This is not, shall we say, a typical album for me to review. Ninety percent of the albums I listen to are soft, guitar-laden indie rock, or, even softer, ukulele-laden indie folk. To assume that this is the entirety of my musical taste would be an injustice, however. My tastes range into chiptune, various other electronica, and even, weirdly, some rap.

I was going to lead into this paragraph with that last sentence, but I’ve just realized that for a Death Grips review I can’t really talk about rap. Death Grips is not rap. Death Grips is not rock. The best genre description of Death Grips is noise. I think probably the reason that they are so hard to classify is the simple fact that Death Grips is not really music. Death Grips is an experience.

Don’t listen to this “music” while you’re trying to do anything at all. Somehow, producer Andy Morin has discovered the specific frequencies of static and vaguely-producible rhythms that disable the human brain. I’m surprised the U.S. Army hasn’t contracted him for crowd control development, although realistically that’s probably because every single Death Grips lyric ever is angry as hell and seems anti-government or something. Maybe just literally anti-order. Death Grips goes so far in it’s ability to disable all of your bodily functions that paramedics now actually use it to stop bleeding in victims of car accidents.

People do the above sort of review all the time for music which really does not deserve it. For Death Grips, I am not really being hyperbolic; only metaphorical. Death Grips is basically the worst music ever made, but it’s amazing and I can’t stop and oh god someone help me.

8.6/10