I was determined to see Death Grips. I’ve maintained that their aesthetic and art is the most fascinating thing happening right now. What I hadn’t counted on was how important it was to have the ability to stop it. I’ve never pulled the chute like that, but having the option was apparently vital.
Although the part I’m willing to accept full responsibility for is moving into the front three rows. I mean, at least I had a nice conversation with someone else who was a big noise head (both excited for the show, rapped about Zach Hill, Boredoms, Hella for a bit, et cetera).
The conversation was interrupted by Zach Hill’s bass drum. Maybe it was something about how the mix was set up for the act before, but the sound was loud to the point that dust flew and my hair was blown back. From there, the sound check was the most easy part of the show to deal with. Almost comedic. Zach Hill impatiently tested the individual mics on his kit, switching from drum rolls to full on fills as the table urged him to stay on focus. Flatlander’s set up only needed to be tested once. MC Ride paced, staring at the mixing booth, yelling CHECK when asked. A brief spasm of improvisation ended the testing, and the energy from it seemed to float in the air.
And then the show began. The screens filled with images of a drawn woman’s face, shifting as she keeps repeating one word that I couldn’t quite hear over the growing shriek of droning electronics. Two syllables, something like “Danger,” or “Warning.” The noise increased, the shot zoomed in on the mouth, and breaking through this haze was the ominous hum that marked most videos for the intro of the show. With the echoing recurring sample “IT’S DEATH”
Lost Boys started the show kind of mildly, since it’s not exactly laden with memorable, loud lines. Guillotine on the other hand is a perfect compliment, and ended up starting a mosh pit just through the excitement of following along. The interlude ended up being Beware but drastically reworked, downright mutilated. Only lyrics given were the chorus over what sounded like parts of the original track on a torture rack. The mosh pit grew out of control during Lord of the Game, with just flailing masses pushing around all near them, pushing me around on my blistered feet and gimped knee, nearly knocking me over before catching an elbow right into the sternum from a fucking psychopath in a tie-dye shirt.
By the way, if you swing your elbows in a mosh pit, you’re an asshole.
This hit was the final straw, after a long and exhausting day. Couldn’t breathe, could barely stand, had to get the fuck out. I fought my way out of the crowd close to hyperventilating and trying my hardest not to pass out, made it over to a water salesman (lewis black’s voice spasms to life in my head) and managed to get to a nearby seat in the shade. I think this was the rest of the set list:
The Fever
Blackjack (at this point, huge inflated pills were pushed into the crowd, one black and later one pink)
Spread Eagle Cross The Block
Retrograde (the 109 gif thing)
System Blower
I’ve Seen Footage
Takyon (this is the loudest song I have ever heard live, louder than that one time Gogol Bordello’s “Mishto” ruptured a pipe at House of Blues)
Get Got
Hacker
Fermata over Whole Rest 