You can see where this is going. Usually an open-ended question such as this would induce flames like fists, a virtual free-for-all that would play itself out until all opinions were extinguished. When all was said and done, however, one name monopolized the (dis)honor: Six Feet Under.
Yet who can blame these rabid armchair critics - in many ways, Six Feet Under is as candyass as death metal gets. I imagine "non-threatening" is a slightly less loaded phrase. Regardless of how one shines it up and glosses it over, the band draws little to no respect from the death metal masses, an opinion only fortified by its recent inclusion onto this summer's Van's Warped Tour.
Just what is it that stokes the ire of the band's detractors, blasting the new album without so much as a precursory listen? Not the lyrics since Maximum Violence is just that, a bludgeoning return to form of sorts for resident sicko and vocal cookie monster Chris Barnes, who has crafted some well spun ditties of cannibalism, mass murder, serial killing and even open wound intercourse. Perhaps it is the song structures around which these grotesque tales wrap themselves, simplistic riffs and thuds built around a "verse-chorus-verse" framework seldom accepted by fans of extreme metal.
My initial reaction to this bastard son of Angus Young and Bill Steer was one of disinterest. But my how this thing has grown on me, despite the unremarkable and rather silly covers that adorn the CD - Barnes growling his rendition of Thin Lizzy's "Jailbreak" borders on retarded. But for every butchered cover is a song like "Feasting on the Blood of the Insane," the album opener and quite possibly the catchiest death metal tune I've ever listened to. I know this sounds weird, but it practically bounces from the speakers, Barnes spouting out a rhythmic delivery that coalesces perfectly with the music. Other favorites include the paean to dismemberment, "Bonesaw," and "No Warning Shot," whose chorus succinctly sums up the general vibe of the song and the entire album: "Die, motherfucker, die, die."
Despite song structures more suitable to pop than death metal and a degree, however limited, of commercial success, I would hesitate to ascribe the tag "sell-out" to Six Feet Under, regardless of greater media exposure. Say what you will about the hip-hop fetish of Chris Barnes - Maximum Violence - neither the album of the year nor a bellwether forging new ground in the genre - is contagious.
