A 911 call and some news soundbites from the event appear at the beginning of “Shots Fired,” a bit of skewed verisimilitude that jibes nicely with the asinine excess of “Drug Dealers Dream,” which opens with a computerized voice detailing Ross’s $92 million checking account balance.

This usually involves the folding of real-life events into the Rozay mythology, and on these terms Ross hit the jackpot last April, when members of the God’s Disciples gang made a halfhearted attempt on his life. As with his previous efforts, the album thrives on the fun dissonance between Ross’s supposed laidback boss status and his sweaty, overeager gaucheness in establishing those bona fides. Full of thundering beats and equally gargantuan self-regard, it’s more of the same from the ever-cartoonish Miami rapper, who continues pioneering the art of sounding as relaxed as possible while still putting out paranoid, pounding coke-chic jams. Rick Ross continues his gilded reign of terror on Mastermind, another appropriately massive chronicle of attaining ridiculous wealth and flaunting fiscal irresponsibility.

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