Freddie Gibbs has said that his new project ESGN is "the definitive Freddie Gibbs album," an uncompromising, unvarnished collection of the blacktop-hard gangster rap that vaulted him to a higher profile in the summer of 2009. Gibbs' desire to return to his most authentic sound springs from a less-than-amicable split from Young Jeezy’s CTE label in 2012, and he isn't necessarily mistaken. ESGN is more of the dark, violent, exceedingly skillful rap for which the rapper has become one of the last reliable sources.
But ESGN is ultimately a step back for a rapper who had worked to increase the variety of his sound and the depth of his subject matter in recent years. In the fashion of the 1990s gangster rap albums Gibbs came up with, ESGN has 20 tracks. That’s over an hour of unyielding, uncompromising music which displays plenty of ability but very little imagination. Gibbs had managed to widen his appeal with tapes like Cold Day in Hell and Baby Face Killa, but now he's back working in an incredibly specific space, one that will win him accolades from heads but which can’t help but to be exhausting for anyone who likes a little variety in their rap diet.
Many of the songs on ESGN can be seen as direct repudiation of industry rap, marked as they are by violence, pain, regret and religiosity, all of which are heavily out of fashion at the moment. He refers to the “pussy boys” in the music industry on “Came Up” and then later expands, rapping that he “won’t be a monkey for them crackers like I’m LL” and taking direct shots at Young Jeezy. The sniping comes off both as honest and defensive, Gibbs' simmering resentment at his former label, which he's given voice to in multiple interviews, finally finding a musical outlet.
Gibbs is at his absolute technical best on ESGN, and it’s worthwhile to take a closer look at what he does so well. “Eastside Moonwalker”, the title a reference to the most famous Gary native of all time, is a perfect example of the form, Gibbs switching bars and lanes, zooming in to capture specific moments in time and then out again to shit-talk. "Freddie Soprano" is a showcase for quickhitting cleverness, with a pop-culture savvy that lends dark comedy to its gangsterisms. Both songs are examples of perfectly regimented rapping, with the shifts in cadence and perfect breath-control of hip-hop formalism inspired by the greats.
Gibbs’ resemblance to his idol Tupac is becoming ever more obvious and the rapper seems to be using his intonation to make the comparisons stick. “I Seen a Man Die” could pass for an extra from the Don Killuminati sessions with its yearning West Coast production and another track, “F.A.M.E.”, includes a spot from the Tha Dogg Pound legend Daz Dillinger. (The track also features Spice 1, the two guests representing a kind of bifurcation of Gibbs’ production sound, which tends to split the difference between Southern and West Coast rap.)
Too often though, Gibbs uses his technical ability and knowledge of rap classics to disguise a lack of substance. Songs like “Lay it Down” contribute nothing but more time to the record: as well-delivered as the lyrics are, the song comes across as dull and unoriginal. The chorus of “9mm” is as tired as the song’s concept, and Gibbs’ insistence on including contributions from anonymous crew members like Hit “Skrewface,” Big Kill, and G-Wiz further implicates Gibbs in his unwillingness to stretch. When all of his cohorts are spitting boilerplate gangster shit, the thinness of subject matter here becomes ever more obvious.
There are slight deviations in sound, all of which are welcome. “Dope in My Styrofoam" is a breezy, Southern style riding anthem complete with a loop of sampled chorus girls. “Lose Control” features singing from BJ the Chicago Kid that momentarily lightens the mood. There's also plenty of of sterling rap music here that Gibbs fans won't have any issue with: “Hundred Thousand”, “I Seen a Man Die”, "Have U Seen Her", “Eastside Moonwalker”, and “Freddie Soprano” are some of Gibbs’ best songs to date, overwhelming displays of rap virtuosity that, had they been released a decade ago, we'd consider classics today. To damn them for being of a kind is to miss the point.
On “Hundred Thousand", Gibbs supplies a perfect-- and, true to form, concise-- review of ESGN himself. “Ain’t trying to be the man, just trying to maintain.” Callin an album "more of the same" sounds dismissive but its something that fans are often happy to receive and there are those for whom 20 tracks of Gibbs rapping nearly perfectly will be enough. But for everyone else, ESGN comes as an unwelcome reversion to the mean. It’s the sound of a rapper more than happy to maintain his narrow lane after being burned by the industry, one who's lost the ambition to leave his comfort zone, at least for the time being.
