Ludacris' never-ending run of guest verses rolled on through 2004 (for better or worse), as did the hit singles from 2003's Chicken -n- Beer.

He still managed to find the time to come out with The Red Light District, an album with content that rarely reflects the illicit-sounding title.

There's nothing as squalid as "Splash Waterfalls," for instance -- the low point of the MC's career, regardless of chart success -- and yet, at the same time, there's nothing as immense as "Stand Up," and there isn't anything quite as ferocious as "Southern Fried Intro/Blow It Out." Bragging, boasting, clowning around, getting high, dispersing words of wisdom -- these are the overriding themes.

Ludacris is more relaxed than ever, his mix of off-the-wall wisecracks and lofty proclamations established immediately after the intro.

No other MC could rattle off a stream of Austin Powers riffs without sounding corny, which he duly proves over Green Lantern's apt spin-cycle treatment of Quincy Jones' "Soul Bossa Nova": "Causin' lyrical disasters, it's the master/Make music for Mini-Mes, models, and Fat Bastards/These women trying to get me out my Pelle Pelles/They strip off my clothes and tell me, 'Get in my belly!'/Stay on the track, hit the ground running like Flo Jo/Sit back in time and never lost my mojo." Luda hasn't slipped into the complacent lap of luxury as deeply as some of his fellow platinum contemporaries, but it's evident that he's not as hungry as he once was.

A handful of top-level productions help make up for this, such as the Medicine Men's sufficiently rowdy work on "Get Back," Timbaland's tribal/safari-like backdrop on "The Potion" (one of his most radical productions since Ms.

Jade's "Big Head," with owl hoots and wild-bird caws in place of synth notes and percussion accents), and L.T.

Moe's squirting/jingling loose-booty funk on "Spur of the Moment" (which could be mistaken for a DJ Quik track, especially since he MCs on it).