Reznor’s enigmatic presence haunts the album like a possessive specter, wholly complimentary with Williams’ idiosyncratic lyrics. It’s as if they are two dichotomous personalities of the same artist battling for control

Oscar Wilde once wrote “Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.” At the heart of Saul Williams’ latest album, “The Inevitable Rise and Liberation of Niggy Tardust!” this ethos is certainly true.

The rising, anything but traditional, hip-hop star Williams is the latest artist to join the unofficial online release movement made popular earlier this year by Radiohead.

Williams’ new album is only available via his website niggytardust.com. The album is available for free download in 192kbps MP3 format, or higher 320kbps MP3 and lossless FLAC formats with a donation of $5 directly to Williams.

Along with an atypical release, Williams has found an unlikely producer in fellow label expatriate and industrial giant, Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails.

Early in the year, Williams made a guest appearance on two tracks from Reznor’s own critically lauded departure from form, “Year Zero.” The gamble proved bizarre, yet successful. Reznor’s influence on Williams’ new sound is equally puzzling in theory, but strangely fitting in practice.

Indeed, seldom is the album ever conventional in any sense. It seems only right that it derives its name from David Bowie’s quintessential persona/style twisting 1972 album.

The album drops with “Black History Month,” a thunderous and menacing call more akin to the foreboding sounds of war drums than a catchy, opening hook. As Williams exclaims with ardor, “I ain’t afraid to be me!” it is starkly apparent that this is not your traditional hip-hop outing.

“Convict Colony” is vintage Reznor, circa “The Downward Spiral.” The unrelenting and hollow machine-like sound of Reznor’s beats seem to compliment Williams’ soulful delivery.

Reznor’s enigmatic presence haunts the album like a possessive specter, wholly complimentary with Williams’ idiosyncratic lyrics. It’s as if they are two dichotomous personalities of the same artist battling for control.

This dynamic chemistry even makes the odd concept of a U2 “Sunday Bloody Sunday” cover shockingly relevant and well-crafted, if a bit misplaced amidst the album’s surprisingly progressive sound.

So close is his work with Williams, “WTF!” even features Reznor’s backing vocals, as well as his eccentrically subtle and melodic piano riffs. As the album progresses through the haunting and stripped-down “Raw” to the infectious and otherworldly “Skin of a Drum,” Reznor and Williams’ styles seem to converge and streamline.

At times, Williams’ voice nearly resembles Reznor’s, albeit coupled with a more graceful and poetic psyche. The hybrid moment plays like a bold step toward hip-hop’s frontier, quite possibly a sign of things to come.

However, like all first movements, the album is not without missteps. Songs like “Scared Money,” “No One Ever Does,” and the title track “NiggyTardust” are well executed in their own right, but fail to meet the uncharted heights of the rest of the album.

One could also charge that Williams’ new sound is perhaps too similar to that of Nine Inch Nails. Reznor’s influence is broad and heavy, which could alienate some of Williams’ fans.

However, Williams once again brings his deeply personal lyrics as well as tremendous emotional content, rarely rivaled in mainstream hip-hop. Milan Kundera references and fervently charged lines like “I can't become my father when it's all been said and done,” bring an insightful confessional aspect to the album.

Coupled with Williams’ penchant for beautifully lyrical prose, many of the songs showcase a dizzying potential for a genre of music arguably bogged down by image and cliche.

As the album comes to a close, tracks like “Raised to be Lowered” and “The Ritual” speak of Williams’ overall socio-political message about the current status of the black artist.

“Raised to be Lowered” plays as a direct jab at the institutionalized popularity of misogyny and violence in modern hip-hop. Close on its heels, “The Ritual” breaks down these traditional lyrical themes into their most base and shocking four and five letter equivalents in an ominous plea to the industry and its artists for a careful reexamination of its professed messages.

“The Inevitable Rise and Liberation of Niggy Tardust!” side-steps many accepted musical norms, in a truly entrepreneurial spirit, to deliver a uniquely poignant personal and professional critique with the kind of anonymous honesty that sometimes only a mask can deliver.

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