In the rap game’s underground labyrinth, where shadows cast by giants like Roc Marciano and Ka loom large, CRIMEAPPLE emerges as a distinct figure. This Colombian-born, New Jersey-bred lyricist doesn’t rely on the theatrics of Westside Gunn or the bravado of Action Bronson. Instead, he weaves his narrative with a subtle finesse, mixing Spanish and English in his verses, showcasing a low-key swagger. CRIMEAPPLE’s not shy about flaunting what he’s got—likening his wallet to Fernando Botero’s voluptuous art—but he’s more about straight-up flexing and recounting the grind that got him his gold.
“El Léon” drops us straight into CRIMEAPPLE‘s jet-setting life, recognized by customs, flipping Jaguars, and rising from the ashes. Yet, it’s his simple declaration, “Lil’ homie, I own shit,” that hits hardest. The album, a collab with beat maestro Preservation, is a journey through heartfelt stories set to a soundtrack that blends exotic samples with a hip-hop heart.
Preservation, known for his minimalist magic on the New York scene, switches up his style for “El Léon.” He trades his usual avant-garde for a more classic hip-hop vibe, laying down beats that vibe with CRIMEAPPLE’s chill flow. Tracks like “Don’t Mention It” and “Vida Mantequilla” echo Preservation’s past bangers but with a twist that complements CRIMEAPPLE’s storytelling.
CRIMEAPPLE might not be the loudest in the room, but his skills and storytelling keep his verses cutting. He rides the beat with ease, speeding up when he flips languages, packing punches with his bilingual bars. His lines are full of life, from clowning on White Claw to comparing a date to a Taco Bell feast. With Pres’ beats as the backdrop, CRIMEAPPLE navigates through the soundscapes, never overshadowed, always in his element.
