Death Grips – The Money Store

A modern, breathing nightmare

You wanna hear what the burning skies of LA’s decaying empire sounds like? Sign your soul over to Death Grips and climb inside their charred ribcage for a journey straight down into sonic hell.

As a trio MC Ride, drummer Zach Hill and Flatlander on production have scorched a raw document with which to chart the end of western civilisation.

Where many of their contemporaries are chasing TV campaigns, branded YouTube clicks or the cocaine lifestyle that’s been thrust down our throats for the last fifteen years, Death Grips are screaming about the real life injustice that threatens to drag us from our whilst ripping of the bandages from our startled eyes.

Thirteen unlucky, distorted but bleeding raw tracks joyride over our ear drums. The jump-up booty bass highlight of ‘I’ve Seen Footage’ slams the CCTV voyeurism that pervades our life on corrupted disk whilst ‘Lost Boys’ derides the continuation of homelessness.

These are but two decipherable entry points from dozens on gravelly offer as Death Grips hurl many a modern debased reference into their crucible. It’s the sound of domestic attack, the sonic of fear and smouldering confusion, of televisions exploding, of flesh being atomised, of shattered glass entering skin.

Musically it seethes under drones, sirens, disturbing pulses, synth stabs and fractured production. The pivotal track ‘System Blower’ is exactly that; expect it to pop your cortex with its crunky rhythms that are more like a dystopian call to arms for bass obsessed punks. Its fragmented production sounds like Germany’s Soundhack doing dubstep, or at least a couple of Croyden’s low-end lads having a wank into a bassbin.

‘The Money Store’ is a modern, breathing nightmare. It’s hyper real hip-hop made just in time for the end of the world.



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