Onyx should have been one-and-done. There’s no need for a second album when your debut is this self-contained and focused. Onyx — four New York baldheads dressed all in black, grimacing at every camera in range — delivered their lines in a hoarse, frantic shout, insisting that they were the baddest ghetto warriors on earth, that they’d kick your ass or shoot you in the face as soon as look at you, that women existed solely for sex, etc., etc. All this hyper-gangsta posturing was delivered over beats so grimy and pounding they could give you a migraine. Their gang-shout version of hip-hop sat comfortably alongside punk and metal acts like Sick Of It All and Biohazard (with whom they later collaborated), and indeed the absurd violence of their lyrics has more in common with Cannibal Corpse than N.W.A.