If you need proof that "bad press" as a concept is largely a thing of the past, look no further than Death Grips. The shifting collective—sometimes a trio, occasionally a duo, and at one point consisting of no members at all—have spent the last two years staging a public, low-level coup on people's attention spans that, in terms of subversiveness, has fallen somewhere between egging someone's house and stealing your neighbor's WiFi. Their actions have scanned as humorous, aggressive, contemptible, and puerile—sometimes all at once—and despite any high-minded claims, the ends to the means have been excellent promotion for a body of work that's proved increasingly confounding. Their first record, 2011's Exmilitary, remains their most overlooked work even as it represents Death Grips at their most elemental, a potent, nasty mix of blasted rap figures, percussive mania, and corroded noise that smacked of a modern-day Judgment Night soundtrack fe