Ludacris - Release Therapy (DTP)

And yet we know almost nothing about him. Need a hot 16? Luda's your man. But his music has always been more about presence and punch lines than inner struggle - no soul mining here.

On his fifth solo album, Luda's finally looking at the man in the mirror: Release is the most serious work ever. On "Slap," over staggered synths and Carlos Santana-esque chords (courtesy of emerging production duo the Runners), Luda bemoans empty bank accounts and skyrocketing gas prices while the softly cooed chorus - "I feel like slappin' a nigga today" - drives his point home. On the gripping "Do Your Time," Ludacris, who's never been to jail, teams up with former inmates Pimp C, Beanie Sigel, and C-Murder, but sounds utterly harmless compared with the hard-timers. Sporting a clipped, terse delivery, Luda's "War With God" seems to be a shot across the bow at a fellow ATL kingpin - Young Jeezy? T.I.? - but in interviews Luda's claimed it's all self-reflection. If so, the crisis is clearly existential: Even the foreboding Billy Paul sample on the hook ("The darkness is where you find your light") signals Luda's glimpse into corners previously avoided. The mouthy horndog isn't in charge anymore.

Still, residue remains. The three-part narrative on "Runaway Love" and sneering remembrances of "Grew Up a Screw Up" feel profound on the surface, but Luda never fully surrenders to actual feeling. Even worse, he follows his most serious songs with generic Neptunes pap (the limp "Money Maker" and lurid "Girls Gone Wild") or inane panty-drop jams ("Woozy," with R. Kelly). It's as if Ludacris can't bear to keep a straight face for more than a few minutes at a time, as if searching within is so tiring, it requires breaks. He's proved with this disc that he can be thoughtful, but he uses his crassness as a retreat and an excuse.

Release? Maybe. But Ludacris never truly breaks through.