Every rap crew needs a cocky ringleader, and Chucky73 gleefully stepped up to the challenge for Sie7etr3. Over two years, the Bronx label and collective has flourished thanks to its Uptown twist on New York drill. The crew racked up YouTube views and Instagram followers, dropped loosies and EPs; meanwhile, Chucky charmed us with his unflappable flow and toothy smile, emerging as the group’s cherub-cheeked playboy. It’s fitting that the first full-length project from Sie7etr3, the just-released De Chamaquito Siempre Cabezu, comes from the collective’s loveable lothario.
On his debut album, the New York rapper confronts some familiar challenges for newly crowned regional rap royalty: the pressure to expand an already buzzy profile and reach new fans without abandoning the beloved local style that made him blow up in the first place. Luckily, Chucky mostly avoids that fate. Rather than trend-hopping and watering himself down, he chooses organic collaborations in the broader Latin trap landscape, flaunting his elastic, agile flows and artful delivery over minimal but effective beats.
The crew’s penchant for simple, sturdy productions shepherd the album, as does their fondness for onomatopoeic, four-letter track titles. Robust horns on “Fiti (lili part3)” and “Chassy” recall the maximalism that made Dipset New York legends. On “Zili,” Chucky rides the lurching bass and skittish violin hook, dropping playful but hard-edged bars in short, pummeling bursts. Sparse production accumulated in the low end is an ideal setting for Chucky’s songs of triumph; his polysyllabic bars feel muscular, making his presence known with straight-talking tigueraje. Sie7etr3 member Fetti031 and Puerto Rican lyricist Myke Towers also lend vocals to “Zili”; Towers drops a breathless verse that serves as a reprieve from the more melodic fare he typically showcases on mainstream pop-reggaetón records.
Throughout the album, Chucky sets the tone for his guests, many of whom are Latin trap or reggaetón artists. Guests like Chilean trapero Pablo Chill-E, Dominican emcee El Pollito Trapper, and reggaetón legend Ñengo Flow are compelled to get on Chucky’s level and actually rap—or admit embarrassing failure, like Jon Z’s sophomoric attempt at a drill flow on “Tutu,” a track that otherwise sounds like an homage to Pop Smoke. It’s a shrewd choice; Chucky invites his guests into his world while reminding them that the bland reggaetón- and trap-lite that currently dominates the Latin pop charts just won’t do here.
Tracks like “Dominicana” show off Sie7etr3’s irresistibility; the addictive, clanging beat demands some ass-shaking in the mirror, preferably with a Henny colada in hand. Chucky drops a handful of deadpan, laugh-out-loud couplets that capture the goofiness he’s beloved for, and though the Mr. Freire production almost too closely resembles the synthetic horns and bells on Sie7etr3 EP’s “Brazilera” and “Colombiana,” the track still harnesses the jocular sensibility that makes the Bronx crew stand out from their peers in other boroughs. It’s a reminder of how they’ve resuscitated the Latin trap scene and embraced a sense of vivacity in the otherwise ominous New York drill movement.
De Chamaquito Siempre Cabezu has its valleys. Chucky has faced criticism for repetitive flows, which he dismisses with cheeky wordplay on “Palos”; changing up his style would be like telling El Alfa to abandon dembow, or asking notoriously incendiary radio host Alofoke to cut the drama, he says. His laid-back flows are a central part of his magnetism and something he’s not willing to sacrifice so easily. But he does harbor some writing crutches, and when Chucky crafts punchy lyrics, he tends to fall back on them. “Wigi’”s chorus includes a line about packing a 40 in Dora the Explorer’s backpack, but it’s repeated so many times the joke deflates when the song comes to a close. Those seeking respite from all the flexing and sex talk might tap in to “Rosario” or “Desahogo,” but these trap baladas suffer from trite lyrics about the come-up and clichéd voicemail samples from Chucky’s mom.
Yet even Chucky’s most uncomplicated songs are made interesting, either through minimal, potent productions or sticky Dominican palabreo–a language of survival that revels in improvisation and orality, always refusing the colonial imposition of proper Spanish. Dominican Spanish has long been dismissed as low-class or too culturally specific; today, white, non-Caribbean Latin American artists frequently don accents or pepper their songs with island slang, cashing in on the cultural and racial currency of Afro-Caribbean speech and performance. Chucky doesn’t have to posture as something he’s not; the songs on De Chamaquito Siempre Cabezu announce his arrival with fearless opacity, and he couldn’t care less whether you understand. He may have traded his low-budget videos for flashy hotels and high-profile collabs with Rich the Kid and Fivio Foreign, but De Chamaquito Siempre Cabezu suggests he’s set on remaining the movement’s irreverent, self-assured torchbearer.
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