Prince Paul

Melding classic reggae and Miami booty-bass, Muddy Waters harp and Schoolly-D scratch, cocktail vibes and sacred quartet, the Native Tongue beatmaster turned gravedigging heretic assembles "senseless skitstyle material" by "a motley crew of ill characters and cronies from around the way who resemble a P-Funk on crack (wait, P-Funk was on crack)" into a disturbing laff riot whose dramaturgy is more musical than De La Soul's songs. There's even a sweet-chorused romantic ballad about rape and homicide, two of each, but don't worry--they're only a dream, with a fake Viennese muttering eager encouragement in the background. (Grade: A-)