CD reviews: Nas and Jessie Baylin

Nas, "Nas" (Def Jam)

Nas is a martyr of his own making, from his shortsighted proclamations about the death of hip-hop and his steadfast resistance to radio-friendliness on down to the original title of this album, which was to be a too-familiar racial epithet up until, inevitably, the needs of commerce trumped the whims of art.

Finally, Nas has a cause to match his temperament: his own suffering. And he hasn't sounded as vibrant as he does on this, his ninth album, in years. On his new single, "Hero," he addresses the controversy: "Still in musical prison, in jail for the flow/ Try telling Bob Dylan, Bruce or Billy Joel they can't sing what's in they soul/ So untitled it is, I never changed nothing." On "Sly Fox," he takes aim at a frequent antagonist, Fox News, and "You Can't Stop Us Now" is a swaggering, proud stroll.

As a thinker, Nas is more blatantly conflicted than even Kanye West. But unlike West, when Nas contradicts himself on record, it doesn't come off as self-examination; rather, it sounds wishy-washy. Nas goes on to talk about seeing a UFO on "We're Not Alone" and raps on "Project Roach" from the perspective of, um, a roach. For every moment of clarity on this album, there's an eyebrow-archer to match.

Worse, Nas is the least musical of the great rappers, with little sense of melody and little flexibility in rhythm and cadence. It spills over to his beat selection, which tends toward the stultifying. The ones here are reminiscent of the mid-1990s, largely rooted in gentle soul music. In short, these are beats that don't work harder than the rapper.

JON CARAMANICA, NEW YORK TIMES

Jessie Baylin, "Firesight" (Verve Forecast)

But the understated Baylin, a New Jersey native who has lived in Los Angeles and Nashville, sounds as if she's been doing this for decades, spinning provocative notions of romance with restrained power, making each subtle inflection speak volumes. The fluid instrumentation is generally a modified Americana/adult-alternative style, conveyed in a warm brew of organic instrumentation with an occasional extra bounce in the tempo, though she also makes torchier forays into lounge settings, as on the breezy tropical notes of "I'll Cry for Both of Us" and the piano-based "Lonely Heaven."

Baylin doesn't try to be overly clever. She'll repeat a humble refrain and let it sink in to do its magic. The soft approach seldom backfires -- though she is guilty of disappearing into the mix a few times -- and "Firesight" smolders.