Words and Photos by Andrew Parks
Our final dance with the devil that is South by Southwest opened and closed with the same troubling sensation–ears ringing way too loudly, as if someone had decided to do a test of the Emergency Broadcast System in self-titled‘s brains. Our first taste of tinnitus was harmless enough–typical rip-roaring good times from Cloud Nothings–but the second was actually much scarier than the other times we’ve witnessed the demolition men dynamics of Death Grips. Mostly because a stage-diving lunatic accidentally knocked our editor’s glasses clear off his face, but also because of little key details like the surprisingly heavy pill-shaped floatation devices that MC Ride tossed into the whirlpool up front and the general sense that everyone was out for blood. That said, the experience was exhilarating right down to the sound system itself (absolutely massive) and Zach Hill’s Skyped-in drum parts (literally), the closest we’ve seen the Sacramento collective come to realizing their dystopian vision of anti-pop music.
Survey the damage below…
