Furniture, many would say, has little to do with hip-hop. Tricked-out rides? Sure. Ice-encrusted jewelry? Absolutely. For most hip-hop artists, gaudy scads of furniture, like the bliggity-bling of dangling diamonds, show that the only thing rivaling the size of a baller's ego is his wallet. But upon entering the Fayetteville home of Cee-Lo Green -- the Dungeon Family's crooning iconoclast who came to prominence beside OutKast and amid Goodie Mob -- it quickly becomes apparent that his furniture, like his soul-bearing neo-soul, demonstrates a healthy respect for (updating) tradition.

"Old dog, new tricks." That's one summation Cee-Lo -- in his late 20s, not old, but an old soul -- offers of his aesthetic. The pristine pieces that make up Cee-Lo's dramatically thematic rooms range from naturalistic niches to contemporary European retro-futurism. The furniture is imbued with a late '60s sensibility. To Cee-Lo it represents struggle, integrity and an attempt to break the mold.

That's the man's castle, but what about his temple? What about the shrine he's erected on record to celebrate his craft?

"Flow and curve, that's my motifs," says Cee-Lo. "It's how I pick furniture. It also represents the contrast of my singing as opposed to my MCing. Rapping is sort of rigid in that it's tied to a rhythm. But singing -- harmony and melody -- is much more infinite. I can bend, shape and twist it in so many fashions until there's the desired amount of comfort achieved."

Cee-Lo may like his furniture, but he's no lounger. The painstaking amount of care and preparation put into coordinating Cee-Lo's furnishings pales in comparison to that put into his second solo album, Cee-Lo Green ... Is the Soul Machine, the follow-up to 2002's Cee-Lo Green and His Perfect Imperfections.

According to Ben H. Allen of Maze Studios -- whose experience as a studio engineer extends from a hand in many of P. Diddy's golden-era Bad Boy releases to Cee-Lo's latest -- Cee-Lo's determination for detail is highly laudable.

"Not only is Cee-Lo naturally gifted when it comes to getting or getting across whatever he knows he wants," says Allen, "but when he's not sure what he wants, he actually prefers the more creative way to develop ideas over the fastest way. He describes his desires in moods more than specific techniques or recordings. He did reference Radiohead's OK Computer frequently, though, because every lyrical and instrumental element on that record is so purposefully orchestrated yet so subtle," Allen says. "Cee-Lo appreciates when well-placed elements are given the necessary time and treatment to congeal into a compelling mood."

For the communion of Soul Machine, Cee-Lo spent months collecting submissions from top producers -- including Timbaland, the Neptunes, DJ Premiere, Jazze Pha and Organized Noize -- as well as soliciting contributions from local session musicians (many from his touring ensemble). The result is unapologetically true to heart and all over the map, yet very much the product of Cee-Lo's Atlanta. Like his childhood haunt Greenbriar Mall, it's a gathering and reference point for old and new friends and feeling(s).

Often a producer can dictate a song's demeanor, but the tracks on Soul Machine act as backdrops for Cee-Lo's signature flamboyant funk. Timbaland's cut is not characteristically stuttering. The Neptunes' highly organic productions are nothing like their grinding metallic kick tracks. Over horn-driven swing to ticking calliope twirls, Soul Machine features two facets of Cee-Lo's flow. Not only does Cee-Lo sing in the post-Al Green gospel groove established by Perfect Imperfections, but when rapping with strutting assurance, Cee-Lo's syncopated syllables percussively pin down the rhythm's roll. With Ludacris and T.I. both contributing guest verses, the overall result spans socially conscious crooning balladry to strip club bangers.

Soul Machine is like Thai iced tea. It's a thick concoction made from comforting, common elements that, when put together, create something unique unto itself. The album is not some multicultural mélange, however; rather, it's steeped in the black musical tradition. And yet an effort is made to be all-inclusive and nonrestrictive. Cee-Lo sees black as infinite in its possibilities, the color of absorption.

His home studio, "Inner Space," is a black-coated basement room with a solar system mural taking up one wall. It's a place to get lost in one's own thoughts, an insular world furnished in red and blue -- colors of passion and honesty to Cee-Lo.

However colorful, all is not rosy in Cee-Lo's world. Blacks, blues and reds are also the colors of his bruised feelings. As exhibited on Soul Machine's "Glockappella," Cee-Lo hurts due to the tension developed over the past year between himself and the former members of Goodie Mob, the quartet once known for earnest upliftment through Southern-fried hip-hop spirituals. "Glockappella" is a creeping, P-Funk-quoting lyrical targeting of Big Gipp, Khujo and T-Mo. (The trio will independently release an album in April under the name Goodie Mob titled One Monkey Don't Stop No Show, a dig at Cee-Lo.)

"I try to express it a bit more maturely, but for the moment, my anger got the best of me," says Cee-Lo of the track. "I'm human and I want listeners to know I'm human and [I] get pissed.

"But [Big Gipp, Khujo and T-Mo] didn't pull punches. This isn't something I wanted to entertain but I had to finish it. Unless they come back at me, I won't take it seriously. I don't hate them brothers at all. I needed them to see how deep they cut me."

Now with strong early buzz on the back of the Timbaland-produced single "I'll Be Around" (to be followed soon by Jazze Pha-produced "The One"), Cee-Lo feels renewed confidence in his self-assigned role as spirited bridge between decades of positive Southern movement. But the way Cee-Lo looks at it, the increased national recognition of the Dirty South sound should not convince people that Southern Black artists have "overcome."

"I'm not complacent," says Cee-Lo. "I believe struggle is infinite. Now it's not struggle against an oppressor but against stagnation, settling. Styles change according to public demand, but you can't let them dictate how you progress. You have to know how to mix things you value from the past with a respect for where you find yourself now, and where you want to be tomorrow. That's how you set up a place of comfort that feels like home, and that other people want to visit repeatedly."

tony.ware@creativeloafing.com