For untold years and scores of LPs, vocalist
Chris Barnes and the other members of
Six Feet Under have never seen any reason to apologize for their oftentimes predictable, experimentation-averse, even generic brand of death metal -- the group's very simplicity has been its calling card, in fact. But, naturally, this stance has polarized fans into love/hate factions, with very little wiggle room to be had for either argument; you get it or you don't, and no amount of arguing will ever bridge the two opinions. So why don't we cut down to the chase here, save the haters some precious time, and let them know that 2012's
Undead will probably fail to change their minds…thanks for coming, folks, be seeing you, drive home safe. Now, as for everyone else who actually digs
Six Feet Under for reasons known or unknown, rest assured that
Undead is, well, pretty good. No, not every song embeds itself into the ol' memory banks (e.g. "Molest Dead," "Missing Victims," "Vampire Apocalypse," etc.), but several others keep things interesting by sheer force of their well-assembled riffery ("Formaldehyde"), counterpoint guitar work and belated payoff ("Blood on My hands"), groovy rot & roll slam-dancing ("Reckless"), or merely
Barnes' oddly lovable roars ("Delayed Combustion Device," and others). Heck, the dreadlocked old goat is sort of like that wacky uncle (if he sounded like, you know, Cookie Monster) that keeps things interesting for the family: you can't really miss him ‘cos he won't go away, but you still invite the old coot for kicks on Thanksgiving. The same is true, in roundabout fashion, of
Six Feet Under, even if
Undead, like most of their albums, makes better stuffing than cranberry sauce. Who doesn't like a little stuffing now and then? ~ Eduardo Rivadavia