Decked out in the most humble of garb with faded trousers and a simple brown shirt, Saul Williams took the stage.
From the first audile word that came out of poet/actor/rapper/musician's mouth, the audience at Niagara County Community College was all his.
Without warning Williams, who was sporting a fro-hawk similar to that of "Cinco Ocho" Chad Johnson, jumped off the stage, walked to the very brim of the crowd and burst into his poem "Coded Language."
The poem, along with others, is chock so full of insight and intellectualism that upon its completion one feels like his or her brain just spent an evening at Ponderosa.
"We know that the heart is the philosopher's stone/Our music is our alchemy," Williams said.
The performance was supposed to be based on the importance of poetry in hip-hop and vise versa. Williams used this as a basic guideline, but devoted most of his time to responding to the inquiries of the audience.
His answer to the second question of the night was far and away the pinnacle of his performance. One audience member asked how Williams felt about the rampant use of the "N" word in today's African American subculture. After a smirk and the reading of his poem "I Am That Nigga," the knowledge hammer was dropped.
"We associate that word with a point in our history," Williams said. "The problem with that is that the Niger River existed long before the Europeans came. Its original meaning could have been anything from river, to beauty, to God. With that being said, it may be the only word in the English language of actual African origin."
Quieting a sea of cheers, Williams compared his message to the old-fashioned snakebite remedy of sucking out the venom.
"When I hear people use the word 'nigger' I feel that we are organically spilling out the poison that has been in our system for generations," Williams said.
As he spoke the audience could have heard a pin drop, but when he finished the cheers of appreciation were louder than the bass pumping out of the speakers.
As the questions shifted from one serious topic to another, Williams remained loyal to his method of response. After being asked if he had a religion, Williams went directly to the poem that he wrote for his father - a preacher - and had orated at his funeral.
"We are all majestics working toward the gradual fulfillment of our greater testament," Williams said. "No church of secular division could ever be big enough to house these dreams."
He finished his poem by stating that he looks to all different types of religion for comfort, but doesn't have one set faith.
As his time neared its end, Williams offered some advice, albeit cryptic in nature.
"We need to diversify our diets," Williams said. "I don't mean what we eat, but what we experience and absorb. If you surround yourself with bullshit, you're not gonna make diamonds."
A knowing laughter was audible.
Williams finished his set with an anecdote and a capella performance of his song "Black Stacey."
"And even though you tote a glock and you're hot on the streets, if you dare to share your heart, we'll nod our heart to its beat. And you should do that, if nothing else, to prove that a player like you could keep it honest and true. Don't mean to call your bluff but mothaf*cka that's what I do."
Williams is a preacher in the truest sense of the word. The truth that he spoke and the message that he portrayed will touch the weariest of souls. His words, his tone, his persona and his being are so much greater than that of his peers.
A long-haired, glasses-sporting audience member summed it up best when he approached Mr. Williams and said five simple words: "That was some deep shit."
Photo: Courtesy of Laron Fomby
