The rapper GoldLink has always had the kind of sound that’s easy to imagine ringing out in international night clubs. “The God Complex,” from 2014, introduced us to his style: a mix of groovy house and electronica, which he anointed “future bounce,” that supplied a plush backdrop for his elastic flows. At the time, the sound seemed quirky, but, with the arrival of his fourth album, “Diaspora,” which was released in June, it feels fundamental. He was thinking globally, even then.

“At What Cost,” GoldLink’s previous album, honors the spirit of the region that raised him—Washington, D.C., Maryland, and Virginia—but “Diaspora” zooms out, putting African, Caribbean, and homegrown sounds in a dialogue that illuminates the beauty of their similarities and their differences. The single “Zulu Screams” takes its name from a South African ethnic group, but elements of the production and the Lingala language on the song’s bridge are Congolese, and the featured artists, Maleek Berry and Bibi Bourelly, are British-Nigerian and German-American, respectively. Another single, “U Say,” boasts bossa-nova flourishes—or could it be South African amapiano?—and includes Jay Prince, a British singer and rapper, and Tyler, the Creator. Elsewhere, “Yard” cribs its melody from the “Bam Bam” riddim, and the luminous “Spanish Song” scans as a nod to Afro-Latin cultures. Each tone, like each contributor (including those from America), can be seen to represent some facet of blackness. In this way, “Diaspora” is about tradition, the defiance of colonization, and the history of the ways in which black people around the world share music’s common tongue and communicate through it. Hip-hop is the U.S.’s greatest modern contribution to that tradition, and its globalization (the Chinese rapper Jackson Wang’s swaggering verse on “Rumble” is the strongest proof here), along with the recent popularity of Afro-fusion on American charts, makes “Diaspora” an album uniquely of this moment.

Even taken in passively, the album sticks the landing; GoldLink has always had a gift for making music that just sounds good. But he isn’t always the star; even when he broke out, his producers were often a focal point, and “Diaspora” deepens the curatorial aspect of his career. The record is as much a display of his taste as it is a flaunting of his skill. The juxtapositions of light and dark sounds (as on “No Lie,” which features Wizkid) and of stars and rising talent (Khalid, the world’s most streamed artist, is at one end of the spectrum, and Lil Nei, a promising rapper from Capitol Heights, Maryland, is at the other) make for an assortment of rabbit holes to go down. It’s easy to disappear into the summery cool of it all, but repeat listens paint a picture of a rapper who’s also a father, thinking about his legacy and his lineage. This is music about one’s place in the world, and about the ways in which a black kid from the D.M.V. can create the kind of art that allows him to see—and be seen by—others of the diaspora.