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Six Feet Under | Commandment | review | metal | Lollipop

Six Feet Under

Commandment (Metal Blade)
by Martin Popoff

Seems like forever that tangled metal shaman Chris Barnes has been away, but now he's back, seriously contemplating death - his own and others; fearing those last moments in fact - and coming up with quaint haiku origamis, thorns concealed, in which to place his gruesome thoughts. Guitarist Steve Swanson chuckles along, writing simple, square-ish riffs and then handing them to Erik Rutan to bleach and otherwise sanitize. Bassist Terry Butler and drummer Greg Gall play along as well, locked in step, Greg, and these songs, most comfortable when mid-paced but double-bassed, Six Feet Under contemplating their navel smothered by an accessible churn of memorable songs written almost modestly. I've always dug their lack of ego, and it's always been icing on the cake that you could hear Barnes' half-amusing, half-troubled musings, despite that wise and grand and gurgly voice of his. By the way, he's kept the creaky higher caws to a minimum, sticking with his curmudgeonly grumble. Oh, the humanity of a meat puppet stressing over his inevitable deterioration!


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