Saint Francis

The Clay Mathematics Institute in Boston has a standing $1 million offer for anyone who can solve the Poincaré conjecture, a geometrical problem that has baffled the world’s brightest minds for a century. A similar reward should be offered to anyone who can figure out Sage Francis.

So you think he’s simply an introspective “emo rapper” (as an article in the February issue of Spin magazine typecasts him and Mac Lethal, among others) just because his sensitive, scab-opening 2002 album, Personal Journals, revealed more skeletons in the closet than you’d find at the National Museum of Natural History? What, then, do you make of Hope, the latest release from Non-Prophets, Francis’ side project with producer Joe Beats, which boils over with hard-hitting, venom-spitting battle rhymes?

Francis is undoubtedly a paradox. An enigma wrapped inside an MC whose commanding flow and cunning wordplay are often aimed squarely at mainstream targets such as Jay-Z, Nelly, “candy rappers reproducing Tupac covers,” and others whose “whole essence is a stocking stuffer.” But despite friendships with artists like Buck 65 and Atmosphere and affiliations with independent labels like Anticon (which put out Personal Journals and Francis’ 2003 vinyl EP, Makeshift Patriot) and Lex (home to Non-Prophets), Francis isn’t entirely a champion of the underground.

“There isn’t much that distinguishes the talent level of indie artists from that of mainstream rappers, except indie artists say what the fuck they want in order to tear down the fantasy, while mainstream rappers say what is necessary in order to keep the fantasy alive,” he says. “Generally, both suck to me. Neither has a fresh approach to anything going on in our lives.”

There are more curious contradictions afoot. The Miami-born, Rhode Island-dwelling 25-year-old — a strict vegetarian who hates booze, drugs and cigarettes the way conservatives abhor Michael Moore — peppers Hope‘s tracks with lines such as I attend candlelight vigils for Matthew Shepard while you put out another fuck-you-faggot record and Life’s not a bitch — she’s just sick of being personified.

Yet just when you’re convinced Francis is perched on a politically correct ledge, he liberates cubicle jockeys with a verse like Stand up, push out your chair, jump on your desk/And if you’ve got a crush on your coworker, touch her breasts/And if you hate your boss ’cause he’s a sucker, punch his chest/Push his wig back with pimp slaps, crush his specs/Kick a hole in his computer, pull the plug and then jet/You’re the goddamn man, motherfucker, that’s fresh.

Francis is well aware of these incongruities. He even addresses the subject on the Personal Journals track “Different”: I talk with authority while I question it/When I ask, ‘Who am I?’ I’m left guessing. He believes his fans are drawn particularly to his enigmatic nature.

“I think people are intrigued by the inconsistencies,” he says. “They don’t know what is true anymore. But that reflects the complexities of any human, and I guess that’s why they relate to it.”

And then, of course, there’s the ultimate conundrum: success.

After years of toiling in virtual obscurity and near-destitution — distributing his songs on the Internet, burning CDRs, appearing at poetry slams and battles, booking his own tours and working with tiny record labels to spark his career — Francis recently inked a three-album deal with Epitaph, becoming the first solo rapper signed to the venerable punk label. The partnership allows him the distribution and promotional reach he has long coveted.

So now that he’s finally on the verge of a commercial breakthrough, what does Francis go and do? He dubs his current 37-city trek “The Fuck Clear Channel Tour,” bypasses all venues owned by the omnipresent media juggernaut and seizes every opportunity to condemn its business practices. This almost guarantees that you’ll never hear him on the radio or see him play at any major concert halls, which may, ultimately, stick a fork in the prospects of expanding his modest fanbase. Did the potential self-sabotaging consequences give him a moment’s pause? Not by a long shot.

“It took me about five seconds to think of the name of this tour,” Francis says. “I’m taking a serious jab at the conglomerate that most artists in my position would be kissing up to. Over the past five years, I have explored this industry inside and out, and I can say without a shadow of a doubt that companies like Clear Channel lessen the quality of the common person’s life.

“I’ve been lucky enough to successfully operate outside their realm,” Francis continues. “And since I am a self-made artist, I interact with real people who have a genuine interest in music and art. If I smell something fishy along the lines of poor ethics and/or bad business, I will no longer operate with that person or company. The morality of big business is almost nonexistent. That’s just the reality we’ve grown up in, and we are so familiar with the blatant disregard to the common person’s well-being that the general public accepts it. There’s no outrage. I feel a duty to raise the awareness level to a degree that the general public can start recognizing these things.”

Some might scoff that the move is idealistic folly, career suicide or both. Others will hail it as a triumph of principle over profit. But maybe, just maybe, Francis will be able to retain his integrity and make a decent living from his music, even if stardom proves elusive. Thankfully, he saves us the effort of figuring out why the latter isn’t on his priority list.

“I don’t like people prying into my life whatsoever, so if I sense that happening, I will retreat back into the shell,” Francis says. “I cherish my privacy, so I will never allow myself to get famous to the point where I am recognized in the porn shop.”