Death Grips - The Money Store (Album Review)

 

Death Grips - The Money Store

(2012)

My copy: 2018 reissue by Epic.

Regardless of how one feels about Death Grips, the sensation they generated through the internet was easily a defining moment for alternative music in the 2010s. Where Ex Military kicked it all off, The Money Store drove their fever pitch into cult fame straight home. Not every experiment pans out, but when this enigmatic trio manages to coalesce their respective visions into one dynamic frenzy, the resulting synthesis is frighteningly effective. 

Where Ex Military was raving and ferocious, “Get Got” shifts focus with an echoing gauntlet of cellphone samples-turned-psychedelic and one of Stephen “MC Ride” Burnett’s more subdued vocal performances. While the mood does start out more hypnotic, the percussion and tempo are continuously blood pumping across the record (apart from a few off-kilter tracks that untether the pacing). Rising from a mechanical slumber, “The Fever (Aye Aye)” bursts like steam from a stressed pipe, offering one of MC Ride’s least intelligible performances within an unparalleled energy that exonerates him of meaning. While the actual bars are mostly incomprehensible, the lyrics are intricately-penned professions of paranoia and violence - or endlessly spewing declarations of disillusionment. “Lost Boys” is the first partial misfire, dislodging the pace for waves of streaming electronics: texturally it is impressive, but rhythmically the novelty of the stilted delivery wears off rather quickly. 

“Blackjack” is also lacking definition comparatively, instead existing in a warped limbo between life and death. The accelerating synth glissando of “Hustle Bones” elevates the mid-tempo song just enough to contrast with the sweet rain of female vocal samples that unwind over the choruses. “I’ve Seen Footage” is one of their most iconic tracks, serving as a driving instrumental powerhouse with commentary on desensitization to violence through internet videos. Ride hides in the borders of interlude-ish “Double Helix” that combines a distorted bell with glitching sampled foreign vocals. 

“System Blower” does as it implies with loud pulsing bass so distorted that it sounds not unlike some twisted, raging cello. Melting sirens build a backdrop for call and response flow on “The Cage” before the creative EQ showcase in the intro to “Punk Weight,” which delivers one of the gnarliest beat drops for the genre. Synth splatters frequently ricochet like shells lining a war-torn skyline, justifying the less indulgent (for Zach Hill) hip-hop percussion choices. “Fuck That” shambles about with Latin drum samples, leading into the eastern melodies of the somewhat comedic “Bitch Please.” Death Grips create music from the perspective of some paranoid, alienated villain - issuing decrees of malice and apathy with a fervent authenticity that would have you believe that MC Ride really is this strangely charismatic misanthrope. What’s most appealing is their extension of this role to the listener: as “Hacker” regales with depictions of revenge and crime in the digital-age, it is hard not to envy the caution-less rancor of Ride’s characters.  

Though a few pacing issues and off-track ideas detract slightly, Death Grips dominate alternative hip-hop with their mad aura. While their aesthetics and theatrics do have the tendency to attract undesirable audiences, their take is aggressively unique, (occasionally transcendentally so) which is reason enough to justify their success.