New album review: Chance the Rapper's wedded bliss leads to joyous hip-hop

Chance the Rapper, "Big Day"

(Chance the Rapper)

When it comes to joy in hip-hop, Chance the Rapper has a stranglehold.

Rapping in a high-pitched ribbit, he has become one of hip-hop's signature stars of the 2010s by enthusiastically following a path others rarely even peek down: jubilation, ecstasy, positivity, glee. It's in his subject matter, and it's in his delivery — an indefatigable belief in the power of positive rapping.

Chance, 26, got married in March, and large swaths of his new album are devoted to the joys of wedded life, a topic that has typically made for very little worthwhile music.

In places here, Chance renders richly textured musical selections; his palette is broad. "I Got You (Always and Forever)" has the swing of the early 1990s. The excellent "Ballin Flossin" takes a sample of Brandy's "I Wanna Be Down" and jostles it into an up-tempo house record. "Found a Good One (Single No More)" lays gospel overtones atop a foundation of Miami bass.

This is Chance's real provocation on this album: suggesting that the same mediums that transmit sin might also transmit salvation. Often his touchstone is the hybrid gospel-pop of artists like Kirk Franklin. Add to that a lyrical approach that emphasizes cleverness in rhyme, and sometimes the result leans toward the tightly wound thrill ride of musical theater.

This is Chance's fourth full-length release, and though he has made a point of referring to it as his debut album, it feels no more fleshed out than 2016's "Coloring Book" (a Grammy winner for best rap album), and is less sonically consistent than 2013's "Acid Rap." And it's less impressive than either of them. At 22 tracks, it's overlong and scattered.

And while it features some impressive guest appearances — a pugnacious DaBaby on "Hot Shower" — it also includes some likely first-time hip-hop collaborations — Death Cab for Cutie on "Do You Remember," CocoRosie on "Roo," Randy Newman on "5 Year Plan" — that maybe didn't need to happen.

When Chance is at his most ecstatic, he often cuts his lines short, interrupts himself, leans on the primal energy of how he enunciates his syllables. But sometimes he allows himself to wallow, and his talents look different when darkened by shadows.

On this album, the most striking lyrical moment is the most somber. "We Go High" is the story of how Chance almost didn't get what he wanted, how he got in his own way on the path to joy. The mood is glum and resigned, but that means that Chance can't rely on his own liveliness.

It's clear-eyed and convincing — not the wide-eyed boasts of unchallenged love, but the downcast acceptance of a love you have to fight for. It's entrancing enough to make you wonder what his divorce album might sound like.

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