YouTube does the work for me by hosting Nas’ “Sly Fox,” one of the best singles off his new “self-titled” record (formerly known as Nigger).

It’s one of many examples on the record where Nas raises his aim beyond intra-hip-hop beefs, though the thing that impresses me most on that track is Nas understanding his place in the world of corporation-owned media: “Bringin’ up my criminal possession charges with a pistol / I use Viacom as my firearm … who do you rely upon?”

—and it gets even heavier on “We’re Not Alone,” which kills with lines like this:

I used to worship a certain queen’s police murderer / til I read the words of Ivan Van Sertima / he inserted something in me that made me feel worthier / now I spit revolution, I’m his hood interpreter

A few days ago, I talked to a friend who tried separating popular hip-hop with what he believes is the “real” stuff; underground, non-mainstream DJ and rap material. I replied that the reason many people aren’t interested in that distinction is because of how hip-hop superstardom is different. KISS, Black Sabbath, even Marilyn Manson—those artists, as maligned as they all were in their prime by alarmists, were seen as outlandish, relatively inauthentic showmen, or at least a wild extreme. But it’s amazing how many kids discover the “African-American experience” through hip-hop, where authenticity is often presumed. Most people who pay any attention know that’s bullshit, whether a rapper is renting necklaces and hot cars for a video or coming up from the suburbs and naming himself Dr. Dre. But the presentation and marketing of hip-hop has been consistent since NWA’s rise—shit’s real, son. Is it? Nah, and the “positive” hip-hop backlash that occasionally bubbles up from the mainstream can come off just as phony, cast off by the authenticity-craving community as too weak. That’s incorrect most of the time, but the market speaks.

I say this because what I get from this Nas record—at least compared to his mainstream peers—is a pretty good split of the difference. Here, Nas’ educated perspective on the stasis of African-American influence is presented with fire, with hunger, with a desire to fight and take shots and cast himself, yet again, as hip-hop’s martyr. Only this time, he’s not concerning himself so much with mere beefs; no obvious attacks against folks like Kanye. He takes on his own record label. He takes on Rupert Murdoch. He takes on the concept that all Americans, “all ethnicities, colors and creeds, [are] niggers, blind to what’s really going on.”

Nas hasn’t exactly been a coke-slinging, gang-banging artist on past records, so I don’t point out his fiery perspective as if he’s turned a new leaf. More so because he wanted so badly to title this record Nigger, and his desire to explore that word and its impact informs pretty much this disc’s entirety. Nas’ heightened paranoia and examination confirm that he wanted to hit this one out of the park, and based on my first few listen-throughs, he does. Fewer guest spots. A strange production progression with beats that start out positively ancient and synthy—like they’d been cribbed from Michael Jackson’s Bad—and crank harder and harder as the disc goes on. And lyrically… I’ll end this first-impression with the chorus of the stunning “Y’all My Niggas,” as much about the word as about Nas himself.

Tryin to erase me from y’all memory, too late, I’m engraved in history / Speak my name and breathe life in me, make sure y’all never forget me / Cuz y’all use my name so reckless, whether it be accepted or disrespected / And I love it, especially when I do it in public, and I’m the subject / Cuz y’all my niggas