Death Grips: The Money Store – review

The California trio Death Grips' experimental hip-hop is punishing in its aggression – although their major label debut tones it down somewhat from last year's Exmilitary mixtape, which was brutal to the point of unlistenability over 45 minutes. Rapper Stefan Burnett's furious vocals are less foregrounded, and they deign to pressgang their industrial distortions and rhythmic assaults into the service of an actual groove on occasion; the way Death Grips revel in the sheer range of sounds available to them is reminiscent of both Dälek and Gang Gang Dance in spirit, and at times in sound, too. Hustle Bones breaks into wildly oscillating electro out of nowhere, while on the thrilling Hacker, beats run amok amid explosions and sirens like a crowd scattering from danger. But there's a void at the heart of Death Grips' sound and fury: Burnett's one-note anger may be fine for those who fetishise the punk-rock mode of expression, but the near-total lack of range in his vocal approach is a poor match for the careening thrill of the music, and wearyingly basic.