Think of the title of Lunchbox’s 2023 release, New Jazz, as the Harlem rapper-producer’s attempt to distinguish himself among a wave of drill and internet rap descended from the likes of Future and Chief Keef. No, Lunchbox isn’t splicing Miles Davis and Wynton Marsalis horn samples between the whirring synths (though in an 2023 interview, he claimed some of the beats had a “saxophone” presence). But in an underground middle class filled with striving Yeat clones and Opium-adjacent lackeys, he wasn’t satisfied to become another dead-eyed rage adherent “curating a vibe” out of chaos. Lunchbox’s counterproposal—confirmed by his 2024 album, Lunchtime., and the singles and loosies on his SoundCloud—relied not just on the characteristically blown-out sound of rage rap but the creativity of the melodies he put on top.
Lunchbox’s latest release, L.B. Cooper, is an exercise in refinement. Forsaking the trend of maximalist data dumps (each of his last three releases featured at least 22 songs), the tape comes in at a brisk 13 tracks and 25 minutes. Lunchbox stretches the limited space by turning the focus toward his off-kilter melodies, twisting his delivery as though he were rapping and singing under duress. Not every execution is outstanding, but the earnest effort to push himself—along with his team of producers—nets him more successes than missteps.
The L.B. Cooper production credits read like the Lunchbox All-Stars, with Amir, Chromes, and Mowz handling much of the responsibilities, as they did on New Jazz and Lunchtime. They’ve all understood the assignment—robotic landscapes tinged with enough darkness to border on moody—though Amir still seems the most attuned to the rapper’s quirks, having worked with him since 2023. His frenetic synths on “Feelin Myself” hit top speed in an instant and seem almost to graft to Lunchbox’s voice. On “So Not Me,” a thundering bassline and a high, piercing whirr resemble the ambient noise on an intergalactic spaceship as Lunchbox tries to break through the gates of heaven with his croons.
It’s Chromes who scores the single strongest moment with “Goin Bad,” where melodies that sound ripped from the dial-up modems and the arcade game Dig Dug lace the beat with boyish personality as Lunchbox spits with the unbridled energy of a Harlem street freestyle. Even new collaborators like Texas underground artist rexv2 fit seamlessly—his beat on “Act Like U Kno” wouldn’t feel out of place on the deep recesses of F1lthy’s hard drive, with synth progressions that ebb and flow with Lunchbox’s crescendos. But the relative uniformity means that less specular beats, like the ones on “Gta” and “Gta 2/Eta,” blend too easily into the background.
The draw of L.B. Cooper lies in the deft way Lunchbox contorts his vocals to elevate his storytelling. He’s like the surface of a pond on a breezy day, moving on a whim while still somehow perfectly in place; whether morose or quietly faded or blissfully hyped, each mood is a natural turn for his sound. On “Luv,” he extends his syllables to fill the space between blown-out basslines, lingering amid the hectic production, almost imploring you to focus on how his girl’s love sustains him. His flows change with damn near every couplet on “Shady,” riding the Auto-Tuned upper register like a jet stream. There’s a charm to the way he makes the most of his limited vocal range: “Baby can you see the pain?” he sings on “So Not Me,” voice straining like it’s 4 a.m. in a Koreatown karaoke spot and he’s putting it all on the line.
The emotional peaks in Lunchbox’s melodies don’t always pave over the gaps left by the lyrics’ lack of substance. Standard boasts about flying girls out to Mykonos and getting racks in various ways fill the space, but you’re not meant to listen to L.B. Cooper for the soliloquies. What’s exciting is the feeling that Lunchbox is throwing out new cadences and runs on the spot, drawing from the energy of freestyling to introduce greater spontaneity. There’s an earnest effort to ensure that no two lines sound the same, and it’s this refusal to coast on copy-pasted chaos that separates the tiers of rage-rap artists. As the ad-libs spill out on “Act Like U Kno,” Lunchbox breathlessly spits, “Look what I just made today,” sounding like a kid who’s sprinted home from school to show his mom a new project. It’s that pride in the craft that ensures L.B. Cooper doesn’t get sucked in by the gravitational pull of mediocrity.
