Limp Bizkit - Gold Cobra

Thu 14th Jul, 2011 in Music Reviews

The year 2000 was an interesting time to be a music fan. On the cusp of a brand new millennium, boy bands were imploding, Britney Spears’ virginity was possibly still intact and nu metal was reaching its commercial apex. Sitting atop the pile of the latter’s angsty rapping rockers were Jacksonville, Florida misfits, Limp Bizkit. Despite record breaking sales, their star would begin to wane over the next five years and the band to took a hiatus in 2005. Now Limp Bizkit are back with Gold Cobra, and they don’t give a fuck.

If you are foreign to Fred Durst’s fuck giving policy, don’t fret; he’s about to tell you many times on a record that is fuelled by his trademark boasting. Durst’s flow hasn’t progressed since his last appearance on record and his rhymes range from awkward boasting to threatening his critics, but by reading into the cringe worthy lyrics, like Douchebag’s “bring the horror, I ain’t scared, you’re about as scary as a freak at a fair,” you are missing potential fun that these testosterone soaked songs have. Limp Bizkit are shooting straight for your hips not your head and at times, despite your brain’s protest, you will find your body bobbing along as the band put their middle finger up to anything above the lowest common denominator.

The band behind Durst are the root of success for the albums more enjoyable songs, the tight rhythm section of drummer John Otto and bass player Sam Rivers are responsible for getting under your skin, but it’s guitarist Wes Borland who deserves the most credit for making the album interesting. His adventurous riffs and tones evoke the groups aggressive mid 90’s sound more than the meathead riffs of their Chocolate Starfish and the Hot Dog Flavoured Water heyday. In keeping with their older sound, DJ Lethal is almost nonexistent other than in between song interludes and skits.

The group’s chemistry is best shown on album highlight Shotgun and, with its terrific groove, twisted guitar solo and a healthy layer of cheese from Durst as he gives a “shout to the ladies with the hot tits,” you’re almost laughing with them, not at them. But unfortunately, for an album serving up 13 tracks plus four bonus songs, these moments are few and far between. The Australian bonus tracks slip into MOR alt-rock ballads, with lyrics seemingly pulled from a teenage poetry slam and an appearance by Paul Wall on Middle Finger that does nothing but reinforce Durst’s limited MC skills.

Gold Cobra’s biggest undoing comes when they are at their most aggressive. Get A Life kills the fun vibe of the album when Durst ignoring his claims that he doesn’t care what people think as he screams knife related threats at his critics, while Walking Away, a Tool-aping power ballad, climaxes in a series of exhausting screams. This anger seems petty and trivial on an album that spends most of its time telling you how amazing the band is.

Limp Bizkit have produced an album that is easily better than most were expecting but that fails to reach the corny heights of their early 2000s peak. There are a handful of tracks that will please nostalgic older listeners and young teenagers with angst to burn but the band misstep too often. Gold Cobra is not going to top any best album lists at the end of the year, but I imagine Limp Bizkit don’t give a fuck.