Canadian hip-hop artist Kevin Brereton has spent almost as much time myth-making as music-making. Early in his career, the man who calls himself K-OS (pronounced "chaos," and standing for "knowledge of self") went into seclusion for three years with an acoustic guitar, promising to emerge with a sound that reflected his equal interest in the music of Stevie Wonder, A Tribe Called Quest, and Radiohead. Now, after almost 10 years kicking around Toronto and Vancouver clubs, as well as rap's underground performance circuit, K-OS has been promoting his debut disc Exit by promising to quit the business and move to Africa. The singer and rapper is either a noteworthy eccentric or a skilled hype man, but either way, he's bringing his album some attention, which is a worthy exercise. While Exit may not meet the artistic expectations K-OS set for himself, it's eclectic and entertaining, balancing R&B, world-pop, folk, and electronica, not to mention a lyrical emphasis on both spirituality and worldly pleasure. "Fantastique" combines all of the above, opening with a few lines about oral sex over classical guitar, then bringing in techno-funk and island rhythms, as K-OS explains how he's going to save hip-hop from drudgery and venality. It's an amusing and initially arresting track, though the collision of styles quickly becomes exhausting. "Call Me" suffers from similar overcooking, as he layers a workable but conventional new-soul ballad with heavy strings and a busy ska-like beat. Exit improves quickly thereafter, starting with the minimalist single "Heaven Only Knows," which combines a moving, confessional rhyme with a novel mix of acoustic-guitar picking, cello, light percussion, and bouncy call-and-response backing vocals. The straight, throwback-reggae number "Superstarr Part 1" is just as good, particularly when paired with the lushly arranged, anthemic rock version that closes the record, and the propulsive one-two of "Freeze" and "The Anthem" establish K-OS' hip-hop credentials with strength and passion. And, in spite of occasionally tiresome repetition in his melodies and backing rhythms, he frequently comes up with an unusual guitar sound or rhyming cadence (as on "Patience," or the flamenco-inflected "Follow Me"), prompting listeners to hope that his pledge to stop making music is only another marketing ploy.