The Money Store by Death Grips
You’re not a masochist for liking it, but you’re not in on the joke either.
Describing Death Grips and the music they create isn’t exactly the easiest feat. While they are often described as an experimental hip-hop group, the cult following they’ve accrued over the past several years tends to elevate them to something more. They’re ambiguous, alienating, and effortlessly defiant — info on the trio is so tantalizingly scarce, nobody can even be sure if lead vocalist MC Ride was ever homeless. This may need citing, but I’m even led to believe that producer Andy has only ever uttered one single line of conversation in every single arranged interview the band has ever given. Seriously, these guys either get a kick out of confusing and misleading their fans, have subtle motives to simultaneously elude and command the music industry, or straight up just don’t care. Death Grips is in a world of their own and we’re not even invited to partake in it — they simply open the door to a dark pulsating abyss and disappear inside, completely disregarding the people they’ve just introduced their art to.
Now don’t get me wrong, these guys are artists presenting art, through and through. The Money Store might be bizarre, eclectic, random, and jarring, but it was also created with a purpose that seems just outside the grasp of the average listener. The album definitely toes the line between not only genres, but attitudes and moods as well. Advertised as experimental, Death Grips tends to waver between alternative hip-hop and trap almost on a whim. Sometimes it’s difficult to differentiate whether the songs on this album are legitimate evolutions or overly pretentious racket, but as I mentioned before, the group has no qualms about estranging their fans for a potential artistic vision or other greater good (I say potential because who knows what the hell they’re thinking).
Then again, after two listens, even though there were parts of this album I was fundamentally opposed to, I couldn’t help but come back to it. The songs have a hypnotic tendency and are almost trance-inducing — very few songs sonically stick out from the rest, the tracks feeling like a timely progression rather than curated pieces or portions. The entire package emanates purpose and calculation, with curveballs and confusing loops inserted carefully regardless of the apparent bizarreness, repetition, and grating overlays. That sounds very hand-wavey and overly ethereal, but the simplest example to explain my point would be to listen to the lyrics. “What lyrics?”, you might ask. That’s the thing— they’re all over the place. Half the time they’re hardly audible, and when you can hear what’s happening, chances are MC Ride is barking or yelling or groaning or just generally being guttural. But it somehow all clicks, in the same weird way that the laptop-synthesized cuts, loops, and samples seamlessly accompany Zach Hill’s drumming — both live and on the recordings.
In the end, The Money Store is incredibly grating and awful, but also strangely satisfying, interestingly catchy, and oddly fulfilling. I lost track of my emotions fairly quickly, but I do recall portions of astoundment and incredulous frustration — both at the music itself, and also my slippery grasp on exactly what the hell was going on…and god dammit, why was I more than OK with this? Just like the mysteriously unheard lyrics, I can’t help but shake the feeling there’s something deeper going on. And while a lot of the intrigue might be distorted in the memes and other internet phenomena this band has spawned, it’s still the sort of thing I’d throw on just to see a buddy’s reaction.
Verdict: The only song on this entire album I can whole-heartedly recommend is I’ve Seen Footage, being the only ‘normal’ track around. Otherwise, listen at your own discretion— for better or for worse, it’s an experience at the very least!
