Death Grips: Trancendental Drone Rap Rules

My rap music fandom extends to maybe three or four mid-2000s Bay Area singles (I still listen to "Tell Me When to Go" because I am lame) and almost nothing else. I am far from being an authority here. That said, I do know what I like, and that's pure heaviness. The distilled sonic essence of pure, weighted, and oppressive volume.

I first stumbled across Death Grips while trawling the depths of Grindcore Karaoke, J. Randall's (totally free!) carnival horror show of a grind/noise/punk/whatever label. Truthfully, I clicked on Death Grips's Exmilitary because I thought it was going to be some kind of politically-charged powernoise mindfuck. Lo and behold, I was greeted by the heaviest hip-hop jam I've ever laid ears upon.



"Beware" begins some real Trouble-a-Comin' guitar strains, overlaid by a rambling hobo speech from none other than Charles Manson. "The game is mine," he says. "I deal the cards." And then, BWOOOOOOOOM. The note begins, like a distant doom riff, cycling over and over, underpinning everything with that celestial echo that makes all heavy music feel transcendent and eternal.