Nacho grew up with his mother Marta in a borrowed room in Tower 7. Since he was a kid, his life was marked by background gunshots and the neighbors’ cumbias. His dad was deep in the streets, and his mom — a warrior — sold empanadas at the Martín Coronado station. They always had a plate of food, but never anything extra. At 13, Nacho dropped out of school to help at home.

He started out watching cars, then selling cakes on the Sarmiento line, and like many kids with no way out, ended up in some shady stuff. But he always sang — on buses, rooftops, with a busted speaker and a beat-up phone. His raspy voice and raw lyrics hit differently.

At 18, his best friend Rulo died during a police raid. Nacho almost left the neighborhood, but his grandma told him something he tattooed on his soul:

“If you’re gonna die for something, let it be for what you love — not what’s slowly killing you.”

That same night, he wrote his first track: In Heaven There Are No Sirens. He uploaded it to YouTube with a borrowed Nokia... and people started sharing it. His lyrics spoke of hunger, barrio love, betrayal, and broken dreams.

Little by little, he was invited to sing in plazas, then clubs. At 22, he signed with an independent label from the hood. But he never left his neighborhood or forgot anyone. His music blends cumbia 420, RKT, and emotional trap. Every song is a letter to those who didn’t make it, those who keep fighting, and those who still dream.

Now, at 27, Nacho’s still in the barrio — but with a studio he built from doing what he loves.