Powerful, sincere, authentic – fans of Talib Kweli, a gentleman of the hip-hop scene, will fail to be disappointed by the Brooklyn-rapper’s new album, Prisoner of Conscious. The title of his fifth-studio album comes as a protest to his forced identification with one form of music alone, ‘conscious rap’: a style which Complex claimed was generally ‘condescending, simplistic and corny’. Kweli furthermore achieves his wish ‘to create the balance’ against the continued ascendancy by rappers of the amoral promotion of drug use, violence and promiscuous behaviour which so dilutes the US Billboard.

Kweli explodes into the album with ‘Human Mic’, reminiscent in framing and lyrical genius to his 2011 single ‘Distractions’. Replete with hometown nostalgia and the confidence of claiming to be ‘a legend like Tutankhamen’, the only regret can be the short length of the song. Not all songs are merely an ode to his phenomenal range of song-writing devices. ‘High Life’ coerces the listener into clapping along to the carnival instrumental arrangement; the positive vibe and jazzed-up saxophone solo would struggle not to elevate the mood of even the most miserable to the extra-terrestrial. The beauty in the imperfect crackling beat of ‘Hold It Now’ casts the mind back to the mid-1990s hip-hop scene without seeming anachronistic, creating a feel similar to Genius/GZA’s 1995 track, ‘4th Chamber’. Kweli’s duet with Brazilian singer Seu Jorge in ‘Favela Love’ allows passion to transcend poverty in an appeal to all of the sensations intertwined with the sound of the samba. ‘Ready Set Go’ threatens to leave other hip-hop artists paces behind the Brooklyn-rapper with the composure of Kweli’s comedic references to Alfred Hitchcock and Grimm the Clown in Quick Change balanced by the seductive chorus by RnB songstress Melanie Fiona.

Prisoner of Conscious boasts more collaborations with other leading hip-hop artists such as Nelly, Curren$y and Kendrick Lamar, than his previous albums, yet it is testament to Kweli’s continued lyrical prowess and plosive, punchy wordplay that he successfully holds his own. In Rocket Ships, Busta Rhymes returns to his old style of delivery which forced his passage to the fore of the rap scene, and his chirpy comments are held steady by Kweli, whose ‘flow cleaner than the Sistine, pristine’. The enchanting, dulcet tones of Miguel in ‘Come Here’ complement the love pursuit of Kweli’s persona, who condemns his competitor for the girl as ‘colder than Minnesota’. One track, however, lacks the same lustre. Though each song stands alone and fails to blur into obscurity as the album is played through in its entirety, the hook in ‘Hamster Wheel’ fails to roll me away. Despite the tedium of this, the final track, whose production by J Cole is evident throughout, recovers the album and reflects Kweli’s progress as a hip-hop artist as, indeed, ‘It Only Gets Better’. A toast to Talib, in the hope the next album excels even further beyond the bounds of a prisoner of conscious and praying that the collaborations with leading artists do not swap Kweli’s authenticity for optimum commerciality.