In any discussion about the new-on-the-scene Queens rapper Action Bronson, two things inevitably come up: (1) He sounds a whole hell of a lot like Ghostface Killah, and (2) he loves rapping about food. Both of these things are entirely true. Like Ghost, he's got a pinched, high-pitched, urgent delivery, rendering his boasts in a dense, inventive New York slur that moves from one idea to the next with necksnap immediacy. He's not a rip-off artist; he's got none of Ghost's emotional streak and little of his vividly violent storytelling impulse. But the mere grain of his voice is similar enough to provoke the momentary sensation every time a new verse starts that you're actually hearing Ghostface.
Similarly, the food fixation is no invention. In a recent web interview, Bronson claims he hopes his rap career can bankroll his culinary studies in Tuscany. And even "Ronnie Coleman", the song where he laments his weight and lack of impulse control, has enough impassioned food descriptions to make you seriously hungry: "An hour later, eat the burger with my drug dealer/ Then add the butter to the fudge to make the fudge realer." Bronson raps about food with the same loving linguistic dizziness that Pusha T raps with about cocaine, or that Lil Wayne raps with about blowjobs.
But even though both the Ghostface and the food talking points hold true, they don't really get to the bottom of what makes Dr. Lecter, Bronson's debut album, such a breath of fresh air. Simply put, Dr. Lecter is a rock-solid, ridiculously fun New York rap album, one that recalls the city's past glories without ever feeling like an act of stylistic exhumation. All the tracks on the LP come from one producer, the heretofore unknown Tommy Mas, whose style would've fit the late-80s classics of Marley Marl and the Juice Crew but maintains a crispness and energy that we rarely hear in retro-rap. Mas chops up breakbeats and soul samples, all the while keeping his sound simple, sparse, and funkier than any recent hip-hop. And Bronson attacks every one of his tracks, delivering quick bursts of streetcorner shit-talk, having too much fun to take himself seriously. Bronson's lyrics can be ignorant as fuck ("Take a dyke on a date/ She let me pipe cuz I'm an ape"), but he doesn't have the nihilistic edge of an Odd Future affiliate. He's just kicking silly bullshit, and it's tough to imagine anyone seriously getting offended.
Maybe the greatest thing about Dr. Lecter is how the album never announces itself as some triumphant return of New York rap. Bronson never claims to be the savior of anything; he just belts out his punchlines and then disappears. Songs typically don't have choruses, and the album's 15 tracks end in less than 45 minutes. Bronson names songs after relatively marginal figures: perennial WWF jobber Barry Horowitz, 90s NBA journeyman Chuck Person, 60s/70s football great Larry Csonka. A few guests show up, but none of them are big names. And though the two rappers' styles are radically different, Dr. Lecter calls up memories of Marcberg, the great and underrated 2010 album from fellow New York shit-talker Roc Marciano. Like that LP, Dr. Lecter doesn't try to break any ground; it just does a long-established style very, very well.
