Limp Bizkit. Just these two words bring about a sort of nostalgic masculine childhood involving throwing rocks at cars and pissing off rooftops. A time where smoking pot was the shit, nu-metal was daring us to rap and rock at the same time, and Linkin Park had talent. And now, in 2011, we have Gold Cobra, the record that fits comfortably into 1999 but in 2011, feels like an awkward ode to abandoned childhood fantasies that were left away with the alcoholic fathers and bullies of late grade school. In 2011, Limp Bizkit are more than willing to still rock it for- a paycheck and some middle-aged vagina.
This doesn’t necessarily reflect that Gold Cobra is a bad record. It’s not. It’s just hard to remove the knowledge of Limp Bizkit and the comparisons to an older time that makes each track almost bizarre. It’s like if Rage Against the Machine released a new record and it was just as angry and made points to insult George Bush and the Gulf War conflict. The riffs are there, the yelling is there- but it all seems so…dated.
The album starts off strong. Bring It Back is two minutes of Fred Durst’s classic rapping style and a shredding lead guitar lick. The track ends quick- its a powerful punch in the gut and sets an aggressive and by no means surprising tone for the album. Gold Cobra is a decent little shredder, a bit toned down than the last track, with a chorus that is derivative and silly but not out of bounds for Limp Bizkit.
The album has some slower tracks as well, like Walking Away, a tender little ballad that is arranged quite well, changing the mood a bit from the aggressive punch-punch-kick structure of just about every song previous.
Get a Life sees the group at their most introspective, and by introspective, I mean pissed as fuck. But the track is weird, using some sort of mystical breakdown narrated by a deep-voiced man halfway through. It’s jarring and bizarre and makes for a hell of a track. Shark Attack is instantly translatable and reminiscent of classic Bizkit.
I want to say that Gold Cobra is immature. I want to say that it’s stale, dated, and silly. It uses all the Bizkit cliches the group are known for. Fred Durst still curses to the point of being comical. Wes Borland still crunches his guitar and tears some formidable licks under the white little boy rapping of Durst. And the group still uses electronic riffs when appropriate and delivers some by the books Limp Bizkit tracks that make no steps to advancing their sound. This is fine. This is expected. About 7 years after some proper material from the group, fans appreciate a throwback to the chocolate starfish, the nookie, the Limp Bizkit of a time forever gone. For what it is, the album rocks. It’s metal enough, mainstream enough, and nostalgic enough to earn some listens. But it’s just the sound from a band years past their prime and trying to inflate their power-hungry anger to a new audience. The truth is, you’ve heard this album. If you know anything about Limp Bizkit, you’ve heard every song and already know what you think about it. If the group is anything, their consistent to a point of being a parody. Rock on.
Keepers for the IPOD
Get a Life
Bring it Back