There’s a very interesting trend throughout Hellbilly Deluxe. And with these, the exposition and conclusion of the play are ever so chillingly set into place, paving way for the actual bulk of the album. Played from beginning to end, Hellbilly Deluxe does, indeed contain all the aesthetics and clichés favored by aged, B-horror movies, starting with “Call of the Zombie”, a short bit of dialogue spoken by the familiar sounding voice of a disturbed little girl, consummated twelve tracks later on the same key with the much less structured, “The Beginning of the End”. To listen to this album, scavenging mercilessly to find any intellectual merit, is to bring a knife to a gunfight.
No, Hellbilly Deluxe derives its fun in the same style administered by a cheesy horror film is, which is very likely its intent. This isn’t fun in the sense that it’s going to dumbfound its listeners with its amazing musicianship and awesome craftsmanship. In fact, I can find no better way to even describe Rob Zombie’s debut solo album, Hellbilly Deluxe, without even thinking the word fun. Applied anywhere else, however, and the thing to which it’s attached is cheapened, weakened, and neutered to a most trivial and revolting state.īut, with any stereotype, there are exceptions, with some of them so contradictory to their binding burdens that it’s difficult to even understand how one can even succumb to such a discriminatory delusion. “Fun” is something that can arguably be loosely – and more often than not, dishonestly – attached to the latest straight-to-video Disney sequel. I hate the word “fun” the way it’s so haphazardly applied to just about any form of media is disgusting.
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