Over a 10-year recording career, the Queens rapper has diversified his bonds and spread himself thin musically. Still, he remains a captivating figure on his most eclectic album yet.
When Action Bronson emerged a decade ago, he was hailed as a paragon of formalist East Coast hip-hop: a buddha-sized trash-talker who kicked loquacious rhymes, toked on breakbeats, and paid tribute to New York tacos. But recent years have seen Bronson embrace something akin to Dame Dash’s octopus business strategy: keep eight revenue streams open at all times. These days, he moonlights as an author, has his own cooking show on Vice, pops up in movies like The Irishman, and dabbles in art. Beneath his growing celebrity remains a rapper, albeit one whose dedication to the form may be diluting as he spreads himself across multiple interests.
Given Bronson’s expanding outlook, it seems suitable that Only For Dolphins is his most eclectic album yet. Once infatuated by the eternal truths of boom-bap, he now boasts a more diversified palette that includes 1960s Brazilian pop, Latin funk, lounge jazz, and reggae. If nothing else, the album is a triumph of Bronson’s omnivorous musical taste, starting with the self-produced opener “Capoeira”—one of the best instrumentals he has ever spit over. Sampling the intro to I.N.D.’s obscure 1981 sophisti-pop number “Into New Dimensions,” the beat evokes memories of Operation: Doomsday-era DOOM, tempting Bronson to detail various adventures: sniffing coke off mirrors, jumping in a Jacuzzi with “12 freaks,” and cruising around in his beamer listening to Gerald Levert.
Conversely, closer “Hard Target” places Bronson on stage in an underground jazz club, delivering a monologue on his achievements in the publishing industry and the diminishing effects of weed on his brain. A pianist tinkles in the background as the percussionist sprinkles in some natty little drum fills. Then there is a song like “Shredder,” a two-minute potboiler draped in the midnight noir sounds of somber saxophone lines, a prominent bassline, and shimmering keys. Perhaps taking influence from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’ arch-nemesis Oroku Saki, Bronson describes a night in the life of a villain. When in form, his worldbuilding remains sharp and vivid.
It’s when you peer in closer that the cracks start to appear. There’s evidence that Bronson’s rapping has lost significant velocity, even compared to his relatively well-rapped last album White Bronco. Yes, the man who was moved to apologize to Ghostface Killah for claiming, “He’s not rapping like this no more” just ain’t rapping like that no more. This reduced emphasis on cannonade bars is why many of the better songs are the slower jams—“Hard Target,” “Shredder,” the swooning strings of “Vega”—but such is the lack of urgency on tracks like “Cliff Hanger”—you can picture Bronson studiously reading from his book of rhymes in the booth.
It’s enticing to accept Bronson’s slowing flow as design rather than fading skills. Yet “C12H16N2” hints at a world-weariness that perhaps is evident in his voice: “I got older and I realized there was no heroes/Don’t even talk to me unless you’re talking more zeroes.” This lethargy is present in the writing throughout. Bronson can still be more imaginative than almost every other rapper, but here his idiosyncratic humor, kaleidoscopic use of pop culture references, and culinary fantasies aren’t as consistently gripping or eccentric as they once were. The hook from “Latin Grammys,” for instance, sees Bronson feebly brag about his promiscuity, something he’s done many times before with more inspiration. He still raps about food, but bars like, “Me and my brother go together just like lamb and rice” (“Mongolia”) feel static from a star who once claimed that ginger ale and hot sauce were the two things he lived by.
Despite these flaws, Bronson is a captivating personality. Only For Dolphins may not be vintage Bronsolino, but it’s still a display of why so many entities outside of music want a piece of him. Where the artist goes from here is not an unusual question to pose after the release of an album, but in Bronson’s case, it’s reasonable to query whether the recording studio is a destination in the short-to-medium term or whether he’ll instead find that his other interests offer a warmer embrace.
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