By Dylan Masvidal | Staff Writer
I’m sure you’ve heard it from a wise, MTV Generation member of your family more than once: “I was [blank] when ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ came out.”
The tired truth remains that in September 1991, Nirvana became the face of an era in a flash. Grunge was now the monoculture. With a movement this explosive, tearing up the inside of homes across America, it was time to say goodbye to the Motley Crues and MC Hammers of the world and say hello to the Melvins and Method Man.
Kurt Cobain’s tragic passing on April 5, 1994, would abruptly cut the revolution short. But, somewhere in the ravaged town of Bakersfield, California, Korn was beginning to grow, splitting off from the rest of the crop in their truly alien style that would eventually rule the airwaves.
And thanks to a shared love of motocross with Korn producer Ross Robinson, an artist who fell victim to the grunge movement now had one more grab at the brass ring.
Vanilla Ice, the fifth ninja turtle, had already faded into obscurity by 1998, going from multi-platinum at his peak to a box-office bomb on his way out. Leave the past behind, as they say, because Ice is back with a brand new—I mean borrowed invention on “Hard to Swallow”.
The jokes do occasionally write themselves.
There are many reasons why this experiment was never going to work, and they’re all tied to who Ice is and what he represents.
How can you be subversive when you’re the poster boy for selling out?
Admittedly, addressing this creative conundrum could have given the album some serious mileage, but alas, Ice isn’t concerned with answering such ridiculous claims.
Instead, he’d rather use the opening track, “Living”, to mention how his “lyrics might be simplistic, but he’s no simp” and recycle a verse from four years prior.
“Hard to Swallow” is a well of laughable writing choices that never dries up, like on “F*ck Me” where Ice awkwardly references Ginuwine (“you tried to ride me like a pony”) or the dull, insipid stonerisms of “Zig Zag Stories” (“it gets me high like the sky”).
Nü-metal acts never had the best reputation when it came to lyrical content, choosing to double down on the primal catharsis felt through their vocal delivery and dissonant sonics. Even with that in mind, Ice makes Crazy Town and Coal Chamber sound like Lennon & McCartney.
A damaging lack of noteworthy arrangements doesn’t help the album’s case either.
Robinson supplied Ice with a ragtag bunch of talented genre musicians, most notably Snot guitarist Sonny Mayo, who are sleepwalking through the record, waiting for the check to clear.
Songs follow one another with no bite, no worthwhile attempt at crafting a sticky groove or showing off their fiery technique. It’s all very subdued, and you can’t really blame them. Working around Vanilla Ice and his skillset doesn’t scream session goldmine.
Whatever this album does well is marked by a boulder-sized asterisk.
“Scars” is a commendable swing at unpacking personal trauma from Ice, coming to terms with being a child of divorce and expressing disdain towards his absent, abusive father, accompanied by one of the more robust instrumentals on the album. However, once the chorus kicks in, it becomes angsty to the point of parody.
While I can beg for forgiveness all I want, it won’t change the fact that I thoroughly enjoy the Soundgarden-esque guitar tones on “The Horny Song”. If you’re wondering how clever Ice’s writing is on this song, look at how much effort he put in naming the damn thing.
Maybe there was genuine drive from Ice to reclaim his image and prove the industry gave him a bad rap, not his own doing. Yet no amount of wishful thinking could hide his serious artistic shortcomings or his inability to be original.
Worst of all, he failed to notice his transformation into, again, another caricature, just in a different font.
DISASTER/10
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