Pitchfork

I know I'm in denial, but I'm still hoping that the first five minutes of The New Danger were unintentional. Perhaps Mos Def, still lit after a performance of Top Dog/Underdog, wandered into the studio during Living Colour's reunion jamboree, recorded five minutes of talking, and walked out with some sort of leather-induced amnesia. How else to explain the jarring transition between Raphael Saadiq's floating keys on "The Boogie Man Song" and Dr. Know's hyper-machismo axe-wielding on "Freaky Black Greetings"? How to explain an awkward, ill-advised stumble through Durst-style rap-rock? After exactly five years of waiting for the follow-up to 1999's magnificent Black on Both Sides, Mos Def opens by rehashing the final minutes of "Rock 'n' Roll" with the less-than-subtle assistance of Black Jack Johnson. Mos, say it ain't so.

Curiously, despite Mos' on-the-mark vocalizing about the neglected acknowledgment of the Afro-American influence on rock, he chose the arguably least "black" form to express himself. Granted, more African-American creative input in modern rock would be a wonderful thing-- and Mos' attempt is laudable-- but as he says, "I ain't try to fuck with Limp Bizkit," suggesting that rap and rock are two very different beasts whose collusion could be disastrous. Yet both "Freaky Black Greetings" and "Zimzallabim" borrow heavily from the Chocolate Starfish playbook. Suffice to say, Mos' cry, "We show you how to really make a moshpit bounce" is unconvincing at best.

"War" regurgitates a similar tune, adding a fairly benign critique of its titular subject, depressingly offering the impression that Mos believes a loud message makes an acceptable substitute for a thoughtful one. On the record's rock-tinged tracks, Know's overpowering licks seem to render a stop payment on Mos' creativity. "Life Is Real", for example, finds a terminal case of logorrhea infecting an uncharacteristically awful Mos verse: "My whole life is ill/ My whole life is real/ Mornings, noons, nights/ Birthdays, work days, holidays, funerals." What's more, Know's material fails to connect thematically or musically to the rest of the album, causing an unfortunate fit of dysrhythmia.

It's unfortunate that a phenom like "Sex, Love & Money"-- with its fat Dick Tracy horns, whimpering jungle flute, and marching band percussion-- is lost in the melee. Here, Mos tantalizes us with a glimpse of his past ebullience as he hums: "Lay back and relax your mind/ About to double the dosage in the half-time/ Master physical mastermind." Likewise, "The Panties" and "Modern Marvel" revel in the sleepy genius of "Umi Says" and deliver their respective messages of love and sadness with quiet, erupting impact. These, however, are the lone highlights of this otherwise disappointing release. For an artist whose stage moniker literally translates as "the highest certainty," Mos Def's newest release carries the unfortunate weight of indecisiveness.