But of all Mr. Ross’s underlings, Meek Mill is the cleverest and the one most capable of breaking the template the big man has mapped out. On his earliest mixtapes Meek Mill was more of an obvious technician than he is now, and his recent “Dreamchasers” series of mixtapes have in places been sober complements to hits like “House Party” and “Ima Boss.”

What Meek Mill wants to do is tell stories, unfashionable though that may be. On “Dreams and Nightmares” he tries to have it both ways, sneaking moments of heartbreak into otherwise straightforward boast sessions. But he also has a surprising number of stand-alone short-story songs. “Who You’re Around” is a scathing indictment of a friend turned adversary — “I woulda rolled for you, even in the same hearse/Same cemetery, bury me in the same dirt/We had a plan but I guess it ain’t work” — and “Tony Story Pt. 2” continues a tale of underworld mistrust begun on his “Dreamchasers” mixtape. On “Traumatized” he lashes out against the man who killed his father: “I was only a toddler, you left me traumatized/You made me man of the house and it was grinding time.”

Early critical response likened “good kid, m.A.A.d. city” to “Illmatic,” the debut album by the revered Queens rapper Nas, but the comparison holds truer for “Dreams and Nightmares.” While “Illmatic,” like Mr. Lamar’s album, was primarily a document of observation rather than participation, it didn’t reject the tastes of the day and wasn’t a coherent narrative concept album. It aimed for success, much as Meek Mill’s does.

Image Meek Mill’s “Dreams and Nightmares.”

Mr. Lamar’s “good kid, m.A.A.d. city” is as much of a slog as any great album in recent memory and probably the chewiest major-label hip-hop album in more than a decade. It necessitates ways of listening that went out with the Clinton presidency or with the advent of the seven-inch single. There are almost no obvious entry points, nothing bite-size to latch onto.

“Dreams and Nightmares,” by contrast, is highly legible; even its more daring songs are straightforward. But just because Meek Mill doesn’t play with cadence or voice or melody like Mr. Lamar doesn’t mean that he’s not thoughtful. His story songs are intricate, external to Mr. Lamar’s internal. He also builds tension in a way that Mr. Lamar, with his perma-cool and level presence, struggles to replicate. Mr. Lamar eases into the beat when he’s not gingerly dancing around it; he is never dominating. That’s why he remains largely a cipher.