The significance of making a definite statement outside of the music has become just as important as the music itself. So when word circulated in the infant stages of 2010 that Black Milk’s fourth album was to be named Album of the Year, there was a collective gasp amongst Hip-Hoppers everywhere. Gutsy call for a first down play. But for an artist such as Black Milk, whose credibility stems from placing art over image, the overall meaning tends to be more than meets the eye.

As it does. The 313 spokesman vividly recounts his “steering wheel to the new album of his career,” marked by a fiscal year full of death and sickness on the exultant opener “365.” Great adversity tends to fork the road between unfocused and champion sound but thankfully, Black Milk opts for the latter path to fuel the focus for much of Album of the Year.

Despite making significant improvements in his rapping ability since his career began, the production remains Black Milk’s biggest bargaining chip. Sweeping crescendos, crashing symbols and oscillated bass all season the instrumentals for distinct flavoring in Black’s gumbo pot. The obligatory female record in “Oh Girl” takes a hold a new guise as a hypnotic jam session, fully equipped with a call and response hook and sonorous drum work. Delving in the realm of craftiness as well as the commercial is a rare yet valued trait and “Welcome (Gotta Go)” accomplishes much of the same as well.

Not to say the calcified wonder doesn’t metabolize his words to produce food for thought on occasion. Feeding off the same bereavement that commenced AOTY, Black dances with depression alongside mystifying rhythms on “Distortion” with chilly memories: “Car crashed/my truck’s smashed/I’m good but got a call that my aunt passed…I’m feeling for my cuz/these are true lines/I can’t even imagine how it’ll feel to lose moms/Fuck this year/Yo, I’m done with ’09/had my mind so confused, I’m feeling like this is just a sign.”

While the discourse of Black’s creative aims are fairly strong, it’s the execution that misses the mark periodically. A number like “Round Of Applause” comes off as self-absorbent and directionless, with more energy spent on the song’s extended outro instead of layering the verses with memorable fodder. Black stumbles again on the sluggish “Gospel Psychedelic Rock” with wonted cadences and droning choral assistance. By definition, Black Milk is indeed an emcee but his particular fellowships with his Detroit constituents—falling victim to involuntary manslaughter courtesy of Royce Da 5’9″, eLZhi and Danny Brown on “Deadly Medley” and “Black And Brown,” respectively—serve as gauges to the extent of his current skill set.

Black Milk’s declaration of invincibility may have not earned him the blue ribbon at rap’s annual fair although the creative diversity found in his latest opus still rank as noteworthy in personal achievements. In a due time, the footnotes on his calendar should link back to highlight a pivotal moment in the career of one of Hip-Hop’s burgeoning multi-talents.