There are moments when THE LIFE OF ERG, a vibrant tape credited to a Dominican American trio from Lynn, Massachusetts, threatens to spin off its axis. “Bilderberg” begins promisingly enough, with frontman Erg One rapping calmly about favelas and Ronald Reagan over a modest drum loop; producer BoneWeso cues up a swirling violin synth. Estee Nack punches in for the hook, crooning like a gravel-voiced lounge singer, ad-libbing over his own vocal track. The instrumental drifts into the second verse, urgent horns disturbing the tranquility, rhymes drowned out in a clash of drums and street noise. It’s over as soon as it arrives—the loop resets, and we’re back in our lounge chairs.
These combustions add depth to Erg’s landscapes, less a matter of competing visions than merging interpretations. His verses are enlivened by assured wisecracks (“Money in my hand, that bitch was a palm reader/When I asked for my flowers, they gave me an arboretum”) and tropical climes, destinations selected for unspoken business purposes. A scene veteran of two decades, Nack assumes a supervisory role, chiming in with hooks and rambling verses. The format instills balance between psychedelia and pragmatism—Erg the straight man, Nack the bellowing wild card, seasoned professionals who’ve lived to tell the tale.
Although compelling on its own, the intricacy warrants context. Nack cut his teeth with Tragic Allies, an operatic Lynn outfit indebted to Queensbridge lyricists Prodigy and Tragedy Khadafi. In that lineup he was kinetic and chameleonic, reciting Five Percent precepts with metronomic precision, piping choruses in melodic patois. He resurfaced, unrecognizable, in the late 2010s with variations on Roc Marciano and Westside Gunn’s neoclassical raps. The whittled samples and slowed-down tempos revealed a wild-eyed preacher, allowing Nack to toy with East Coast conventions—bars veering between English and Spanish, loosely patterned rhymes landing a half-beat behind the snare.
After a stint on Gunn’s Griselda Records—a nice look that reduced him to a supporting act—Nack continued tacking left with instinctive performances over deconstructed arrangements, often working in miniature. He maximizes his limited screentime on THE LIFE OF ERG, flexing a wizened, expressive flamboyance, transcending the fully-loaded bars of his Tragic Allies days. “14hrflights” finds him in conversation with himself, peppering open space with interstitial ad libs (his preferred ad lib, quixotically, is “ad lib”). He deploys an incremental technique on “Nevatrustazing,” embellishing and compounding the thesis with each sequential bar. He’s always coloring outside the lines, pausing for breath where he pleases; when the couplets rhyme at all, it’s usually via some slanted internal scheme.
BoneWeso spent the 2000s working in dancehall and reggaeton spaces, but you’d never know it based on THE LIFE OF ERG. His single-tracked loops are more evocative than Daringer and Nicholas Craven’s, less frenetic than Conductor Williams and Don Carrera’s. Erg takes cues from the instrumentals, indulging nostalgia over a dreamy sax on “Wareztheluv,” conjuring Parisian flights and top-shelf liquor on “Silenceofthelambs.” The stylistic touchstones—aspirational lifestyle raps, sampling technique, newsreels recounting drug busts and art heists—are formalities of second- or third-wave neoclassicism. What’s engrossing is the trio’s divergence from canon, the local idiosyncrasies and equatorial intrigue. A subtle immersion takes place; it’s natural, for instance, when Nack rhymes “Tahoe” with “abajo” on “Intervention.” As in Mach-Hommy’s work, the colliding dialects speak to an unlikely diaspora, secret or alternate histories of would-be Escobars in New England’s rust belt.
These adaptations bestow a rich specificity, distinctive performers bending a pre-existing format for their purposes. What’s difficult about the work, broadly, is a sense of contraction. There’s no infrastructure for this stuff anymore; in lieu of label investment, working artists churn out project after self-released project. The environment promotes novelty, but also imposes a ceiling—the tightly plotted sagas of Mobb Deep and Capone-N-Noreaga have given way to thin margins, low stakes, narratives that never really go anywhere. Among a tidal wave of off-brand Griselda, Nack and Erg are small-city kingpins reveling in limited resources, splurging on sneakers rather than sports cars, middle-aged and flyer than they’ve ever been.
