Prodigy paints a dark drama

Prodigy

“Return of the Mac” (Infamous/Koch)

* * 1/2

Since his group Mobb Deep emerged in the mid-’90s as brooding narrators of New York’s crack/crime era, rapper Prodigy has rarely extended his vision beyond his gun sights. Yet, on “Return of the Mac,” he channels a single-mindedness for menace and mayhem into a surprisingly cohesive, stylish package.

The title refers to how this is Prodigy’s first solo project since 2000, but “Return” could just as easily describe the album’s immersion in the blaxploitation tradition. L.A.’s Alchemist superbly crafts the sound of “Return” from any number of influential early-’70s composer- producers, including Edwin Starr, Barry White, Willie Mitchell and James Brown. Stirring and irrepressibly soulful, Alchemist’s tracks anchor “Return” with a coherence that contrasts with the disjointed sound of rap albums produced by motley ensembles.

If Alchemist plays Willie Hutch, it’s up to Prodigy to stand as Black Caesar, and his gruff voice carries its own violent intonations that add to the album’s dark, nihilistic aesthetic. His rampant gun fetishism becomes almost comical, yet on the unsubtly titled “Mac 10 Handle,” Prodigy’s chorus (“I sit alone in my dirty ass room / staring at candles / high on drugs”) paints a chilling portrait of isolation and murderous obsession.

Surprisingly, he’s one rapper who embraces being a rapper; on his creative reworking of O.V. Wright’s “A Nickel and Nail,” Prodigy admits that crime, compared with rapping, actually doesn’t pay. True to blaxploitation archetype, Prodigy’s gangsta pose veers toward one-note, but as with “Return” as a whole, it can all be entertainingly dramatic too.

-- Oliver Wang

Devin the Dude

“Waiting to Inhale” (Rap-A-Lot)

* * 1/2

For a Texas rapper, Houston’s mellow-mannered Devin the Dude is anything but grandiose. With his lean frame and drawl, Devin exudes an everyman persona that contrasts with the glinting grilles of his Lone Star peers. As he reveals on the hidden bonus track, his rapping ambition is simply earning enough to cover studio time, a bag of weed and some Crown Royal.

The alternative lurks on “Almighty Dollar,” on which Devin starts with $17, only to whittle his world down to a radius of $1. The album’s music absorbs that frugality too, charmingly melodic yet minimalist with chicken-scratch guitars and chirping keys backed by rotund bass lines and molasses tempos.

Refreshing as Devin’s blue-collar attitude is, his comfort in getting by partially depends on knowing who’s mired even lower. Women figure as prominently as weed, but both are objects to be used, then discarded. To be sure, Devin’s chauvinism is nothing if not humorous -- “Just Because” resembles a psychopath’s version of “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover.”

It’s hard, however, to forgive songs as condescending as “Little Girl Lost” when the wayward teens he’s preaching to become the leering, jail-bait fantasy of “Cutcha Up.” Devin’s hardly hip-hop’s most outlandish misogynist, but his demeaning depiction of women leaves a sour taste for an album that otherwise goes down smoothly.

-- O.W.

Albums are reviewed on a scale of four stars (excellent), three stars (good), two star (fair) and one star (poor).