Appropriately for the only hip-hop group that's been active for 20 years, cutting records and touring during that entire time, Public Enemy has a long memory. Long enough to be self-referential, as the title of their 2006 Paris collaboration Rebirth of a Nation suggested, but 2007's How You Sell Soul to a Soulless People Who Sold Their Soul??? bubbles over with references to their past: the title alone is an elliptical throwback to "Who Sold the Soul" on Fear of a Black Planet, but there are scores of musical nods to their past here, from the heavy metal shred on "Black Is Back" to how "Between Hard and Rock Place" plays like one of the bridges on Fear of a Black Planet, or the It Takes a Nation of Millions samples on "Can You Hear Me Now." Far from being recycled, these quotes and allusions provide a history that Public Enemy builds upon here, either in the beats or the words. The indictment of gangsta rap on "Sex, Drugs & Violence" or the materialism on "Can You Hear Me Now" carry a greater weight because their past is reflected within the music, offering a reminder of how things have changed in 20 years. Smartly, Public Enemy never tries to run from their middle age, but this isn't stilted like New Whirl Odor. They subtly yet sharply change the productions, expanding their signature dense soundscapes and sometimes departing from it as well, as in the hardcore gangsta of "Amerikan Gangster." Even if it hardly sounds like hip-hop that reaches the charts in 2007, this is ferocious and vital as music, while Chuck D remains one of the greatest lyricists in either rap or pop, as well as one of the more incisive political commentators. And in this context, Flavor Flav loses any of the cartoonish trappings his endless VH1 reality shows have given him, and remains a potent source of comic relief. In that sense, Public Enemy is the same as they ever were, but what's remarkable about How You Sell is how PE grows and matures without abandoning their core identity, proving that it's possible to age as a rap group without turning into an embarrassment. And even if PE doesn't pack the same kind of commercial punch as it used to, it's hard to call an album this spirited and alive irrelevant. ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All Music Guide
A collection of "the unleashed and the unreleased," Public Enemy's Beats and Places gets back to the outrage, back to the immediacy of the early days, and turns out to be the most satisfying full-length this crew has released since the millennium turned. Unfortunately, it's released at a time when the hip-hop community is PE-saturated with a remix album (Bring That Beat Back) and an album with lyrics written by Paris, not Chuck D (Rebirth of a Nation) both landing within the last 12 months. Beats and Places looks even less vital than the Paris album since it's marked as a compilation of remixes and tracks looking for a proper home, but as the short liner notes infer, these lost tracks aren't really leftovers. Instead they're venom-filled, immediate cuts originally set free on the Internet in hopes of viral destruction. "Hell No, We Ain't Allright" deals with "the son-of-a-Bush nation" and the Katrina aftermath while "Grand Theft Oil" manipulates said Bush's speeches into a doublespeak nightmare through the power of Johnny Juice Rosado's turntables. Rosado worked on both Yo! Bum Rush the Show and It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back and adds to the old-school flavor, as does "The Flavor Flav Show" which repeats everything great about Nation's "Cold Lampin' with Flavor"." It's unfortunate all the highlights are pushed upfront, but a bonus DVD of plenty of late-era videos and extras makes up for that, leaving only the lack of helpful track-by-track information to complain about. A great deal of the album doesn't seem to have been leaked or released in any shape or form before, but there's no telling why it was recorded or what for. This sure sounds like half to two-thirds of a proper, vital album with some exciting extras tacked on. Guessing what would have happened had they finished this possible album instead of the other projects is both interesting and frustrating, which has been par for the course with PE as of late. Beats and Places at least suggests the future could be much, much brighter. ~ David Jeffries, All Music Guide
If the title of Rebirth of a Nation consciously recalls the title of Public Enemy's 1988 masterwork, It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back, that shouldn't be taken as indication that the music on Rebirth is a revival of the dense sound of Nation as masterminded by the Bomb Squad. Nevertheless, Rebirth is certainly a throwback to the sound of the golden age, when hardcore rap was not defined solely by the sonics or subjects of gangsta rap, and that's a deliberate move on PE's part -- they want to re-create the sound of the time, but not the sound that was identified with them, and in order to do that they've entered into a full-fledged collaboration with Paris, who produced and wrote all of Rebirth of a Nation. This is the first time that Chuck D did not have a hand in writing either the music or the words on a Public Enemy album (he did write some verses on four songs on the record), which is initially disarming, since he's always been the sound and vision of PE. But he explains the project clearly in his liner notes, comparing the album to Muddy Waters' psychedelicized blues on Electric Mud -- Muddy may have been reluctant to work in a rock setting, but it was an artistic challenge, and Chuck wanted Public Enemy to take the same kind of risk. Even if all PE fans may not be pleased with the results, Rebirth of a Nation isn't nearly as divisive as Electric Mud -- Paris to Public Enemy isn't as big a stretch as Chicago blues to psychedelia, after all, and they have an audience more willing to go along with change, which this certainly is. But change is often welcome for artists, nowhere more so than for PE, whose last album, New Whirl Odor, was their first to feel truly tired, something that Rebirth can not be called. Not that it's especially daring sonically -- Paris did construct this as a self-consciously old-school record, dropping in samples of old PE records and adhering to the sound of 1990 -- but the group, particularly Chuck D, sounds engaged by the project, which at the very least makes for a listen that's more gripping than its immediate predecessor. And if the sound of the record is a throwback, Paris' subjects are nervy and politically charged, directly addressing the state of the world in a way few records do in 2006. All of this makes Rebirth of a Nation an admirable effort -- perhaps the music gets a little monochromatic, but that's merely a byproduct of its narrowly targeted goals, and as a whole, it's an ambitious and successful artistic detour for PE. Besides, it's hard not to be impressed by a record that sounds like a blast from the past while playing like a news bulletin from today -- not an easy trick to pull off, but Paris and Public Enemy manage it with Rebirth of a Nation. ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All Music Guide
They may go in and out of fashion, fall out of critical favor, have comebacks and slumps, but even at their worst, the truly great artists have flashes where their brilliance shines through. Public Enemy is one of those bands. When they released Revolverlution in 2002, they had been out of favor for a full decade, and throughout that time in the wilderness, the band fluctuated between brilliance (He Got Game) and unfocused meandering (Muse Sick), but the one constant remained -- even when they were bad, it was a thrill to hear them, especially Chuck D, whose voice is one of those intangible, transcendent thrills in all of popular music; it's as magical and undefinable as John Coltrane's sheets of sound, Jeff Beck's head-spinning guitar, Duke Ellington's piano, Frank Sinatra or Hank Williams' singing, Keith Richards' open-G chords -- no matter the quality of the material at hand, it's worth listening just to hear him rap. That was true when the Bomb Squad was producing PE, but, as subsequent recordings have proved, Chuck and PE could still sound shatteringly good without them. True, they built on that sound, but they did find ways to expand it, and, unlike their peers and many new artists, they were restless, not afraid of falling on their face by trying something new. Indeed, Chuck D made a point of trying something new, as he says in the liner notes for Revolverlution. Given the state of the industry and hip-hop, he's decided that there's no reason for Public Enemy to release a new album unless it covered uncharted territory. Unlike many veteran artists, he's acutely aware that new product directly competes with the band's classic albums, and that the new audience has changed, looking for individual tracks instead of full-fledged, cohesive albums -- and that might mean that they want killer new songs, live tracks, contemporary remixes, old remixes, whatever sounds good. So, Revolverlution is an attempt to craft a record along those lines. Cohesion has been thrown out the window in favor of new tunes, live tracks from 1992, new remixes by fans, remixes of songs debuted on this album, PSAs, and interviews -- the kind of album you'd burn if you spent some time on a really good artist's MP3 site. There's a bunch of good stuff here, whether it's new stuff ("Gotta Give the Peeps What They Need," the title track, the fiercely political "Son of a Bush," and "Get Your Sh*t Together"), remixes or archival material (great live versions of "Fight the Power" and "Welcome to the Terrordome"), along with collector-bait interview snippets that don't amount to much. But, there's a lot to be said for old-fashioned, cohesive albums -- they keep a consistent tone and message, delivering an album that felt unified, and thereby easier to listen to at length. This is deliberately the opposite of that kind of record, which is an admirable artistic move, but it does make the album feel like a bewildering hodge-podge, even after you understand the intent behind the entire thing. Even so, it's a worthwhile listen because, no matter what, it is still a thrill to hear Public Enemy. They might not be hip, they're not as innovative as they used to be, but they still make very good, even great music, and that's evident on Revolverlution. If only it were presented better. ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All Music Guide
Opening with a sonic collage straight out of Fear of a Black Planet, There's a Poison Goin' On... comes out of the gates sounding like classic Public Enemy, which is exactly what Public Enemy intended, since their slight sonic change-up on He Got Game didn't result in a hit. In a way, PE's feud with Def Jam over downloadable MP3 music was a good thing, since it brought them media attention, which is rare for a veteran hip-hop band. Such increased exposure also brought a minor controversy over "Swindlers Lust," which some perceived as anti-Semitic, but this outrage was isolated because Public Enemy was now at the margins of hip-hop. They were no longer considered cutting-edge, and younger kids never picked up their records, so the only place for this controversy to reside was among the rock critics and aging fans who remembered when It Takes a Nation of Millions changed the world ten years prior. Chuck D must have known that they would be the only ones paying attention to the album, since it consciously copies PE's past and never really breaks from that blueprint. In some respects, that's a disappointment, since He Got Game showed that PE could subtly incorporate modern hip-hop and do it better than some modern acts. But There's a Poison Goin' On is nevertheless a strong album, even if it is doggedly classicist. It's also dogmatic, with Chuck preaching to the converted about the evils of the record industry and conformity in hip-hop, which does become a little trying by the end of the record. But he delivers lyrically and PE delivers musically, in a manner that's entirely familiar to fans of Public Enemy, offering a solid continuation of Apocalypse 91. Ultimately, it's their most satisfying record in several years -- which is a subtle difference that only the converted will notice. ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All Music Guide
Nominally a soundtrack to Spike Lee's basketball drama, but in reality more of an individual album, He Got Game appeared in 1998, just the second Public Enemy album since 1991's Apocalypse 91. Even though Chuck D was pushing 40, the late '90s were friendlier to PE's noisy, claustrophobic hip-hop than the mid-'90s, largely because hip-hop terrorists like the Wu-Tang Clan, Jeru the Damaja, and DJ Shadow were bringing the music back to its roots. PE followed in their path, stripping away the sonic blitzkrieg that was the Bomb Squad's trademark and leaving behind skeletal rhythm tracks, simple loops, and basslines. Taking on the Wu at their own game -- and, if you think about it, Puff Daddy as well, since the simple, repetitive loop of Buffalo Springfield's "For What It's Worth" on the title track was nothing more than a brazenly successful one-upmanship of Puff's shameless thievery -- didn't hurt the group's credibility, since they did it well. Listen to the circular, menacing synth lines of the opening "Resurrection" or the scratching strings on "Unstoppable" and it's clear that Public Enemy could compete with the most innovative artists in the younger generation, while "Is Your God a Dog" and "Politics of the Sneaker Pimps" proved that they could draw their own rules. That said, He Got Game simply lacked the excitement and thrill of prime period PE -- Chuck D, Terminator X, and the Bomb Squad were seasoned, experienced craftsmen, and it showed, for better and worse. They could craft a solid comeback like He Got Game, but no matter how enjoyable and even thought-provoking the album was, that doesn't mean it's where you'll turn when you want to hear Public Enemy. ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All Music Guide
If Greatest Misses was viewed as a temporary stumble upon its release in 1992, Muse Sick-n-Hour Mess Age was viewed as proof positive that Public Enemy was creatively bankrupt and washed up when it appeared in 1994. By and large, it was savaged in the press, most notably in a two-star pan by Touré in Rolling Stone, whose review still irked PE leader Chuck D years later. In retrospect, it's hard not to agree with Chuck's anger, since Muse Sick is hardly the disaster it was painted at the time. In fact, it's a thoroughly enjoyable, powerful album, one that is certainly not as visionary as the group's first four records, but is as musically satisfying. Its greatest crime is that it arrived at a time when so few were interested in not just Public Enemy, but what the group represents -- namely, aggressive, uncompromising, noisy political rap that's unafraid and places as much emphasis on soundscape as it does on groove. In 1994, hip-hop was immersed in gangsta murk (the Wu-Tang Clan's visionary 1993 debut, Enter the Wu-Tang, was only beginning to break the stranglehold of G-funk), and nobody cared to hear Public Enemy's unapologetic music, particularly since it made no concessions to the fads and trends of the times. Based solely on the sound, Muse Sick, in fact, could have appeared in 1991 as the sequel to Fear of a Black Planet, and even if it doesn't have the glorious highs of Apocalypse 91, it is arguably a more cohesive listen, with a greater sense of purpose and more consistent material than that record. But, timing does count for something, and Apocalypse did arrive when the group was not just at the peak of their powers, but at the peak of their hold on the public imagination, two things that cannot be discounted when considering the impact of an album. This record, in contrast, stands outside of time, sounding better as the years have passed, because when it's separated from fashion and trends, it's revealed as a damn good Public Enemy record. True, it doesn't offer anything new, but it offers a uniformly satisfying listen and it has stood the test of time better than many records that elbowed it off the charts and out of public consciousness during that bleak summer of 1994. ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All Music Guide
Coming down after the twin high-water marks of It Takes a Nation of Millions and Fear of a Black Planet, Public Enemy shifted strategy a bit for their fourth album, Apocalypse 91...The Enemy Strikes Black. By and large, they abandon the rich, dense musicality of Planet, shifting toward a sleek, relentless, aggressive attack -- Yo! Bum Rush the Show by way of the lessons learned from Millions. This is surely a partial reaction to their status as the Great Black Hope of rock & roll; they had been embraced by a white audience almost in greater numbers than black, leading toward rap-rock crossovers epitomized by this album's leaden, pointless remake of "Bring the Noise" as a duet with thrash metallurgists Anthrax. It also signals the biggest change here -- the transition of the Bomb Squad to executive-producer status, leaving a great majority of the production to their disciples, the Imperial Grand Ministers of Funk. This isn't a great change, since the Public Enemy sound has firmly been established, giving the new producers a template to work with, but it is a notable change, one that results in a record with a similar sound but a different feel: a harder, angrier, determined sound, one that takes its cues from the furious anger surging through Chuck D's sociopolitical screeds. And this is surely PE's most political effort, surpassing Millions through the use of focused, targeted anger, a tactic evident on Planet. Yet it was buried there, due to the seductiveness of the music. Here, everything is on the surface, with the bluntness of the music hammering home the message. Arriving after two records where the words and music were equally labyrinthine, folding back on each other in dizzying, intoxicating ways, it is a bit of a letdown to have Apocalypse be so direct, but there is no denying that the end result is still thrilling and satisfying, and remains one of the great records of the golden age of hip-hop. ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All Music Guide
Sometimes, debut albums present an artist in full bloom, with an assured grasp on their sound and message. Sometimes, debut albums are nothing but promise, pointing toward what the artist could do. Public Enemy's gripping first album, Yo! Bum Rush the Show, manages to fill both categories: it's an expert, fully realized record of extraordinary power, but it pales in comparison with what came merely a year later. This is very much a Rick Rubin-directed production, kicking heavy guitars toward the front, honing the loops, rhythms, and samples into a roar with as much in common with rock as rap. The Bomb Squad are apparent, but they're in nascent stage -- certain sounds and ideas that would later become trademarks bubble underneath the surface. And the same thing could be said for Chuck D, whose searing, structured rhymes and revolutionary ideas are still being formed. This is still the sound of a group comfortable rocking the neighborhood, but not yet ready to enter the larger national stage. But, damn if they don't sound like they've already conquered the world! Already, there is a tangible, physical excitement to the music, something that hits the gut with relentless force, as the mind races to keep up with Chuck's relentless rhymes or Flavor Flav's spastic outbursts. And if there doesn't seem to be as many classics here -- "You're Gonna Get Yours," "Miuzi Weighs a Ton," "Public Enemy No. 1" -- that's only in comparison to what came later, since by any other artist an album this furious, visceral, and exciting would unquestionably be heralded as a classic. From Public Enemy, this is simply a shade under classic status. ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All Music Guide
At the time of its release in March 1990 -- just a mere two years after It Takes a Nation of Millions -- nearly all of the attention spent on Public Enemy's third album, Fear of a Black Planet, was concentrated on the dying controversy over Professor Griff's anti-Semitic statements of 1989, and how leader Chuck D bungled the public relations regarding his dismissal. References to the controversy are scattered throughout the album -- and it fueled the incendiary lead single, "Welcome to the Terrordome" -- but years later, after the furor has died down, what remains is a remarkable piece of modern art, a record that ushered in the '90s in a hail of multi-culturalism and kaleidoscopic confusion. It also easily stands as the Bomb Squad's finest musical moment. Where Millions was all about aggression -- layered aggression, but aggression nonetheless -- Fear of a Black Planet encompasses everything, touching on seductive grooves, relentless beats, hard funk, and dub reggae without blinking an eye. All the more impressive is that this is one of the records made during the golden age of sampling, before legal limits were set on sampling, so this is a wild, endlessly layered record filled with familiar sounds you can't place; it's nearly as heady as the Beastie Boys' magnum opus Paul's Boutique in how it pulls from anonymous and familiar sources to create something totally original and modern. While the Bomb Squad was casting a wider net, Chuck D's writing was tighter than ever, with each track tackling a specific topic (apart from the aforementioned "Welcome to the Terrordome," whose careening rhymes and paranoid confusion are all the more effective when surrounded by such detailed arguments), a sentiment that spills over to Flavor Flav, who delivers the pungent black humor of "911 Is a Joke," perhaps the best-known song here. Chuck gets himself into trouble here and there -- most notoriously on "Meet the G That Killed Me," where he skirts with anti-homophobia -- but by and large, he's never been so eloquent, angry, or persuasive as he is here. This isn't as revolutionary or as potent as Millions, but it holds together better, and as a piece of music, this is the best hip-hop has ever had to offer. ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All Music Guide