runk & B. Say it aloud. You know you love the sound of that “crrr” sound bittering your tongue, like a fist punching a whole in crunchy drywall, shitting out an “unk,” at the end, and smoothing out for the “bee” finish. Crunk. And B. It’s an impossible, unlikely phrase, that could only be borne from a word that seemed slang when it first bowed on the tongues of the metal-mouthed a few years ago, and now encompasses a whole region of glimmering synth-hop with ugly-ass vocals.

Unless compact chameleon Akon counts (he doesn’t), T-Pain is the reigning prince of this most bugged-out of subgenres, with Ciara’s certifiable stew of screwed-and-chopped deigning her an easy queen. But this feels a little dubious, as T-Pain feels more like a guest star than a front-and-center stage stalker. With Crunk such a dominantly male sound in the first place, it’s strange that its R&B cousin has a bit of trouble finding a king. Usher dabbled and split with the massive “Yeah!” in 2004. Lloyd’s only wet behind the ears and soon to be sore around the ass. T-Pain (aka Faheem Najm) feels more like a Gerald Ford, a substitute for the real thing.

Which is weird, because T-Pain’s music is really good, really popular, and pretty unchallenged. But there’s something that refuses to dominate: a personality. Not that Lil’ Jon is smashingly original, but somehow he rocks sunglasses and dreads (and oh yes, a pimp chalice) in a way that makes Rob Zombie’s similarly costumed character in the metal world look stiff and mannered. T-Pain’s agenda, as exemplified by his two biggest hits, “Bartender” and “Buy U a Drank,” boils down to drink-then-fuck. And that’s where Crunk and R&B meet anyway.

And yet his album is sonically interesting enough to feel like there should be more, that this guy, a blockbuster right now, should have something else to say. But I could listen to him squirt meaningless, wriggly hooks out of his vocoder all day. Starting with “Tallahassee Love,” where he pays tribute to his android roots as the spin-off of the similar 2Pac hit, he exuberantly pirates R&B treasure chests with joy: from the Cee-Lo-inspired HIV blues “Suicide,” to the ode to his Favorite Women’s Attribute (“Yo Stomach,” which he wants to “bust a nut on,” is just waiting to be a hit single). The Crunk introduces only one thing to the B, the fight song, but it’s a banger. It doesn’t get tougher than threatening to “be a rude dude” to people “running they piehole,” but the gunshot-speed “Church,” is more rousing than most hip-hop I’ve heard this year. Kardinal Offishal and Cham authenticate the credible, token dancehall jam, “Shottas.”

And yeah, Song of the Summer underdog, “Buy U a Drank (Shawty Snappin’),” is a joy, as ubiquitous as it deserves to be, compressing a radio block’s worth of older rap hits (“Snap Yo’ Fingers,” “Just a Lil’ Bit”) into mutated vocoder-moan bliss, with a buttery verse from Yung Joc. So what if the standards for a Crunk & B king are pretty meager? T-Pain effortlessly levitates above his peers with a modest lack of pervy-ness and a gift for both gender equality (“When she was sucking on me, I was licking on her”) and hooks (same song, “69,” with gorgeously employed organ, pun probably intended). An epiphany.