The 9:30 club's stage was rather desolate Tuesday night for slam poet Saul Williams. No banners adorned the background, and only a microphone and modest DJ station filled the viewing area. Williams needed none of the trimmings.
Williams -- best known as the star and co-writer of the locally produced 1998 film "Slam" -- spent much of the evening on his signature venom-filled ruminations, spoken and sung, about love, politics and hip-hop. He wore a black T-shirt inside out.
"This ain't no poetry reading, y'all," Williams commanded early on. "You gotta dance!" The audience erupted at "Telegram," in which he assailed hip-hop's evils over pre-recorded, distorted guitars: "Stop. We are discontinuing our line of braggadocio in light of the current trend in realness. Stop."
Williams performed several tracks from his most recent, self-produced album, including "Black Stacey," the derisive nickname that others gave him as a youngster because of his dark skin: "You thought it wouldn't faze me, but it did 'cause I was just a kid."
Immersed in his craft, Williams was often pensive. Before "Coded Language," he rested the microphone on his forehead, eyes shut. "Find your mantra and awaken your subconscious!" he shouted during one of several a cappella moments.
During tunes such as "Act III Scene 2 (Shakespeare)," Williams's body convulsed, but he drifted into a wonderful, hypnotic plane on "Wine": "I'm a star. This life's the suburbs. I commute."
-- Craig Smith
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