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On Jay-Z’s new CD, he questions his faith in God, curses the emptiness of most entertainment, admits his terror at the prospect of becoming a bad dad, and identifies with the ultimate rock ‘n’ roll suicide, Kurt Cobain’s.

That’s a lot of hand-wringing for a guy sure enough to call himself Hova.

So far, most of the chatter over Jay’s immodestly named “Magna Carta Holy Grail” has centered on its huge and savvy marketing campaign. Through a scheme with Samsung, Jay’s new music became available at one minute past midnight on July 4 to 1 million of its phone users who downloaded a special app.

At least that’s how it was supposed to work. By 12:30 a.m., enraged fans took to Twitter and Google Play to moan about the 99 problems they were having trying to get the thing to work. A source in Jay’s camp says the app got 20 million requests in the first hour alone, which crashed it. I tried poking my phone’s app far into the night without success. The next morning, I found the music, not via Samsung but through the wonders of the Web. (Thank you, illegal file sharing).

Tuesday, the music becomes available to all, at which point it will become a platinum seller by definition. (Technically, however, it won’t. Billboard has refused to count free apps as actual sales).

No doubt once fans hear the music, they’ll spend less time talking about all these financial and technical issues than about things like the dark pull of the bass line that defines “Picasso Baby.” Or the pained vocal from Justin Timberlake that highlights “Holy Grail.” Or the many clever change-ups in Jay’s flow.

They’ll note too the lyrical depth the star shoots for. Along with the self-doubt of the lyrics referenced above, Jay’s verse also deals with the history of slavery, the historic role of Obama, and America’s view of Cuba.

Clearly, he doesn’t want fans to miss a word. In the week leading up to the release, Jay “leaked” lyrics to every song via the app. To make sure you hear them on the record, key producers Swizz Beatz and Timbaland kept the sound uncluttered, focusing on spare riffs, sharp rhythms and Jay’s fleet vocals.

The words present a sea change from the star’s last solo CD, 2009’s “The Blueprint 3.” There Jay obsessed over his role as rap’s No. 1 MC, asserting, repeatedly, how richly he deserved the crown. It’s important to note that when that disc appeared, Jay had yet to leave his 30s. “Magna Carta” represents his first release since he entered the dangerous decade of his forties three years ago. He has released two side projects since then: a co-headlining disc with Kanye West (“Watch The Throne”) and “The Great Gatsby” soundtrack, which he supervised. They’re both excellent. Together, they helped Jay prove himself to be the sole rapper who, at a great age, can claim equal creative and commercial primacy.

The best of the music lives up to that legacy. “Verses” takes the swank of a ’60s-style Mod riff and speeds it up, creating a fresh beat. “BBC” aims straight for the clubs, boasting a typically goading shout from Timbaland along with rhymes from Jay and Pharrell you can dance to.

Jay’s long track record of hits may have emboldened him to go deep this time. Lyrically, it seems like he’s trying to live up to a famous rap from 2003’s “The Black Album,” in which he admitted, “If skills sold, truth be told/I’d probably be lyrically Talib Kweli.”

In other words, he’d become more a conscious rapper than a blinged-out one.

All this isn’t to say Hova has suddenly turned into a wimp or a scold. Plenty of “Magna Carta” finds Jay with a chest full of air (see: its title). In “FUTW,” he spews “feel like motherf–king Cassius Clay right now/genius.” In “Nickels and Dimes,” he gets pithier – “Just for clarity/my presence is charity.” He also raps in “Tom Ford” about his role as a fashion plate/baller and in “Part II (On The Run)” about his ability to bag a hottie like his partner in crime, Beyonce.

The latter track features Mrs. Carter herself, a sequel to the couple’s duet “03 Bonnie & Clyde.” Even so, revisiting their relationship years later lends the boasts depth. They take their place alongside songs like “Holy Grail,” in which Jay references Nirvana and tussles with his love-hate relationship with celebrity; “Heaven,” which quotes R.E.M.’s “Losing My Religion” and echoes its Job-like sentiment; and “Oceans,” a cut featuring a sumptuous vocal from – who else? – Frank Ocean. It talks about the continued legacy of the slave trade.

In “Jay-Z Blue,” the star raps about the pains of fatherhood in contrast to the the icky coos of his earlier salute to his child, “Glory.” For a shot of unexpected hilarity, he samples lines from “Mommie Dearest,” expressing his fear of becoming the male Joan Crawford.

Together, it seems geared to buttress Jay’s boast in the bonus track “Open Letter” that he’s “the Bob Dylan of rap.” That may sound like a stretch — especially since not all the music on “Magna Carta” has the freshness of its verse. But the fact that Jay has allowed more vulnerability and rumination to balance out his continuing wit and fun means he may be well on his way to becoming his genre’s answer to the great bard.