Untitled

Behold the Don. The dimunitive Queensbridge wordsmith with a penchant for mindbending lyrical wizardry returns with a eagerly-awaited and untitled album, after the contentious name 'Nigger' was pulled by record label Def Jam amid a media storm.

Nas' appeal is his seamless blend of the street and lectern, lyrically streets ahead of his peers. Sadly, the album is less than the hype that has preceded its release — his brilliance is apparent only in fits and starts here.

The heavy hand of Dead Prez's stic man is evident from the three tracks he co-writes and produces to the Roots cover imagery. 'Sly Fox' could well be a cut off DP's African, full of white supremacy conspiracy theories and propaganda-bashing over a snarling bass riff.

Now emulating a seminal conscious duo is no bad thing, but bear in mind that DP's heyday was about five years ago. Knocking MySpace is a lazy attempt at a rehash, not to mention twee for a rapper who professes to be 'a real gangsta'. The most prophetic thing about 'Black President' is the sampling of a 2Pac couplet, with the rapper uncharacteristically ambivalent about Obama mania: "Im thinkin' I can trust this brotha/ But will he keep it way real?/ Every innocent nigga in jail — gets out on appeal/ When he wins — will he really care still?"

Roping in G Unit pariah The Game and R&B flavour of the month Chris Brown is promising, but 'Make The World Go Round' is let down by some inexplicably sketchy production and a hypocritical chorus toasting the hustlers, ballers and gangsters. 'Breathe''s childlike rhymes fall flat and 'We're Not Alone' sees "God's Son" pontificate monotonously about crop circles and Martians.

Of course, it's not all bad. Fried Chicken continues the blues tradition of juxtaposing food and women with some added perspective from the gravel-voiced Busta Rhymes ('Project Roach''s insect interlude is the other side of the dollar bill). The phenomenal opener 'Queens' gets the money is supervised to perfection by the up-and-coming Jay Electronica. 'N.I.G.G.E.R (Slave And The Master)' would be the centerpiece with its sweeping strings and anthemic chorus, were it not for 'Untitled', an incisive paean to Nation of Islam revolutionary Louis Farrakhan: "I dreamt this day came/ 'Cause I stood in the face of damnation/ Satan, spat at him, flat out disgraced him/ He want my blood; why me?"

The impression of a genius in cruise control is difficult to shake — Nas doesn't push his prodigious mic skills very far and you can only half-believe his boast on the old-school comeback track 'Hero' that 'his worst disgrace is your best effort’. This is more 'Stillmatic' than 'Illmatic', and more travesty than triumph.