Probably Bizkit fans, whose idea of a good time is the meandering, narcissistic rap-rock of Fred Durst's money machine. Replacing the singer's rage with a shambling blend of plundering agro-tech and quirky acoustic interludes makes for a confusing cut-and-paste semi-musical experience.
The concept -- if you can even consider it such -- gels most effectively on "Fightin' Stance," where the helium-high and heavy metal-low voices join for a sub-Zappa styled concoction that is about as successful as this album gets.
But things really deteriorate on the obnoxious and insulting final 15 minutes, where Borland wastes our time with a tedius collage of sprawling noises (complete with what seems like real puking) that's as pointless and unlistenable an exercise in self-serving masturbatory claptrap as I've ever experienced. It's also an insult to the Bizkit fans who -- even with marginal expectations -- have every right to hope for a partially professional approach from this ill-advised solo project.
But that's what you get from polishing a turd and expecting something other than hot dog-flavored water. The joke's on us, and it's not funny. In fact, it's a big, dumb slap in the face.
Big dumb Face plays the Masquerade Sat., March 31.
great band good style LOUD.!
Congratulations, Glenn. After all these years, and so many changes in all of our lives,…
I cant believe that no one has pointed out that Lowell George was leader of…
It's probably just Halfsheimers.
"It's Chad...Cliff does food..."
My bad, Chad.
Dang oldtimers' disease.