Knee-deep in formulaic rock crit terminology, ubiquitous terms like "innovative" and "derivative" eventually lose all significant connotations and become just another set of five-dollar words to throw around in the face of indescribable sound. But every once in a while, someone comes along who perfectly realizes the crossover from the former to the latter. After the innovators pass the point of vitality into diminishing returns and still persevere to continue on, one of two paths is invariably chosen: keep at it and buck the trends, or give up and follow them.

Public Enemy unwisely tried to reignite their once furious flame alongside the only controversial black artist whose descent into obsolescence and unintentional self-parody has been more dramatic and disheartening than their own. Chuck D has slowly dissolved his credibility to the point where it now only applies on the lecture circuit, simply by being consistent to a fault. And, of course, Flava Flav is remembered merely as a cartoon-- an artifact of the era's bad fashion sense.

So Mistachuck, as he's known here, desperately claws at his own legacy once again-- this time with his once potent anti-pop finally eating itself, or at least, what it has become. Confrontation Camp is a shallow, inevitable attempt to lend a vital touch to the grating, inconsequential phenomenon of Rage Against the Machine-style political rap-rock. Hooking up with an anonymous, laughable white vocalist known as Kyle Ice Jason, Public Enemy bandmate and troublemaker Professor Griff, and an absolutely generic backing band and DJ, Chuck spouts his usual overwrought attacks. Only now, there's a greater focus on the corrupt record industry than, say, Reagan. His voice is even rougher than usual, but without the expertly composed cacophony of the Bomb Squad's anarchic beats backing him, there's no tension for Chuck to grate against-- just the same indignant rage he's been leaning against since day one, now lacking the resonance.

Disappointing side projects are easy targets, even for diehard fans who have trouble admitting the mistakes of their idols. And it's only natural to try putting the blame on unfamiliar collaborators. But in the case of Confrontation Camp, the new blood rightfully takes as much heat as the seasoned professionals. Kyle Ice Jason is a double threat: a wack MC and singer of thin, vapid choruses. DJ Lord adds predictable, obligatory scratching textures as if Terminator X never happened. The backing musicians, Chain Gang, show their range by aping everything from Korn's hunched-over squealing to Tom Morello minus the technical prowess.

Mistachuck throws all the necessary sensitive issues into the fray, begging for controversy like a whimpering dog at the tableside-- a little pro-OJ baiting here, some record company ranting there. At this point, Confrontation Camp probably wouldn't mind if Griff made some more irresponsible comments in an interview, if only to stir up some appropriately negative publicity. You know, for old time's sake. But it would take a lot of props from an industry whore like Fred Durst to move copies of this nightmare, and you know Chuck ain't havin' that.

-Al Shipley