Full Circle
Last call

As fate would have it / Jay's status appears / To be at an all-time high / Perfect time to say good-bye."
-- Jay-Z, "Encore"

JAY-Z has made a career out of contradiction. From even his first album, Reasonable Doubt (Roc-A-Fella/Priority, 1996), to his latest, The Black Album (Roc-A-Fella/Def Jam), there has always been an underlying tension to his songs, caught somewhere between the glittering celebrations of "Cashmere Thoughts" and the guilty conscience of "Regrets." Jay-Z's a repentant hedonist, unable to fully boast about his gains without also weighing the costs. As hip-hop's foremost hustler turned CEO, Jay unabashedly worships at the altar of Mammon, yet he continually seeks forgiveness like a penitent Catholic – indulging in sin while trying to avoid the tithe.

The tension boils over onto almost every song on The Black Album. This is supposed to be Jay-Z's last LP. A year ago he announced he would retire after this, leaving while he's at the top, like Ali or Jordan – and we all know how well their retirements went. Whether Jay is to be truly believed will only be proved in time, but The Black Album certainly sounds like a last testimonial, an effort to set the record straight for all time. While Jay's as defiant as ever, he's also conspicuously defensive, mindful of his legacy as one of the most heralded MCs of the last decade.

On "Moment of Clarity," he offers this revelation: "Truthfully / I wanna rhyme like Common Sense / but I did five mill / I ain't been rhyming like Common Sense / When your cents got that much in common / And you been hustling since / Your inception for perception / Go with what make sense." (Translation: I could be a conscious rhymer, but that don't pay.) Lyrically, the craftsmanship is amazing, but the pronouncements feel disingenuous after a point. Jay skates the thin line between middle-finger rebelliousness and heavy-handed self-righteousness.

The hubris at the end of "Public Service Announcement" is par for the entire LP. Producer Just Blaze's slow-burning beat smolders, and Jay-Z fires off, "Only God can judge me / So I'm gone / Either love me or leave me alone." This is the same martyr's lament Jay-Z splashed over all his other nine albums, especially last year's inferior Blueprint2 (Def Jam). It's no less grating now, especially since it's not clear what Jay-Z is pouting about. It certainly isn't his album sales – his walls are practically plated in platinum plaques. Who then is supposed to be persecuting him, apart from the occasional critic bemoaning hip-hop's materialism and offering Jay-Z as the poster child? Madonna tonguing Britney created more controversy than Jay ever did.

Yet the same forces that make this album infuriating are also what make it enthralling, one of the most compelling listens this year. Though his tone reads confrontational, the songs are more confessionals – Jay takes and makes things more personal on The Black Album than on any previous LP. Almost every song is laden with intimate meaning rather than just empty boasts or party toasts.

On "December 4," a beautiful slice of soul-infused sparkle produced by Just Blaze, Jay chronicles his rise from the bottom of the Marcy projects to the top of Manhattan, bemoaning his father's absence as his mother provides childhood recollections during the breaks. Elsewhere his demeanor ranges from the smirking aggression of "99 Problems," with its amped-up Rick Rubin rock riffs, to the silky slide of "Allure," a meditation on why the strife life keeps pulling Jay-Z in, which is nicely scored by the Neptunes.

Themes aside, The Black Album would still stand out as one of the best-written albums of Jay-Z's career: his lines are intricate, brilliant blends of rhythm and rhyme that cram entire commentaries into single stanzas. Over the Buchanans' blaring horns and pulsing drums, Jay unloads this rumination on race, rap, and fame for "What More Can I Say," one of the album's boldest songs: "Now you know your ass is willie / When you they got you in a mag / With like half a Philly / And your ass ain't lily / White / That means the shit that you write / Must be illy / Or else your flow is silly." Jay tosses out lines like this as if they were bread to pigeons – it's that easy for him.