Before Blue Chips, Bronsolino was just that oversized white rapper from Queens who sounded like Ghostface. It was only after Blue Chips, when everyone realized that this guy had more than a voice that sounded like Ghostface. He had impeccable taste: For food (which many of his raps are about). For women (and the many, fairly devious sexual acts he'd perform on/with and/or receive from them). For clothes, cars, and especially weed. But most importantly, for beats, as evidenced by the classics provided via Party Supplies, plenty of which have a weirdly sentimental sheen to them, a slightly Tarantino-esque cinematic feel both in style and the style of tribute, a throwback to a Dolemite-era fantasy that never existed for Albanians from Queens until now.

Throw in some memorable ad-libs and great captured moments that remained on the record (like Bronson's flubbed lines on "9-24-11"), and you have a brilliant entrance for a man whose greatest challenge was emerging from the shadow of the Staten native he resembles in sound. Or as Bronsolino put it on Blue Chips track "Ron Simmons": "While you can catch me out in Spain on the coast, dick/Don't ever say my fucking music sound like Ghost shit." You can still say it about his voice, sure. But you'd be wrong about his music. —Foster Kamer