Annoying rap-core album better off ‘Dead’

I have to confess up front that I am an avid proponent of zombies. Their insatiable hunger for human flesh, their incessant moaning, their rabid rate of reproduction, their utter disregard for both life and death, I soak it up. They’re the ultimate villains: mindless assassins who are completely content just to smash stuff up. I get pretty psyched when presented with anything “undead,” and, naturally, my first impression of a band named Hollywood Undead was sheer glee. Kind of like an audiotape version of “28 Days Later,” right? No.

It’s hard to pin down any one message behind a masked band that has written only a handful of original songs, but there is a message here. Plainly stated, Hollywood Undead embody the confused offshoots of a leisure generation that’s finally regressed back to a method of release beyond video games. This Los Angeles sextet finally left their mother’s basement, but what are they supposed to do in a world where they can’t immediately shoot anyone who looks at them awkwardly or has a really nice car?

Desperate Measures, Hollywood Undead’s second LP, was sold with a companion DVD, likely to cover for the fact that the album only contains three new songs. The songs illustrate the misplaced mindless aggression that appears in games like Grand Theft Auto, but I’m not so sure even a cyber-world would fully embrace a group so abundantly crass and self-indulgent. They play on every stereotypical party meme, from keg stands to “panties dropping,” and to prove the extent of their fantasy/reality, they “don’t even care if [they’re] the designated driver.” They laud the fact that they drank “two bottles of Jack” in “an ’88 Cadillac,” and at one point claim they’re too hard to “pack a pistol”, but take note that if you “keep runnin’ mouth,” you’re likely to “catch a fistful.” However, later on the singer confesses, “I ain’t here to shake things up / But I got my hand on my gun,” so maybe they’re that hard only some of the time.

They exhibit a perverse conception of anarchy. Self-described as “rap-core,” they combine the deplorable elements of modern Top 40 music: uninspired rhymes, lazy electronic hooks and a contrived, mysterious persona. Say what you want about Asher Roth, but at least “I Love College” contained a hint of tongue-in-cheek liveliness. Nixing any level of artistic legitimacy for shock value, Desperate Measures is oppressively awful.

The difference between angst and rage can be boiled down to literacy; but to even the most angst-ridden bands, Hollywood Undead is an abomination. I spent a solid seven months in high school carrying around nothing but Operation Ivy’s Energy, so their choice to cover “Bad Town” was an especially hard pill to swallow. Their new version is a full actualization of their insatiable appetite for attention. The trumpets, guitars and vocals are so clean that they lose the unapologetic garishness that made Operation Ivy’s unifying anthem so effective to begin with. Instead of an upheaval of earnest disenfranchisement and unrest, the cover is a trite commentary on how gentrification is not limited to University Square.

However, it would be irresponsible journalism not to give credit where credit is due. After all, I’d be letting my adoration blind me if I said that zombies could create more intelligent music. The undead have undergone many incarnations, and a mindless rage might be the only trait they all have in common. And, at the end of the day, Hollywood Undead did provide a useful lesson. As much as I love watching zombies from afar, there’s a reason everyone runs when they see them coming.