Just by looking at this photo, you can take a wild guess that Hollywood Undead could be a bunch of tossers. What is this? Primark Slipknot? V For Vendetta gone street, dawg? A particular favourite is the dude with blue cap on who could be the new breed of DEVO inspired terrorist.
Might they be wearing masks to hide their identities from the myriad of LA gangsters that want their skins for hitting on their bitches? The masks are simply for “air of mystery”, which is a let-down, and they kinda blow that shtick by frequently performing maskless. Perhaps because they want the ho’s to recognise them afterwards…
The best fact about HU is that they just maybe fronted by “two blokes from Loughton”, according to Wikipedia. Yup, Essex. You couldn’t make it up.
Hollywood Undead have all the makings of a disaster – god awful lyrics with a level of misogyny that would make Germaine Greer pop her clogs, dreadful style as evidenced above (think Kingston brat meets Hannibal Lector… f-f-f-f-aux pas), and music that has its roots in a weird hybrid of Linkin Park and Backstreet Boys.
Already anyone with an ounce of cool (acquired or imagined) have turned their noses up at the very notion of this band before pushing pencils in their ears so they won’t have to continue listening. Part Eminem, part boy band, HU veer manically between harmonies that require full scale dance routines, and MC’d cartoony takes on a thug’s life. “Oh my gawd,” squawk the cool kids, as the words ‘Ladies drink em fast so I could have a blast, you got your beer gogs on and I’m gettin ass’ boom past them with equal parts macho enthusiasm and tongue in cheek sassiness. “Who the fuck is this? Are you serious?”
The level of testosterone in their songs would make Liberace turn into a body builder; bitches, tits, ass, fucking, and skanks feature every few lines, prompting some hmming and hawing over how much is artistic license. Half of LA’s females must have been bedmates if Hollywood Undead are as sexually prodigious as they holler. Their view of the world is so one-dimensional that pop-up books would send them into an existential tail-spin. They plunge the ‘young, dumb and full of cum’ adage to new lows. Their politics in the face of a new President, a state with a problematic gun culture, and recession and violence on the rise feels more like a montage from a Terminator film; flashy, shallow and second-hand.
I should be out on the street corner wearing a sandwich board and wielding a megaphone, screaming a boycott on Hollywood Undead like I was Tipper Gore on a rampage. I should be fitting a hot chick with a vagina dentata who will lure each one of them to bed. But instead I find myself playing their album ‘Swan Songs’ repeatedly, REPEATEDLY!, day in and day out. I find myself flicking some crazy street hand gestures, walking with a swagger and fighting the desire to install bass bins in my apartment that would blow out the windows.
I want to hate Hollywood Undead, but I am instead thrilled by their flawless production, skillful mix of pop melodies and industrial beats, their cracker sensibilites and bad boy personas. I love that their fans go absolutely bonkers and it seems to incite a Bacchanalian frenzy that would drive an ITV producer to make a documentary about the breakdown of morality in teenagers. I love that they have no qualms about making songs that are on par with a Bruckheimer production (big explosions, no storyline worth noting) and flaunt their sex, drugs & rap n’ roll lifestyle in an 80s hairspray metal manner. If they retain the same sense of humour off-stage as they do within their songs, then their frat-boy mentality might just entirely endear coz, let’s face it, we all loved Stifler and HU are a 12 legged version of that incredulous creation.
So infectious and frighteningly catchy are their songs (‘Undead’ and ‘No.5′ are major culprits) that there is every chance you’ll see me happily mouthing the words ‘Never claimed that I knew how to dance but I’ll get drunk, get high, and pull down my pants. So fuck 5 bucks just fill up my cup. Don’t kiss me bitch you just threw up’ like I was reciting poetry.
I was partially ashamed of my sudden obsession with this band. My kudos was last seen climbing out the window and running helplessly around East London begging for a new owner. Yet, I’ve always loved the underdog. If the hepcats think it’s mega, then I can’t help but despise it. Nu-rave, anyone? So I shall stand up and say, I’m on this strange new group even if they are inciting Exorcist style reaction in the cool ranks. Bring me a hockey mask spraypainted pink and I’ll be proud.
www.myspace.com/hollywoodundead
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