What Bob Dylan did for rock in the '60s, what George Clinton did for funk and Bob Marley for reggae in the '70s, Public Enemy's Chuck D. has done for rap: given it legitimacy and authority far beyond its core following.

Though LL Cool J may be sexier, MC Hammer a funkier dancer, and Young MC a more fluid wordsmith, the 29-year-old Chuck D. has emerged as rap's leading, and most controversial, voice.

He has been portrayed as the white man's worst nightmare, a militant black nationalist with a nationwide following, and been hailed as a crusader for equality whose goal is to create 5,000 new black leaders in the '90s.

Public Enemy's new album, Fear of a Black Planet (Def Jam) has sold nearly 1.5 million copies and recently cracked Billboard's pop charts Top 10.

The album's inflammatory title, combined with Chuck D.'s sullen appearance, and the camouflaged, plastic Uzi-toting "posse" that accompanies him onstage, have turned Public Enemy into popular music's most feared and misunderstood group.

Unlike 2 Live Crew, which stirs controversy by throwing the equivalent of a stag party on stage and on record, what Public Enemy represents is something far more threatening: black empowerment.

But as Chuck D. said two years ago in Don't Believe the Hype, the only people who should fear Public Enemy are the close-minded:

I'm not a hooligan .../I'm not a racist .../The minute they see me, fear me/I'm the epitome of Public Enemy

"America is a country where black people are judged by their characteristics, not their character," said Carlton Ridenhour, otherwise known as Chuck D., in a wide-ranging, hour-long interview a few days ago from his home near New York City, where he lives with his wife and child. "That's what Fear of a Black Planet is all about: The more you know about something, the less you fear it. ...

"When I walk to the 7-Eleven, I feel like I'm being watched because of who I am -- a black man. Sometimes I feel compelled to buy something so I won't be suspected of stealing. Blacks see the problem of racism in America very clearly because they have to live it every day."

If knowledge is the key to race relations, then Public Enemy's three albums -- Yo! Bum Rush the Show, It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back and Fear of a Black Planet -- are modern-day textbooks.

"Whites aren't educated about racism because they've benefited from it," says Chuck D., a former art student at Adelphi University on Long Island. "Fear of a Black Planet is like feeding baby food to babies -- whites are babies when it comes to racism. And they won't study it unless it hits them in the face daily."

Public Enemy has proven more than willing to do the verbal punching. As Russell Simmons, president of Def Jam Records, said in explaining the meaning of an early Public Enemy song, Miuzi Weighs a Ton: "Chuck's mouth is his gun, and words are his bullets."

Chuck D.'s gift for provocative song titles and themes is worthy of Madison Avenue: Welcome to the Terrordome, Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos, Rebel Without a Pause, Who Stole the Soul? But his raps don't reduce easily to slogans; their "schizo style" reflects the random energy of the street.

"I work from the title on down," he says. "I write and rewrite songs 14 or 15 times. It doesn't come naturally to me."

In the ferocious 1988 single Bring the Noise, he leaps from topic to topic as if in the midst of a fevered dream: Death Row, Louis Farrakhan, black radio, Sonny Bono, Yoko Ono, the heavy-metal group Anthrax. On paper, it sounds ludicrous. Through the speakers, it sounds like the most dissonant, in- your-face rock 'n' roll since the Sex Pistols: a dizzying collage of agitated rhythms, irritating sound effects and relentless raps, pitting Chuck D.'s husky, authoritative voice against the grunting, groaning exhortations of his comic foil, Flavor Flav.

"I try to imagine what Sly Stone, Jimi Hendrix, P-Funk and James Brown would sound like if they were making rap records," Chuck D. says. "Samples" of these artists' records collide like street cars on Public Enemy records, creating a tense, explosive atmosphere.

But while Public Enemy's sound is exciting, it's the scope of Chuck D.'s vision that makes them such an important rap group.

Though many rappers' concerns begin and end in the region of their own groin, Chuck D.'s gaze extends from the street corner to the countries of the Third World, and encompasses politics, economics, entertainment and race relations. He invokes radical black leaders such as Malcolm X and Louis Farrakhan as role models, blasts his own people for their lack of male leadership and disrespect of women, and hammers the white establishment's racial intolerance.

Such rhetoric practically invites misinterpretation, and the fears of many unfamiliar with rap, and black music and culture in general, were confirmed when Public Enemy's "minister of information," Professor Griff, said in a May 1989, interview with The Washington Times that Jews are responsible for "the majority of wickedness that goes on across the globe."

Griff was fired, then reinstated in a diminished role, then finally booted out of the band for good a few months ago. Chuck D.'s failure to decisively deal with the controversy, combined with his embrace of the Black Muslim Minister Farrakhan, who has espoused anti-Semitic views, left doubts about his politics and personal judgment.

"Griff is and always will be a firebrand," he says. "We had different philosophical views. Certain things he said we're not happy with."

As for Farrakhan, "he's made mistakes and he's been attacked for them. "But he's also done a lot of good."

For Chuck D., controversy comes with the territory of being an outspoken black.

"It's like a trademark. We don't seek it out. Controversy doesn't make you bigger. It's how you handle it that makes you bigger."

If so, Chuck D. faces another, perhaps bigger, challenge. To coincide with the release of Fear of a Black Planet, Public Enemy's "media assassin," Harry Allen, sent copies of The Cress Theory of Color Confrontation and Racism (White Supremacy) to some journalists.

The 1970 document, by Washington psychiatrist Frances Cress Welsing, argues that whites are genetically deficient because their skin isn't colored, and they compensate for it by oppressing blacks.

"The new album is based on certain aspects of the Cress Theory," Chuck D. acknowledges. "And I think there's some truth to it, but it's intimidating to whites because it's so against everything they're taught in school."

The larger issue, he says, is to prod people into thinking about "why 100 percent of the planet isn't shared by 100 percent of the people, why white is considered good and black is bad. God didn't make those laws, white supremacists did."

"Blacks have been here for 400 years, they helped build this country and have nothing -- other than ourselves -- to show for it."

To rectify that injustice, Chuck D. believes blacks need to do more to get their act together. His mission to develop 5,000 new black leaders stems from a belief that in the black community "we have lots of 40- and 50-year-old boys, not men."

"The basis for my music comes from people like Jesse Jackson, Ida B. Wells, Bill Cosby," he says. "We're not talking about a cookie-cutter black culture, where everyone has to be a b-boy. What we need is more blacks who realize they're black.

"Self-respect. Knowing who you are. Public Enemy boils down to that."

Sizzling Summer Tour '90, with Public Enemy, Heavy D and the Boyz, Kid 'N Play, Digital Underground, Queen Latifah and Chill Rob G., is scheduled for 7:30 tonight at Miami Arena, 721 NW 1st Ave. Tickets $18.50. Call TicketMaster, 839-3900 (Palm Beach), 358-5885 (Broward and Dade).

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