Sound vision B-Lite drops a multimedia assault BY MIKE MILIARD

"And the blind shall lead them," sayeth the proverbs. They don’t sayeth anything about blind, dipsomaniacal, diabolical, libidinous, felonious, occasionally street-dwelling white "video-rappers." But though he’s cursed with less than optimal optical faculties, Providence’s B-Lite is blessed with acute acuity when it comes to seeing through the dolorous ills of the world. And this righteous rhyme-slinger — who, sans shades, looks a little like a performance artist named Brendan . . . and, come to think of it, we’ve never seen him in the same room with Gallic, phallic hip-hopper Pepe Le Gangstair, or wicked wordsmith MC Polynomical either — wants to squire us out of the darkness and into the Lite. The path of excess leads to the tower of wisdom, and B-Lite’s tales of sex on the high seas and satanic seduction, related via spitfire sibilance, ribald rhythmic suggestion, and kaleidoscopic PowerPoint fantasias populated with copulating clip-art cutouts (and closed captioned for the hearing-impaired), are a sort of decadent declaration of conscience.

Because for all his cocksure swagger, B-Lite also exhibits a genuine bewilderment about the sad state of the world. "Introducing B-Lite," the first song on his self-released DVD, Let’s Talk About It, is his manifesto, sung over deep grooves and smooth polyrhythms that hearken back to the relaxed electro-flow of groups like the World Class Wreckin’ Cru. "I sit around waiting for quittin’ time/ sittin’ in the office is a waste of rhyme/ ’cause I’m young and I’m hip and I’m hearing the beats/ that have me lookin’ for love when I’m out on the streets." But it’s also his J’Accuse: "I can’t turn on the TV for a little relief/ ’cause there’s nothin’ but ads (and then again I can’t see)/ and the radio sucks ’cause it just plays news/ and all they talk about is war between the Muslims and Jews/ the president slurs his words like a hick/ he’s full of Christian bullshit ’cause he’s paid by the rich/ now he’s started a war and he’s on the attack/ and his speeches sound like child-molestin’ preachers on crack."

In an e-mail interview from an undisclosed location, B-Lite intimates that those outsized obsidian goggles may be a sort of self-defense. "I do have bad eyes [but] my blindness is more metaphorical," he writes. "I have a hard time seeing the point to things like shooting Arabs in the nuts, war over gas, war over God, driving around all day in a car. I guess I lost my sight when I couldn’t see the point anymore."

But B-Lite is hardly a preaching, priggish prude. Accompanied by his trusty Roland Groovebox ("the most revolutionary musical device since Pythagoras plucked a string"), sometimes embroidering songs with sinful synths and voluptuous vocoders, his lyrics are studies in head-spinning hedonism. On "Sea Cruise," he sings of the salty pleasures to be had on bibulous and bimbo-filled ocean liner. On "Curbside Lover," he convinces a series of buxom paramours that lack of bills doesn’t mean lack of skills. And on "B-Lite In the Neighborhood," he revels in the glories of grand larceny.

Although one of his hits is a harrowing tale of spiraling depravity titled "Mind-Bending Drugs," drink is B-Lite’s vice of choice. ("Pretty much anything with alcohol will do, but when I’m hip to the scene and I’m hittin’ the bar, I’m drinking coconut rum with a girl in a bra," he says.) But even that habit seems to stem from a quiet desperation about the globe’s sorry state. He boasts about being "ripped to the tits" when he’s "kickin’ the jams," but also confesses that "it’s hard to rap about reality sober. Reality is so sobering that I need to get drunk just to reestablish some sort of equilibrium. The never-ending nebulous hoax we call current affairs makes me so crazy I don’t know what to think. It’s like I’m watching the world getting flushed down the shitter — going up in flames, like a giant one-hitter."

He finds spiritual solace in an unlikely place; his song "Hallelujah" is an upbeat paean, sung in a preacher’s Southern twang, to the Prince of Darkness himself (not Ozzy). Of course, Iblis-idolizing is usually the province of heavy-metallers. But B-Lite is not your typical hip-hopper. Indeed it’s a rare rapper who’ll name-check academic avatars like Joseph Campbell and James Frazer in explaining his magnetism toward Satanism.

But really, aside from the devil-worshipping and the debauchery, B-Lite is a just a regular guy. And don’t dare call him disabled. Blindness "doesn’t hinder me," he says. "I only have four senses but they’re sharper than shit — and I only need one to put your ass in a split."

In his anti-anthem "Slacker-B," B-Lite casts aside the pittance-paying wage-slavery that’s kept him in shackles and embraces la vie boheme. But mistake that for indolence at your peril. B-Lite is in the early stages of a multimedia assault on an unsuspecting populace.

"I’m going to start by dropping an A-Bomb on America, that’s an Advertising Bomb," he writes. "The B-Lite PowerPoint show is going to be broadcast on televisions across America to teach the poor in spirit that there are sharks in the water and they’re looking for food, so if life gets crazy come and hop on my cruise. Then I’m going to follow up with a T-Bomb, which is a Talent Bomb, and my sea-cruise will have you saying, ‘Holy shit — this blind man’s rap has got a serious kick!’ Lastly, I’m going to hit you with a C-Bomb, a Content Bomb, because I’m looking out for dolphins and fish, and all the sea creatures — you’ll see my point of view when I mace you in the peepers."

In other words: "I got a bad disposition/ and my life is a mission/ to make you listen to the rhymes of the blind/ that you been dissin’."

B-Lite performs this Saturday, June 5 at AS220, 115 Empire Street in Providence. Tickets are $6; call (401) 831-9327.