These thin, bassy themes that draw all the assorted, mysterious, bedroom/dank-underground-nightclub dwelling producers together are what makes their music so tempting and curious: sounding dusty, dark and broken, yet innovative and new.
Grobbie may want to re-think his stage name at some point in the future (or not – Chaka Demus and Pliars got to number one whilst using their clunky monikers, so what do I know?) but whether his name conjours up images of expectorated phlegm or not, you can’t help but be swept away with the relentless ebb and flow of Grounded.
There are few occasions where such overwhelmingly cavernous bass is acceptable: Grounded has pulled off a minor miracle in making the devastating drone of the bassline essential.
This is a song that never climbs from its lows, and deliberately wallows in the beautifully murky depths.
Grobbie‘s hearing must be permanently shot after producing a track as wholeheartedly dense as this. We all must suffer for our art. Near-perfect deathly rumble-pop.