Kansas' Jamil Mustafa is an anachronism we can all get behind, which becomes almost too clear in the dialogue staged at the beginning of "A Good Feeling," whose vibe you might be able to guess before hearing the first note:

"What's up Jamil, I'm feeling this track, man."
"I'm feeling it too, man, I'm just boppin' to it. Just bouncing to it."
"I hear you, man, you can't help that, man."
"Nah, it just makes me feel good."

It's a warmly appropriate opening for what follows, a study in meticulous internal rhyme and restrained steel-guitar figures that rejoices in an unnameable optimism that could strike at any moment. By and large, it's a thesis statement for an album that rolls back the clock to an innocent age of hip-hop that may never have existed. When people bemoan the state of rap these days, caught between the macho hostility of its Top 40 stars and the brainy grime of its elusive underground, they are usually pining for something like Mustafa, an all-inclusive guy who's willing to gleefully appropriate lounge piano glissandos ("This Just Might") or actually sing a funk chorus ("And Now…"), all with the diplomatic aplomb that seeks to transcend petty name-calling and turns away no posers. Those qualities can make Mustafa too inoffensive: "Global Village" is especially lame, listing all the cities that (one supposes) can be brought together in song. But the man behind the words—if formidable on the mic—is still too mellow to inspire worldwide exuberance about music itself. As he discovers an aptly titled track, "The Break Through," with its booming metallic synth and psychedelic Afro-beat conga groove, somewhat phony declarations of solidarity and sunshine are no match for something altogether sinister.