In the other, Mr. Lamar repeatedly laments that those close to him have forsaken him: “Aint nobody prayin’ for me,” he intones several times on “FEEL.,” a sentiment he revisits elsewhere, and “FEAR.” is driven home with the use of a voice-mail message from a cousin of Mr. Lamar’s, who locates that feeling of isolation in biblical terms.

Taken in total, it’s clear — for Mr. Lamar, there’s nowhere to turn for trust, safety, peace.

And so on “DAMN.” he’s biting back, something that begins before the music even starts. The album and song titles are rendered in caps, with a period at the end. Defiant, controlled jabs. Exclamations without exclamation points. Mr. Lamar peers out from the album cover, focused and wary.

That continues on this sometimes boisterous, sometimes swampy, rarely fanciful album — it’s Mr. Lamar’s version of the creeping paranoia that has become de rigueur for midcareer Drake.

And yet this is likely Mr. Lamar’s most jubilant album, the one in which his rhymes are the least tangled — on several songs, he returns to the same phrase, for emphasis — and his stories here are the most pointed. On “FEEL.,” he’s watching his carefully stacked walls of protection begin to crumble:

I feel like friends been overrated

I feel like the family been faking

I feel like the feelings are changing

Feel like my daughter compromised and jaded

Feel like you wanna scrutinize how I made it

He trudges a similar path on “PRIDE.,” which begins with a harrowingly beautiful intro by Steve Lacy, of the group the Internet, which Mr. Lamar follows with a low, groaning flow as he details the misery of doubt:

See, in the perfect world, I would be perfect, world

I don’t trust people enough beyond they surface, world

I don’t love people enough to put my faith in men

I put my faith in these lyrics, hoping I make amend

Mr. Lamar’s belief in music may well be the only faith left unshaken here. His songs limn classic Los Angeles gangster rap, but also that city’s kinetically inventive progressive independent scene of the early-to-mid-1990s. He sprinkles in a couple of gestures to classic hip-hop, including a callback to the signature clipped cadence from Juvenile’s “Ha” on “ELEMENT.,” and the recurrent use of the celebrated New York mixtape DJ Kid Capri, whose excited yelps are peppered throughout. Mr. Lamar also recruits high-profile guests: There’s a smooth collaboration with Rihanna, “LOYALTY.,” and “XXX,” which features some reassuringly understated singing by Bono, of U2.