When talking about Death Grips, inevitably someone’s going to mention Odd Future. It’s not an entirely inaccurate comparison; both (on paper, at least) are grimy, punky, shock-inclined takes on hip-hop with a tremendous hype train backing them. Except Odd Future, as time has revealed, aren’t all they’ve painted themselves as—just take a look at Tyler, the Creator; less brooding hip-hop messiah and more gangly Dennis the Menace. Death Grips’ debut, The Money Store, makes a point of drawing a distinct line in the sand between the band and its competitors. Death Grips are real, terrifying and incredible.
Where Tyler spends all his time posturing and posing for the camera, Death Grips front man Stefen Burnett seems to breathe pure evil. His raps are thick and monstrous and his delivery is more Saetia than Snoop—the man even looks like some kind of terrifying urban Rasputin, with a shaved head, thick beard and bizarre, cultish tattoos all over his body. On the debut mixtape Ex-Military’s opener, “Beware,” Burnett chanted what might as well be Death Grips’ de facto manifesto; “I close my eyes and seize it/ I clench my fist and beat it/ I light my torch and burn it/ I am the beast I worship.” Violence, destruction, ambition and satanic narcissism—this is what Death Grips in essence is.
It’s going to turn a lot of people off, no doubt. But anyone who can stomach Burnett spitting bile over car-crash production for an hour will find one of the most rewarding and original hip-hop albums of 2012.
The Money Store starts off on an absolute red herring—a propulsive Radiohead-esque drum beat opens “Get Got” before Burnett, the most passive he’s ever sounded, actually raps the hook. And while “Get Got” might be more restrained than the rest of the tracks, Burnett’s writing is as ridiculous as ever; the chorus goes, “Poppin’ off the fuckin’ block knot/ Clockin’ wrist slit, watch bent thought bot.” What does it mean? No one knows, but it’s provocative. Or maybe it’s just absolutely insane.
This isn’t conscious hip-hop—Death Grips have more in common with MF Doom’s Dadaist ethos than Drake, that’s for sure. Unfortunately, this more often than not proves to be the group’s biggest hangup; there isn’t much to be found here for the intellectually starved.
But it really doesn’t matter Burnett’s writing reads like a crack-head fell asleep face-down on a keyboard—Death Grip’s main intention is atmosphere. Take pseudo-single “I’ve Seen Footage,” in which Burnett barks what may or may not be words over a warbling synth line and a frantic Nine Inch Nails beat.
The only discernible bit is the hook (the title shouted really loud, occasionally swapped out for “I’ve seen crazy shit, man, crazy shit”), but it doesn’t matter. The raps end up being more tribal-chant, more Burroughs cut\paste than poetry. It’s there purely to augment the fury of the production. As a cohesive whole, “I’ve Seen Footage” exists in a universe of its own; half psychotic rave, half terrifying industrial pummel—it’s absolutely fantastic.
And you’ve got the dynamic production duo of Zach Hill and Andy Morin to thank for that. Hill’s been a staple of the West Coast noise-rock scene for more than a decade now and his manic drumming (especially live) provides a big chunk of the band’s bite.
Meanwhile, Morin comes through on keyboards and samples, and his work is frequently the most interesting part of the whole affair. The beats aren’t traditional glossy hip-hop; everything about the production is slimy and gross and heavily indebted to the hardcore scene of yesteryear and noise-rock. “Hacker” is the obvious standout, with its nightmare-dubstep drum beat and its dystopian take on LCD Soundsystem funkiness. Imagine if Kanye West wrote a soundtrack to a Gaspar Noé film, and you’re, like, 90 percent of the way there. It’s a doozy, to say the least.
The Money Store is a beast in every instance of the word; it’s fearsome, it’s tremendous and it’s an absolute game-changer in a genre that’s been painfully stagnant for too long now. I don’t know what kind of future Death Grips have—they’re a niche band with a niche sound signed to a major-label, destined for either greatness or a quick implosion. After a debut like this, though, suddenly it doesn’t seem ridiculous that these terrors will be around to alienate audiences for years to come, and nothing could excite me more.
