Album Of The Week: clipping. CLPPNG

The minute the L.A. trio clipping. emerged, combining clinically precise raps with assaultive squalls of electro-noise, they invited comparison to another California group, Death Grips. But those comparisons don't work, and the main reason is also the main reason I can't stand Death Grips. Here's the thing: clipping. are, on some level, a rap group, and Death Grips are not. Stefan Burnett doesn't really rap; he bellows and harangues and booms out cryptic slogans. He uses his voice as a blunt weapon, crashing his way through tracks, forcing you to pay attention. And his delivery is really closer to an industrial carnival-barker type, a guy like Al Jourgenson or Pigface's Martin Atkins, than it is to, I don't know, Kurupt. Daveed Diggs of clipping., on the other hand, is a rapper, a fast-darting double-time specialist who, in a more innocent era, would've probably found a home in one of those lamented West Coast underground crews. He's someone who thinks hard about cadence, about keeping his voice in the pocket of the beat -- even when the beat is really just the insistent, alarming beep-beep-beep of a truck backing up. And in a week when both Death Grips and clipping. have new music out, the contrast is stark. Death Grips have plenty of admirers around these parts, but clipping.'s sharp, mean constructions and their layered signifier play strike me as being a way deeper, more interesting achievement than what Death Grips do with niggas on the moon. And there are moments when CLPPNG is even a fun listen. Don't worry, though. They don't last long.