You could tell something was wrong when the video for “Show Me What You Got” premiered. Here was a song that featured some of the most combustible and inspired live instrumentation a hip-hop song had ever known, with Jay, in a true-hop chorus, telling his listeners to put their hands up and wave. It was like an encore for “Encore”. But no sooner can we celebrate the official return of hip-hop’s CEO and (maybe) G.O.A.T., do we get this video with Jay-Z shotgun in a fast car with Dale Earnhardt Jr. behind the wheel as they engage is some random, cheesy, half-sissified cat-race with Danica Patrick. Huh? This is how you return to hip-hop? Pandering to NASCAR and hawking Budweiser? He’d later say, on ESPN’s Hot Seat, that he was trying to show hip-hop’s reach, but it seemed more like his own personal reach, Jay reaching for, literally, every listener.

These days, that seems to be his obsession: elitist status. Hip-hop is years past the days of melodramatic, self-righteous judgments about commercial success. You can go multi-plat and stay hop. You can do Leno and stay hop. You can sell-out arenas and not be a sellout. But what about putting a distance so expansive between you and a culture that it seems the size of the Grand Canyon?

Who, exactly, is Young Hov making music for when the bulk of his lyrics fundamentally pertain to the social plateau he’s reached?  Did you know that his friends are Chris and Gwyneth? No? Listen to “Hollywood” and he’ll tell you. “Hollywood” -- basically an R&B track, much better suited for a Beyonce album, with him as a guest as opposed to vice versa -- was apparently his weak attempt to get into some culture censuring. Yet it came off as superficial. “Minority Report” was supposed to be some scathing social critique, yet he only mustered one verse and got label-mate NeYo to sing the hook, when he could have gotten a singer with some soul and depth (Bilal, D’Angelo, Mary J, Cee-lo, even Kells) to emote, since Jay was listless.

That’s what this album was: a succession of the wrong moves made by a man with a secure legacy that doesn’t need to prove anything to hip-hop or through hip-hop (even Kanye and Dre seemed to mirror this ambivalence with relatively uninspired production offerings). I guess that’s an option that Jay has the luxury of accepting. No need to step his game up or stay sharp or submit any true substance. He can slide out silly-braggadocio (“30 Something”); lightweight gum-bumpin’ (“Dig A Hole”) and hackneyed odes to strippers (“Anything”).

This is the album we get after The Black Album? He’s always referring to himself as the Michael Jordan of hip-hop and there’s no arguments here. MJ’s return with the Wizards, a couple years after he won his last championship by dropping the game-winner, was pointless and sometimes pathetic. Ditto here.

Through it all, perhaps he was at his most flummoxing when he sets off this album with “The Prelude” -- and we don’t mean his puzzling choice to still use that tired “hustler can’t stay away” motif. Na, not that.  Jay’s first words are:

The game's fucked up

Niggas beats is banging
Nigga ya hooks did it, ya lyrics didn't
Ya gangsta look did it
So I would write it if yall could get it
Being intricate'll get ya wood critics
On the internet, they like you should spit it,

I’m like you should buy it, Nigga thats good business

The nerve.