Fresh from the Academy Awards, the set of the video game NBA Ballers: Phenom and a trip to the barber, Ludacris is back with a new haircut and a new album.

On Release Therapy, Ludacris takes a different approach to his music. Although the album is filled with a plethora of funny lines and enough rhyming words to constitute a Ludacris dictionary, the artist raps about a variety of social issues, including violence and child abuse.

The album starts with “Warning,” an aptly named song that cautions listeners to what they’re about to hear: a very honest Chris Bridges. Ludacris does not waste any time mentioning his drama and controversy with talk-show/suburban-mom goddess Oprah, a subject that will appear again later in the album.

Shockingly – or not so much, actually – Ludacris returns to his roots in no time with “Grew Up a Screw Up.” Spitting funny line after funny line and backed by a club-friendly beat, “Grew Up” will surely make even Bill O’Reilly dance. While the weakest part of the song is its cameo by Young Jeezy, Ludacris is right there to clean up the mess and talk about his success with “went from Hot Wheels to Big Wheels, Hyundais to Bentleys/ Five course meals, no more Popeyes and Blimpies.”

The first single, “Money Maker,” is all over MTV – and rightfully so. Produced by the Neptunes, Pharell and Ludacris create one of the more vapid yet upbeat songs on the CD, with lines such as “Yep call me the Renaissance Man/ Get up and I stay harder than a cinderblock man.”

Although this album is full of collaborations, the most interesting cameo is by R. Kelly. “Woozy,” the track where R. Kelly lends his smooth vocals, is a terribly predictable song about sex and how much the two men have. There is a point in rap music where fans can only take so much narcissism, and “Woozy” gets very close to that point.

Luckily, the album gets better after R. Kelly’s track. For example, when “War with God” begins, it might easily be confused with a Kanye West song. Using a sample from a Billy Paul song, “War with God” is essentially an ambiguous attack on an unnamed victim, with lines like “I’m the best and there’s nothin’ that you can do about it/ Never needed a publicity stunt, let’s tell the truth about it.” And, although the song is rumored to be against T.I., the self-named “King” of rap, no one knows if this is Ludacris’ response to T.I.’s “I’m Talkin’ to You.”

With Release Therapy, what might have been impossible for Ludacris an album or two ago seems natural and necessary. Maybe being a father has rubbed off on Bridges, as he now tackles more mature issues like violence and child abuse. This new attitude is seen perfectly in “Do Your Time,” a potential public service announcement in which Luda addresses the problem of blacks in prisons.

The final track on the album is “Freedom of Preach,” a song in which Luda stresses freedom of speech while apologizing for his past behavior and role in the dramatic, sometimes violent and misogynistic world of hip hop. Ludacris raps, “Forgive Oprah for editing most my comments off her show/ Don’t get me wrong, I know some people got an image to hold/ But those who criticize the youth might just be getting too old.”

Although the transition between songs might be awkward, Ludacris displays a wider range of subject matter on this album. It’s amazing what a little Therapy can do for you.

Contact reporter Michael Greenwald at greenwalddbk@gmail.com.