THE LAST POETS

Tracks : 10 tracks and somewhere near 53 minutes
Label : Black Arc
Producers : Bill Laswell
Profanity : Hardly

The Last Poets.

Well, they're back. Some of the first rappers and some of the last poets are back. Now, last time, scant minutes ago by my reckoning, I reviewed their first album, The Last Poets, from 1970. The poets at that time were Abiodun Oyewole, Alafia Pudim and Omar Ben Hassen with Nilaja on percussion.

Now, it's 1995, a quarter century has passed. The album is Holy Terror and the poets are Abiodun Oyewole, Umar Bin Hassan (once Omar Ben Hassen) and Grandmaster Melle Mel (yes, that Grandmaster Melle Mel). They are joined by Bootsy Collins on guitars and bass; Bernie Worrell on organ, piano, clavinet and synthesizer; Bill Laswell on bass, beats, samples and loops; and Aiyb Dieng on congas, chatan, bells, talking drum, doff, tambourine, gongs and percussion.

Got it?

Now, I lavished well-deserved praise upon The Last Poets. It was--and is--slammin'. Well, most of the things that made The Last Poets so damn good are here as well. In fact, really, only one thing is missing: the feeling of a jazz-like interplay of the voices between the poets. On the early stuff, one gets the feeling that, even though only one poet is really featured on any given track, that they're all in the same room and kind of making things up as they go along, letting the moment lead them into improvisation. Here, one gets the feeling that they're all in separate rooms.

That's seriously too bad, but, I'm happy to say, they're all in separate rooms still dropping knowledge and usually impressing the hell out of me when all is said and done.

We begin with "Invocation." This introduction features Oyewole giving us a proper history lesson on The Last Poets.

     "And a South African poet names Kgositile said,
     'This Wind You Hear Is The Birth of Memory'"

     "I see a slave that's on a ship
     His back is getting whipped
     His great great great grandson's a crip
     That's a trip"

          "So much blood
          How can we forget?
          A seat in the audience of the grammy awards?
          How can we forget?
          A news anchor job telling respectable lies?
          How can we forget?"

               "Take that word insane and make it warrior
               Take that word crazy and make it poet
               Take that word suicidal and make it live"


                  "We owe no explanations
                  We owe no apologies
                  Ours has been a struggle of gun battles
                        and bullets whizzing past"


   "Not afraid of giving too much too soon and looking too foolish."

Sorry.

Anyway, Oyewole returns on "Black Rage."

                           "Grenades in their eyes
                            and death is their prize"


                       "There are bombs standing
                       on the corners of the cities
                       waiting to explode
                       at the slightest touch
                       baggy shadow street boys
                       stand cocked ready to fire
                       their eyes are grenades
                       and the pin is about to be pulled
                       Boom!  The brother went off
                       pressure pulled the trigger
                       and the brother became a nigger
                       and no one could figure out how it happened
                       What went wrong?"

       "They are diamonds treated like worthless stones
        They are rivers with nowhere to run"

             "The truth becomes pretense
              The lie becomes bold"


                          "The end becomes question
                           Morals are closed but then open to suggestion
                           Shady positions without shade in the trees
                           Major destruction in minor degrees"

       "You can feel the whip
        Hear the cries
        and see the blood in the red clay
        the clay that holds the stones together is African"


              "The chains did not break the spirit
               Did not enslave the music of my soul
               Did not shackle the will of my freedom"

Anyway, we're shocked immediately by the strains of "Give Up The Funk" as it's being sampled in "Funk." Well, I was shocked. Melle Mel opens up before turning things over to a somewhat shocked-sounding Umar.

                 "Deep in that moment when funk becomes art"

                   "Caught up in his funk
                    Caught up in his charm
                    Caught up in his magic
                    but not his alarm"

This isn't the case at all with "If We Only Knew." Oyewole steps up to the mic and he's swinging.

              "We need to own the joint
               Instead of working as a waiter"


                  "Trying to use common sense where life is insane"

Alas. Umar returns in very top form with "The Illusion of Self."

       "The Holy Terror becomes the holy blessing
        Family values caught in the act of undressing"

           "Yes, we once knew love
           We once held it here inside
           while beating it to death"


               "Rational mind be quiet
                Ego be still
                Learn to accept
                Learn to be real"

                   "A fashion model with a radiant smile
                    Concealing her darkness while exhibiting style
                    Pole dancers with the greatest of ease
                    Major intelligence becomes a minor striptease"


    "Feeling that difference then feeling the same
     Wanting the prize but not the game"


        "Why do we make them outlaws when there really is no crime
         Why do we try to deny them when we know we need them so
         Why do we try to ignore them but are afraid to let them go"

            "The children are singing our songs
             In the absence of a movement
             they rebel among themselves
             We will change that
             We will be the light to show them the way
             We will be the fire for the torch
             We will be the tidal of the wave
             Ring the bell, the sh*t is on
             Daddy's home"

What to say?

Well, the easiest thing to do, I guess, would be to compare Holy Terror to The Last Poets. I guess, Holy Terror loses that comparison. Of course, that doesn't tell one much since Last Poets is all that and a bowl of hot grits.

And, of course, it's easier to like: it's got an angry intensity and sense of urgency that one can't help but empathize with. Holy Terror is made by older people with older voices and older eyes. Wise focused reflection always loses to young bravado and energy. I suspect most fans of the latest hip hop will be more enamored with the first album. In fact, I know they will.

But that's not really fair, is it? Holy Terror, when all is said and done, stands on its own. Like Be Bop or Be Dead, it has its own power and energy and is well-worth owning, not just by fans of the Last Poets but by Hip Hop heads and especially those Hip Hop Heads who appreciate and seek to understand the depth and breadth of the culture that they profess to love.

If I could give the honored poets of today some advice, though, it would be this: give me the impression that you're in the same room mixing it all up. This stuff is great, but it's easy to see how to make it better. There's magic in the angry, pointed lyrics found in "Run, Nigger" and "Niggers Are Scared of Revolution"; however, the real magic is in their jazz-like cadences and the interplay of each of the voices. The emotion is in the words, yes, but much of it is in the feeling that there's a group of people supporting each word and each other.

That's my advice to the poets, given respectfully. And as for you, reader, I guess all I can say to you is that you've got at least two Last Poets albums to buy, don't you? And while, you're at it, pick up The Best of Gil Scott Heron and Spirits by Gil Scott Heron and Be Bop or Be Dead by Umar Bin Hassan. You may find them under "H," but if you don't, do what I did and look under "L" for "Last Poets."

I'm glad we had this chance to talk.

But that's just one Black man's opinion--what's yours?

Charles L Isbell, Jr. (courtesy of the The Homeboy From Hell website)