Public Enemy has reached a threshold no other rap group can lay claim to: a 20-year anniversary in the game that finds them on-point, incisive, and musically tighter than ever.

How You Sell Soul to a Soulless People Who Sold Their Soul??? is a chin check to the current crop of rappers pushing jingles for a buck, the industry machine that pro-duces with no concern for the culture and well-being of listeners, and fans them-selves, passive when they should be passionate, lackadaisical when they should challenge, sleep-walking when they should riot.

The liner notes are spare for PE, famous for mini-books that should come with a magnifying glass and the couple of hours it takes to appreciate them. In lieu of printing lyrics to each song, Chuck D. instead opted for a blisteringly honest letter straight from the heart, saying he’s tired of “people asking when are we gonna put the next album out when they haven’t peeped the last five.”

PE left traditional circuits behind years ago, before downloading became a national pastime, and went with digital distributors and online music stores for their albums. Mista Chuck says he realizes “closing the digital divide will leave a lot of folks behind in the dust,” but insists “I knew I had a fan base and I wanted to go directly to them.”

While the decision to go online gave PE more creative control, until recently that decision had moved the group off the radar of many old-school fans. Thankfully, that’s no longer an issue: despite the digital distributor, Soul is available at brick and mortar outlets as well.

Soul has streamlined the wall of noise you might remember from It Takes a Nation of Millions or Fear of a Black Planet. It’s a cleaner, less cluttered sound, but just as dense with live musical instrumentation and a free-wheeling use of new and vintage audio clips. The baNNed, PE’s band, sweats under the burden of Chuck’s rapid-fire vocals, but hangs hard with a heavy funk-rock influence. Production seamlessly marries this live show style to beats that won’t let you sit still. But lyrics dominate the soundscape.

Amerikan Gangster attacks hip hop’s fascination with a lifestyle of dealing and killing. Chuck strikes at the canonization of late rapper B.I.G., spitting “New generation, they’re getting ready for prison. Ready to Die?
That sounds like quitting.”

On See Something, Say Something, Chuck speaks on the “Don’t Snitch” culture. It’s an ironic reminder that the term, which goes back to the time of COINTELPRO and the government’s deliberate assault on the revolutionary instincts of some black Americans, is now being twisted to push us into accepting genocide at our own hands.

The album also sees three Flavor Flav solo tracks, one a riff on  Stone Cold Lampin called Col-Leepin.  Still a rebel in his own mind, Flav gets personal on Bridge of Pain, a tale of his downward spiral from fame to incarceration.

The CD also features a verse from blastmaster KRS-One and a production spot by Redman.

The album includes a DVD with live show footage, videos, a PE comic book, and other goodies. Despite being 19 tracks strong, the album feels short—if only because quality hip hop has become so rare that you don’t want the ride to end. Too, it can be played end to end, with virtually no filler. This is soul music, heart music, head music, that begs for communal listening. Throw this on at your next house party. Bump this for your friends. Let them know PE still has something to say. For the sake of our souls, we ought to listen.

Album Grade: A

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