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Hellbilly Deluxe Duane Ambroz
I decided the best way to review Hellbilly Deluxe was to visit my cousin Stu in Dixmoor, Illinois, where he resides in a bachelor-pad, double-wide trailer in the De-Lux Trailer Court. Stu quit developing his musical tastes somewhere about 1992, and knowing that White Zombie is one of his favorite bands, I thought he might be able to offer some insight into the new Rob Zombie record. So I parked my Buick next to his 1975 Monte Carlo-- the $100 car with the $1000 stereo-- and was welcomed in by Stu, clad in greasy blue jeans and a Megadeth t-shirt. Seeing as the trailer was littered with fast food wrappers and old Budweiser cans, and Stu was having a hard time getting that Habitrail bong of his to work, I proposed that we take a cruise and give the new Rob Zombie disc a listen. He was hungry anyway, so we left his dog to work over the old pizza boxes and we hit the road. Of course, that meant putting up with the car-seat springs poking me in the ass every time we hit a pothole, but what the fuck? "Oh, man, this new White Zombie album absolutely kicks ass!" Stu exclaimed as we sped down Western Avenue to the sounds of "Superbeast" and "Dragula." "This isn't White Zombie," I corrected. "It's Rob Zombie. Seems he decided he could somehow grow artistically without the rest of the band holding him back, so he ditched them. But I wholeheartedly understand your confusion. The industrial rhythms, the power-tool guitars, the deep, raspy vocals. It sounds exactly like a White Zombie record. The only thing different is the size of his ego." "This guy is so cool man, singing about monsters and flesheaters and killing and stuff." "Yeah, well, Rob's been doing that for over ten years now, but don't you think he did it better on La Sexorcisto? At least on that record, he sang about things besides 'Return of the Attack of Frankenstein's Dracula Zombie Girlfriend.' He sang about cars and sex, you know, really white-trashy things. And it was fun. I blew the speakers in my car with that record. On this record, he's going only for the B-movie schlock and it's not working. It actually sounds sophomoric and silly. Reminds me of one of those "The Monster Speaks" or "Monster Mash" records I had as a kid, just with a lot more swearing. It's a parody of White Zombie records. This is the record that the kid who drew pentagrams on his notebook in high school would have gone on to make." Stu didn't care about what I had to say. He was playing drums on the steering wheel and thrashing his head back and forth while listening to "Meet the Creeper." Funny, I thought we were still listening to "Superbeast." Amazingly, the order taker at the drive-thru window got Stu's order correct, even with "What Lurks on Channel X" blaring at about 300 decibels. Courtesy of the parking lot lights, I took some time to look over the sleeve artwork. It's a combination of horror comic parody and weird artwork and photography. Actually, the sleeve booklet is a lot better than the disc is. After a fine cruise through the south suburbs of Chicago, and a Quarter Pounder complete with exhaust fumes and smoldering motor oil, it was time to bid Stu a good eve ning. I told him to keep the disc, complements of me. "Thanks, dude, you're the shit!" Since Stu is a big fan of White Zombie, I knew he would appreciate it. And he's the only type of person that will appreciate it. Steer clear of this one, and my cousin Stu too. He's been in two accidents since he got that Monte. Exactly as many accidents Rob Zombie's been in since La Sexorcisto. One more, and Rob has to surrender his artistic license. We'll all be safer when that happens.
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