Lil Baby fell backward into music and made the most of it. Before 2016, he’d never rapped a word, but after serving a two-year prison sentence, he decided to give it a try, thanks to the prodding of Quality Control executives Coach K and Pierre “Pee” Thomas and his former classmate Young Thug, who paid him to leave his hood and go to the studio. After releasing seven projects in two years, the Atlanta artist took a year off and returns on his new album My Turn as something approaching a marquee act. The album title’s message is obvious: He is stepping into his star moment, but while his songs are pleasantly steady and well-balanced, he still has yet to really command attention on his own.

Lil Baby is like the inverse of Young Thug. Where Thug is explosively unpredictable, Baby is reliably inert. His mellow, lilting raps have poise, but when they lock into a groove they lose all momentum. There are songs called “Solid” and “Consistent” here, and that tells you almost everything you need to know. The album is only saved by his minor improvement as a songwriter and lyricist. He is ready to embrace his notoriety, albeit cautiously. “I never call myself a G.O.A.T., I leave that love to the people,” he hedges on “Emotionally Scarred,” a claim that seems to contradict the album’s baby goat-covered artwork.

Much of My Turn concerns the familiar calls of street life and the uncertainty that comes with pursuing a rap dream at full tilt. “They want me catch a murder, I ain’t goin’ back,” he vows on “Commercial.” Baby keeps glimpsing the world he left behind in his periphery, and his most evocative writing finds him in between worlds; on “Same Thing,” he goes plain jane because the public associates bling with thugs, and on “Gang Signs” he returns home as a philanthropist and local legend. He’s trying to tell a story here, but he’s just not much of a storyteller—his bars keep the narrative going, but he doesn’t offer enough arresting imagery to make his scenes come to life.

His supporting cast doesn’t do him any favors. Exchanges with Young Thug, Lil Uzi Vert, and Future can feel like adjusting from blurriness to the clarity of corrective lenses. Uzi is reading horoscopes on long flights and trying to spend enough money to bring Kobe Bryant back to life on “Commercial.” Baby loses a shop-off to the superior showman Future on “Live Off My Closet.” Even Baby’s best bar on “We Should” (“My Rolls Royce in the projects, they look at me like I’m God”) isn’t enough to outshine Thug’s Technicolor absurdity. It isn’t that Baby underperforms in any of these duets; on the contrary, he gives everything he has. But he doesn’t really have any charisma, or flavor, or personality.

Sonically, the album has the same architects as his last two solo projects: in-house QC producer Quay Global, Tay Keith, and Wheezy. There’s additional production from Murda Beatz, DJ Paul, and Buddah Bless, most up to their usual tricks. The primary new contributor is recent Quality Control signee Twysted Genius, but he doesn’t have anything fresh to offer. With nine beats between them, Quay and Twysted Genius build out the bulk of the album, and they often sound like they’re working the same sample packs of synths, keys, hi-hats, and 808. Outside of the always-surprising Tay Keith (“Same Thing, “Commercial”), the refreshing DJ Paul (“Gang Signs”), and a soundtrack holdover (Queen & Slim’s Hit-Boy-produced “Catch the Sun”), the producers usually encourage Baby to color inside the lines.

My Turn gets the most out of Lil Baby when he plays up the stakes, or as he puts it on “Sum 2 Prove”: “They don’t wan’ see us on TV unless it’s the news/I got somethin' to prove/Yeah, I’m young, but got somethin’ to lose.” “Hurtin” lingers in the losses he’s suffered but doesn’t succumb to them. “I’ve been bustin’ on that glizzy ever since I had got robbed/I done really beat the odds,” he realizes. On “Forgot That,” his song with his 4 Pockets Full signee Rylo Rodriguez, the raps come tumbling out of him, as he attempts to illustrate the work ethic he raps about through sheer exertion. It’s that same understated diligence that has fueled his star turn. But the album is all work and no inspiration.