Which came first, the chicken of Will Smith’s ego or the egg of his fame? I ask this idiotic question because even by hip-hop standards, Born To Reign is self-referential in the extreme. The thematic spectrum of the album runs from how great Will Smith’s albums are, through how great Will Smith’s films are, right up to how great Will Smith is. And while this would be all very wonderful if one were, for example, Will Smith, I, like many people I know, am not.

Born To Reign is, in consequence, an exquisitely-produced Prada handbagful of horseshit. The criminal pissing away of money and musicianship involved in the project will bring a tear to any right-minded citizen’s eye, and what respect one might have had for Smith’s passable acting talents will be instantly remaindered by this cloth-eared, sanitised exercise in populist hokum.

“Finishing whatever you start, son/The best looking crime-fighter since myself in Part One,” Big Willie declaims on ‘Black Suits Comin’ (Nod Ya Head),’ theme tune to Men In Black 2 and one of the album’s more musically interesting moments, thanks to a vibrant orchestral arrangement and live drumming. Smith has obviously gotten some flak from the rap community for his cinematic moonlighting, hence a subsequent disclaimer in ‘How Da Beat Goes’: “You seen me with Denzel and Russ Crowe, but yo the movie’s just a chick on the side, I’m in love with the flow.” And just in case there were any doubt about the whole ‘who the man?’ issue, he reiterates: “At the club, hands clappin’, toes tappin’, sucker, I’m the greatest thing ever happened to rappin’.”

I know, I know, egotism is a vital part of the whole hip-hop package, it’s not fair to keelhaul him just because he’s madly in love with himself. But a far more insidious beast lurks within BTR (as within most of Smith’s prior material): it is, by any reasonable standards of the genre, unbearably clean and wholesome. Lyrically there’s not a nigga, beeatch, ho or motherfucker in sight. “Chill with that cigarette, take it outside/Messin’ with my vibe, I don’t like that,” the Fresh Prince decrees at one point. What self-respecting rapper would dare to be concerned with the ill effects of passive smoking?

This is hip-hop for kids, a diluted, emasculated chimera of the genre which disregards all its violent, salient sine qua nons.

Smith can rap, yes, and his new wingman Trà-Knox can sing. His lyrics are occasionally sharp despite the general certificate, and the music is just inventive enough to keep you from nodding off. The third track, Latino parody ‘I Can’t Stop,’ is funny and enjoyable. But in the final analysis Born To Reign has all the emotional urgency of a carvery lunch, and the originality of a Trainspotting poster on a media student’s bedroom wall.

Go back to Bel Air, William.