on this planet today." After this ominous intro, PE hits the ground slamming with "Brothers Gonna Work It Out," an unflinching call to arms that steamrolls over a sample of Prince's strangulated guitar solo from the end of "Let's Go Crazy."

It's immediately apparent that Public Enemy has taken a hard look around after its recent problems and come up with some potential solutions. The chorus of "Brothers" commands, "Go get it ... get involved," a sentiment echoed throughout the album. In "Revolutionary Generation," Chuck D claims that "some say we wasting time singin' a song," but his repeated arguments for the power of music demonstrate tremendous growth: "What counts is that the rhymes designed to fill your mind." The careening rage of Nation of Millions hasn't been diluted – it's been given focus and substance.

Public Enemy's sound has undergone a similar transformation. Terminator X has always had a masterful sense of how to construct dense, insistent accompaniment to Chuck's roar and Flavor Flav's goofy whine. The Terminator still brings the noise, but the noise is more varied – there's even a move toward melody. Chuck, for his part, has never sounded better; he speeds through a track like "War at 33 1/3" sounding like he might lose control at any moment but still articulating the labyrinthine internal rhymes perfectly. And Flavor Flav's chants – used to fine effect on "911 Is a Joke" – are more singsongish and less grating.

A half-dozen songs at the center of Fear stand as the most powerful work PE has done to date. Once we hit "Polly-wanacraka," a slow groove over which Chuck drawls observations on interracial dating, the intensity progressively builds. The first acceleration is "Burn Hollywood Burn," a scathing diatribe about the movie industry's treatment of blacks that features Ice Cube (formerly of N.W.A.) and Big Daddy Kane as guests. "For all the years we looked like clowns/The joke is over, smell the smoke from all around," Chuck sneers.

"Who Stole the Soul?" challenges the IRS – or "Intentional Rape System" – for its treatment of black stars like James Brown and Redd Foxx. The surgical thrust of Chuck's accusations moves this song beyond Nation of Millions' dismissal of whites as "grafted devils." Finally, Public Enemy pulls off its biggest surprise in "Revolutionary Generation," which turns out to be a feminist anthem. Though sometimes misguided ("It takes a man to take a stand/Understand it takes a/Woman to make a stronger man"), the song's passion and good intentions win out. It's inspiring to hear the men who wrote "Sophisticated Bitch" now saying, "I'm tired of America dissin my sisters."

A sample montage, a Flavor Flav musing on self-sufficiency and a quick reggae-style jam follow, and then Fear picks up for a breathless race to the finish. "B Side Wins Again," a manifesto about the power of dance music as "Food for the brain – beats for the feet," and "War at 33 1/3" fly by almost too fast to notice the bite of lines like "time to smack Uncle Sam." The album ends with last summer's "Fight the Power": Surrounded by the rest of this extraordinary record, the song takes on heft and becomes more a program than a mere slogan.

For all of Fear's seriousness, Public Enemy has also developed a kinder, gentler touch. "Ain't we all people?" asks Chuck; he claims that "all I want is peace and love/On this planet/(Ain't that how God planned it?)." And PE reveals a sense of humor in the chipmunk-voice chorus on the title song and the hilarious Driving Miss Daisy dis that ends "Burn Hollywood Burn."

Public Enemy may still be criticized for not renouncing Griff – who is no longer affiliated with the group – explicitly enough. And the antisemitic overtones of "Welcome to the Terrordome" (not to mention the "Elvis was a racist" charge on "Fight the Power") are no more acceptable now than before. But the new attitudes and more pragmatic worldview on Fear of a Black Planet say more than any apology could.

Public Enemy is looking to the future, not with apocalyptic despair but with fiery eyes fixed firmly on the prize. The group's determination and realism, its devotion to activism and booty shaking, make Fear of a Black Planet a welcome, bracing triumph.