by Jon Pareles

Here's a concept: "starcissism," a mixture of self-love, self-promotion, self-absorption and self-awareness in a pop star.

Starcissism lies at the core of the third Kanye West album, Graduation -- due Tuesday.

And, yes, he has earned it.

What a letdown, though.

By any measure, West is a success: a multimillion-selling rapper, a Grammy winner, a surefire producer of hits and enough of a public figure to draw national attention when he declared, on a televised Hurricane Katrina relief benefit, that "George Bush doesn't care about black people."

He had to get past, as his songs announce, the hip-hop assumption that producers can't rap.

His delivery -- crisp and conversational, with a pugnacious undertone -- turned out to be instantly recognizable.

West himself is smart, forthright and thoroughly musical.

On his previous albums, songs such as Jesus Walks and Crack Music connected his story to wider perspectives: pride in community, thoughts of family, questions of purpose and accountability.

Now that he has become "major" (as he exulted on his 2005 album, Late Registration), with a worldwide audience awaiting his album, West's horizons are shrinking. This time, it's all about him. He knows it; as the album begins, he calls himself "Mr. Fresh, Mr. by his self he's so impressed."

On Graduation, West admits that his ego has reached giant proportions. On Barry Bonds, during which he compares himself to a different kind of hit maker, he rhymes, "I'm high up on the line you can get behind me / But my head so big you can't sit behind me."

Of course, boasting is the core of hip-hop. No pop style has been so openly fixated on material success. The genre, born in the ghetto, started with competitive boasts and fantasies of dominance and success back in the days when just a pair of Adidas could be a status symbol for Run-DMC.

West does his share of conspicuous consumption.

He long ago named himself "the Louis Vuitton don," and -- on Good Morning, the first song on Graduation -- he dares to parody a hallowed phrase in black culture when he raps, "I'm like the fly Malcolm X, buy any jeans necessary."

On West's older songs, such as Diamonds From Sierra Leone (Remix), he questioned his need for bling. Now he's more likely just to flaunt it.

At times, he's still self- conscious. On Can't Tell Me Nothing, West watches his behavior as a celebrity:

I feel the pressure, under more scrutiny

And what I do? Act more stupidly.

Bought more jewelry, more Louis V

My momma couldn't get through to me.



But, eventually, he decides there's no need to hold back: "Let that champagne splash; let that man get cash."

As his own producer, West maintains quality control to rival any of the luxury brands he name-drops. Somehow his productions build momentum even when they revolve around a handful of repeated samples. Almost every song on Graduation is memorable for both its hooks and its overall sound.

But two things are missing. One is the sense of humor that crackled through songs such as the 2005 West hit Gold Digger.

The bigger problem is that on Graduation, for the first time, West can't see beyond his fame. Homecoming takes lyrics from Home, a song that West released on a mix tape. In Home, John Legend sang about soldiers who weren't coming home, while Homecoming chides Chicago, West's hometown, for not being quite proud enough of his success.

Every rapper needs a strong ego, and West deserves his. But where he used to identify with everyday dreamers and strivers, now he seems happy to stay in his VIP zone: all dressed up and behind the velvet rope.

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