Polar Bear or Silver Fox?
Having never really cared about them one way or another, I never thought I'd love one of their albums, but Durst moves in mysterious ways. I requested Gold Cobra from PopMatters (my review's here) thinking I'd be able to quickly turn around a review comprised of insults and douchebag jokes. You can see I have uncompromising professional standards. But no: Gold Cobra is really good, and it's quickly threatening to turn into a Security Blanket album for me, the kind of CD I need to keep in the car or in the backpack at all times, just in case. Sort of like Cathedral, Ke$ha, and Jamey Johnson were last year. Which, if you're connecting the dots, probably means I'll end up voting for Limp Bizkit in any year-end critics' poll that comes my way. I love life.
From the pretentious Proust-quoting review, which is already garnering articulate and constructive reader comments:
Bizkit’s music, played here by their original lineup, clarifies and specifies Durst’s rage. As plenty of reviews last decade sheepishly pointed out, Limp Bizkit are actually a Good Band. They’ll nod your head. Guitarist Wes Borland pulls off one huge catchy riff after another, and he and DJ Lethal add sound effects that alter their songs subtly and not-so-subtly. (“Shotgun” ends with an Andes flute playing “There’s a Place in France” over a beat made entirely of shotgun sounds. Badass.) The rhythm section’s bottom end is fatter than your girlfriend.
That reminds me! Limp Bizkit have some unreasonable expectations of women. Specifically, if Limp Bizkit attend a party, they expect that there will be nine women for every one of them, and that these women will undress, enter a swimming pool together, and kiss one another. I think they request this stuff in their tour rider. Frankly, with Odd Future innovating the field of female objectification every day, Bizkit’s imaginations seem a little quaint.
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