Death Grips was one of those bands that everyone was like “Holy shit, you have to hear Death Grips!” What was most convincing about these requests was that they were from friends that have reliable taste in music. So I thought to myself, “Holy shit, I need to hear Death Grips!” I knew Zach Hill was on drums, which is always a plus, and that it was experimental/noisy hip-hop; being a big fan of Dälek, B L A C K I E… All Caps With Spaces, and Clipping, I thought I might like Death Grips. Also, they were getting hyped up by every shitty music blog known to man as the next big thing, and there was a ton of buzz about how “crazy” they are on and off the stage—so crazy, in fact, that they bail on shows at the last minute…shows their fans paid for.
So, I checked out The Money Store and the album with that huge dick on the cover and wasn’t hearing the genius that the rest of the world was entranced by. There were three or four tracks on each album that were really good, but not enough to make me a believer. I was hoping that this new Death Grips would show these guys moving forward with their sound, getting more abrasive and abstract and pushing the extremes of what they are notorious for….
And here we have Fashion Week. To my surprise, the front man and my favorite part of Death Grips, Stefan Burnett, is not on the album. Nope, this is an instrumental album…an instrumental album from a hip-hop group. Yeah, it’s like that all-bongo Pig Destroyer record coming out this year that you’ve been dying to hear. Fashion Week sounds like something that kids with neon dreadlocks who wear fishnet tank tops, goggles, huge pants, and brush their teeth with Molly lose their shit to. Not saying that’s a bad thing if that’s what you’re into, but this is definitely not the Death Grips you’re expecting. The entire time I suffered through this album, I was having flashbacks of that wacky bastard from those Prodigy videos getting all “Twisted Firestarter” on me. Fuck. Either way, I am sure Skrillex was totally “vibing” on this if that’s any indication of what this record has in store.
Seriously, Death Grips? This is cheese, and you know it.
Rating: 2 out of 6 Doves Prince had always stayed away from drugs until he heard this record; it was so unremarkable that it caused him to smoke rock through a daisy. After a dip in the waters of Minnetonka, he forgot this album like a morning piss and was too tired to have his team of lawyers prison fuck this band’s career and lives.
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