“Facts” is an elongated tirade against Nike, the sneaker company he once collaborated with, before Adidas offered him a boatload of money and creative freedom. The delirious “Highlights,” featuring Young Thug, is a tabloid boast about Mr. West’s extended family — his wife is Kim Kardashian — calling them “the new Jacksons.” And “Famous” is vintage West braggadocio, full of spite and cheek, though the conversation about that song has been limited to its mention of Taylor Swift: “I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex/Why? I made that bitch famous.”

The line is both tacky and hilarious, a piece of celeb-slash-fiction that’s both casual boast and extravagant provocation. (Depending on whom you believe, Ms. Swift either did or did not sign off on this line.) Ms. Swift and Mr. West healed their yearslong feud last year, but Mr. West’s willingness to rap about her in this way is a reminder that nothing is more important to him than his right to his excesses.

That is true in the music on this album, as well. Like many West albums, “Pablo” is a group effort. It’s also a hybrid of approaches. “Facts” suggests he has fully internalized Drake and Future’s “What a Time to Be Alive” (as do the collaborations with the Brooklyn rapper Desiigner, a new signee to Mr. West’s label who raps with the callous distance of Future). “Feedback” and “Fade” show a comfort with accelerated tempos, while the digital steam bath on “Father Stretch My Hands Pt. 1” and “30 Hours” accentuates Mr. West’s softer side.

What’s also striking on “Pablo” is the way in which Mr. West steadily induces others to greatness (to say nothing of getting them to work on his clock). He has Rihanna singing Nina Simone lyrics on “Famous,” André 3000 doing some fuzzy crooning on “30 Hours,” Frank Ocean delivering signature stoic cool on “Wolves.” The verse from Kendrick Lamar on “No More Parties in LA” might be the most striking of the year thus far, were it not for the one Chance the Rapper delivers on “Ultralight Beam,” a master class in texture, content and form.

There are places on this album where Mr. West raps with that sort of fervor, but more often he is showing restraint. On his earlier albums, he agitated to be heard, and that was reflected in his manic rapping. These days, his anxieties are elsewhere — can he establish himself as a key player in fashion? Can he infiltrate the tech world? Can he make a hotel in his image?

Now his rapping is sparser, more pointed, less imagistic and more emotional. And when he truly needs to be heard, he can corral a dream team of collaborators. He’s so fluent that he can use others to speak for him, and be understood clear as day.