Hol­ly­wood un­dead

V

Classic Rock - - The Hard Stuff Albums - Dom law­son

If you like rap-rock, look away now.

Like a tod­dler proudly show­ing off a soiled nappy, rap-rock scal­ly­wags Hol­ly­wood Un­dead de­liver ev­ery­thing on their fifth al­bum with un­wit­ting zeal. Wel­come to a world where blus­ter and con­vic­tion are con­fused rou­tinely, teen-pop sen­si­bil­i­ties clash hor­ri­bly with an en­er­vat­ing, boor­ish ob­ses­sion with firearms, and the LA crew’s (pre­sum­ably nu­mer­ous) de­trac­tors are tetchily in­vited to “chomp a dick”. Over­all, V makes Limp Bizkit sound like Steely Dan.

A cou­ple of en­joy­ably bel­liger­ent riffs aside, tracks like Rene­gade and Cashed Out of­fer an al­most com­i­cally dim-wit­ted mega-barf of cut­ting-edge, faux­al­ter­na­tive pop-rap trope-mulch, aimed squarely at the oblit­er­ated at­ten­tion spans of the Snapchat ‘n’ fid­get-spin­ner gen­er­a­tion and about as edgy as a boiled egg. When Cy­press Hill/Prophets Of Rage leg­end B-Real turns up on Black Cadil­lac, he in­jects a wel­come dose of au­thor­ity but sounds sin­cerely baf­fled by his own in­volve­ment.

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