At first, 'Taste of Chocolate' – with its stripped-down beats, fleeting keyboard scratches and funny, boasting rhymes – sounds like Big Daddy Kane's effort to return to the sound of really early rap records. There's no complicated sampling, no post-Public Enemy screech or noise.

The first rap that made it to vinyl didn't sound like this album at all, however. Early Kurtis Blow or Grandmaster Flash singles were all rolling Chic bass lines, disco horns and hyped-up delivery. Those great records, lest we forget, were compromises, attempts to get a new form over to the general public, often by smoothing out some raw edges. Taste of Chocolate is, in fact, Big Daddy Kane's tribute to rap's real origins, to the street-corner rhyming, verbal games and early Seventies funk that spawned the style.

Like Kane's 1989 smash, It's a Big Daddy Thing, this album uses different producers on virtually every other track. But while too many cooks created sonic schizophrenia on It's a Big Daddy Thing, a clearer, more consistent vision unifies Taste of Chocolate. On a cut like the mercilessly funky "It's Hard Being the Kane," the simple, old-fashioned focus on rap's verbal component is the perfect setting for Kane's burnished voice and steady, assertive, flowing delivery.

A trio of "socially relevant" numbers appears in the middle of Taste of Chocolate, and Kane may feel that the black consciousness of "Who Am I" (which features a guest spot by Gamilah Shabazz, Malcolm X's daughter) or the survival warning of "Dance With the Devil" is the real heart of the album. This is certainly a welcome change from last year's "Pimpin' Ain't Easy," but the rhymes are ultimately flat, a little too sincere. The best lines are still the funny ones – deriding a promiscuous girl, Kane drawls, "You think her address is 21 Hump Street."

In this older-than-old-school collection, the real centerpiece comes near the end, with "Big Daddy vs. Dolemite." Veteran black comedian Rudy Ray Moore – one of 2 Live Crew's true ancestors – plays the mythic badass Dolemite, and he and Kane go toe to toe in a lewd duel of boasts and insults. Recited, not rapped, such rhymes as "I jumped in the ocean and swallowed a whale/Handcuffed lightning and throwed thunder's ass in jail" sound timeless, effortlessly illustrating rap's roots in centuries-old male street-rhyming contests.

"Big Daddy vs. Dolemite" also exemplifies Kane's generosity on Taste of Chocolate. He shares "All of Me," a seduction rap, with idol Barry White (who proves to be smoother than the self-appointed "Smooth Operator") and playfully trades rhymes with his posse on "Down the Line." Taste of Chocolate isn't trying to break new ground, but that modesty is what makes it so satisfying – it's a reminder that, like rock & roll's three chords, rap's competitive verbal self-glorification is an endlessly renewable resource. (RS 595)

ALAN LIGHT