Fletcher Pratt used to make sound collages in his early teens using nothing more than a ghettoblaster and its buttons, but years later, armed with a sequencer and electrical engineering expertise, his music is a beast much more sinister. Deathdubs doesn’t flinch. Deathdubs doesn’t even seem human. Throughout five monolithic tracks, three backed by beats too cerebral to be witch house or hip-hop, Pratt casts the shadow-selves of those genres. Resonance sliders, reverb, and digital delay aggressively take the front seat on this horrific road trip, while melodies and song structure are drugged out in the back.