Release Date: Jun 28, 2011
Record label: Interscope
Like plenty of rappers before him, Fred Durst feels beset on all sides. Sometimes it seems like that was his main takeaway lesson as a neophyte rapper: “Dude, everyone hates rappers. Run with that.” Who exactly hates the guy, I’m not sure. Limp Bizkit haven’t done much lately—Gold Cobra is their first album since 2005—but a mid-career slump doesn’t equal the trials of Job.
Dust off your red baseball caps, Limp Bizkit are back... Yes, they’re back! Breakdowns, generic drop D guitar from Wes Borland, ridiculous lyrics from the Durster (“here is the shout to you ladies with the hot tits courtesy of Limp Bizkit on some rock shit” – ‘Shotgun’) and even a spot of light jazz on the outro to ‘Douche Bag’. This is Limp Bizkit’s fifth album and, you’ve guessed it, it’s exactly what you would expect from the Floridian nu metallers / rap rockers.
Coming to the conclusion that The Unquestionable Truth was so powerful it never needed the promised second volume, Limp Bizkit went on hiatus during the back half of the 2000s, with leader Fred Durst finding far more critical acclaim as a film director than he ever did as a singer. Despite these grudging hosannas, Durst felt compelled to reunite the Bizkit, to wipe away the memories of the bungled prog of The Unquestionable Truth and the Wes Borland-less "Repeat as Necessary," to find a way to tap into the anger that started the whole ball rolling. A tough task for any band, but apart from dabbling with Auto-Tune -- the quivering electronic vocal effect that gets skewered on “AutoTunage” -- Limp Bizkit is intent on rolling back the clock and returning to the full-throttled attack of Three Dollar Bill Y’All.
First and foremost, full disclosure. At the turn of the millennium, a wave engulfed America — a tsunami of braggadocio, skank walks, mosh pits, and general “on the offensive” mentalities. This hodgepodge of funk, rap, punk, and hard rock was known as nu-metal, and drop-D tuning plus confrontational lyrics became the hot commodity. Is it the most depth-defying? No.
It’s difficult to believe [a]Limp Bizkit[/a] could return after all this time somehow even more hateful than before. Yet, by witlessly sticking to what was once termed ‘nu-metal’, a genre now hopelessly old and even less subtle, it’s really beyond parody: it ends up just ugly.Things reach some kind of dark nadir with [b]‘Douche Bag’[/b] and its chorus line, the charming, “[i]I’mma fuck you up, fuck you fuck you fuck you up[/i]”. Then, as if to balance things out with some Tyler-style self-loathing, we’re subjected to the grimy navel-gaze that is [b]‘My Own Cobain’[/b], which is offensive on an entirely different level.
Rap-rockers return with excitable, if not exciting, new album. Ian Winwood 2011 If Kurt Cobain hadn’t killed himself, were he to listen to the song My Own Cobain, a bonus track on Limp Bizkit’s first album since the commercial disaster that was 2005’s questionable The Unquestionable Truth (Part 1), he would quite possibly consider ending it all. Loading up on self-pity, presumptuousness, and a lyrical cack-handedness that would shame a stag party, frontman Fred Durst equates his own mindset with that of the erstwhile frontman of Nirvana.