Defending Fred Durst: Why Limp Bizkit’s frontman is an underrated rapper
Nu-metal is a near-forgotten subgenre of music. The yesteryear era of baggy khaki shorts, bike chains, spiky dyed hair, and backward New Era baseball caps, moshing to the smooshed warblings of crunchy guitars and tokenistic rapping/DJing has been keenly swept under the mainstream rug. But from the late 90’s to mid-2000’s, the likes of Korn, Linkin Park, P.O.D, and Papa Roach ruled the radio airways.
The undisputed kings of 00’s nu-metal, more specifically rap-rock/rap metal, were the Multi-Platinum-selling Limp Bizkit. Their albums Significant Other (1999) and Chocolate Starfish and the Hot Dog Flavoured Water (2000) were the peak of their dominance: the former delivered hit singles “Nookie” and “Break Stuff” and scored them two Grammy nominations; the latter gifted the world “My Generation”, “Rollin”, “My Way”, and the Mission Impossible II theme song “Take a Look Around” — which notched them a third Grammy nod.
Limp Bizkit’s core lineup, like all great bands — yes, I didn’t mistype, great—is the sum of unique musicians, each with a signature sound: John Otto’s bone-rattling mix of boom-bap and head-banging percussion; Sam Rivers’s heavy stank-face funk basslines; DJ Lethal’s frenetic (and sometimes buried) cuts and scratches; most significantly Wes Borland’s experimental and disorienting syncopated vibrato riffs and licks; and all of this crowned (in a red Yankee fitted) by Fred Durst’s blend of skater boy scream vocals and b-boy rhyming.
Since their heyday, Limp Bizkit has undergone some lineup changes. A major sonic disruption was when Wes left for a couple of years. But their original lineup’s been restored since the 2005 EP The Unquestionable Truth (Part 1) — despite a brief hiatus in the late noughties, and Sam Rivers dropping off from touring between 2015 and 2019 due to illness.
In 2021, 24 years after their debut album Three Dollar Bill Y’all, John, Sam, Lethal, Wes, and Fred released the hilariously titled Still Sucks — their first album since 2011’s Gold Cobra. The newest release’s title suggests a self-aware but unapologetic middle finger to Limp Bizkit’s detractors. The “we’re over the hill, and we don’t care” energy is self-evident with record names like: “Out of Style”, “Dad Vibes”, and “Love the Hate.”
This latest album starts strong — all first four tracks slap — but it drastically dips in the middle, courtesy of multiple tracks coming in at around the 2-minute mark. Some songs feel more like skits. “Love the Hate” is essentially a shitposting Reddit thread in real time. But when it works, Still Sucks is Limp Bizkit doing what they do best: keeping nu-metal alive — the sub-genre that simply will not die even though its glory days might be impossible to recapture.
What’s curious about Still Sucks is its dedication to laughing in the face of Limp Bizkit haters. We’re now 20+ years after the band’s 15 minutes of fame — highly influential, however brief — sorry boys, I’ll always love you. This album feels like a time capsule. Surely people still aren’t laying into the Florida collective? But in the wake of their recent album release, what feels more under scrutiny, and what’s always been the target on Limp Bizkit’s back, is Fred’s rapping ability. Subsequently, the band still appears to be shaking their perceived cultural appropriation of hip-hop.
That’s where I want to set the record straight, and clear Fred Durst from hip-hop’s culture vulture shame list. I won’t argue that rhyming “nookie” with “cookie” is genius lyricism. I won’t argue that the “redneck fucker from Jacksonville” is a great rapper. But I am about to prove, hands down that, while he may be a limited one (and, I admit, sometimes a corny one), Fred Durst is not a bad rapper.
And here’s the case why.
Yikes, yikes, baby: a note on white rappers
Vanilla Ice. Iggy Azalea. Kevin Federline. Riff Raff. Etcetera. There’s a long list of white rappers who are god-awful.
Fred Durst is not one of them.
But, honestly, the problem with white rappers isn’t their penmanship as “emcees”. The problem is that even if they are good, the fact that they’re white is used as a crutch: “Man, he/she raps well for a white boy/girl.”
They’re not new to the genre, but white people are guests in the culture of hip-hop. Take Eminem (kinda) clearing the air with Lord Jamar as proof. Being a guest and wanting extra attention for how well-behaved you are is a slap in the face of hip-hop. It’s a position of privilege and entitlement: “My handicap is I’m not native to this culture. Yet I’m good at it anyway. Give me extra credit for reverse discrimination.” Yawn.
Take it from somebody who has freestyled in ciphers with emcees from all over the world: nobody cares if you’re white. They care if you can rap. Or they care if you want them to make a big deal out of the fact that you’re white and you can rap.
There’s a big difference between “he’s/she’s a good rapper who’s white” and “he’s/she’s a good rapper who happens to be white.” I’ve already name-dropped a few proven culture vultures. Vanilla Ice is the safest and quickest example. His appropriation of hip-hop is clear. Some throw Fred Durst into the same bucket. But Fred is an example of a good rapper who happens to be white — and also just happens to be in a nu-metal band.
Fred ain’t no joke: a misunderstood student of hip-hop’s golden era
When Macklemore featured Melle Mel, Grandmaster Caz, and Kool Moe Dee on “Downtown”, it appeared the “hip-hop villain” was letting the world know he’d done his due diligence and studied the annals of hip-hop. Melle Mel even called out J. Cole, Kendrick Lamar, and Jay-Z for not reaching out in the same way: “Nobody made that connection until Macklemore made the connection.”
The problem with this trio of hip-hop pioneers featuring on what turned out to be a hit single was they were buried in the song and stacked on top of each other. All three rappers sharing their two verses was intentional, we get that; a way of capturing the ensemble early days of 70’s hip-hop. But asking three stalwarts to appear in a pretty unprecedented collab, and share vocal time, feels tokenistic and exploitative. Especially when you consider Macklemore gets three verses and the song clocks in at just under the five-minute mark. Sure, it’s his record, but if you have the OGs on your song, have the OGs on your song!
Current flavours of the month collaborating with big names, because they can, is nothing new. Sometimes odd pairings deliver incredible results. But it’s pretty transparent when a featured artist is rolled in to lend credibility to the lead. You can spot an insincere duet a mile away. What gets the seal of approval is obscure or specific featured artists where it’s clear that the main star wants to work with an influence or an idol. And it works.
I now want to draw your attention to the hip-hop alumni with whom Limp Bizkit has collaborated: Method Man, DJ Premier, Xzibit, DMX (RIP), Redman, Timbaland, E-40, 8-Ball, Snoop Dogg, Raekwon, DJ Mathematics (Wu-Tang Clan), Lil’ Wayne.
Sure, some of these could be label-mandated to drive sales and lend hip-hop credibility. It may appear no different to Katy Perry working with Migos, Miley Cyrus working with Wiz Khalifa and Juicy J, or Ed Sheeran working with Stormzy. But Limp Bizkit’s feature artists are consistent, not opportunistic one-offs. And it goes deeper than these collaborations.
Throughout Limp Bizkit’s discography, there are many homages to hip-hop. This is no secret. It’s the “Break Stuff” cameos from Snoop Dogg, Dr. Dre, and Eminem (before Slim Shady’s beef with Fred and Lethal — spillover from his beef with Everlast — Em argues a lot), that opened up Limp Bizkit to a broader audience.
DJ Lethal’s spot on the Limp Bizkit roster is an easter egg itself. The former DJ for House of Pain is a knock for some hip-hop heads, considering Everlast himself is often accused of cultural appropriation. But I’d also argue that Everlast is a better MC than haters (Eminem included) make out — his craft on “I’m A Swing It” is my go-to example. Plus, I dare anybody to not get hyped when those horns start blaring on “Jump Around.” The point is that Lethal isn’t a glorified roadie. He’s a turntablist with hip-hop roots.
Those origins for the band get consistent and authentic audio and visual nods throughout Limp Bizkit’s discography. Results May Vary’s hidden gem “Phenomenon” is essentially a cover of LL Cool J’s song of the same name. LL may be a left-field name for modern music and hip-hop fans. But ask many students of the 80’s/90’s, he’s still considered a lock for Top 5 MCs DOA (dead or alive).
Throughout Limp Bizkit’s career, Fred has also frequently referenced Public Enemy — one of the greatest hip-hop groups of all time. He lifts the titular line of “Caught, Can We Get a Witness” on “Livin’ it Up”. On “Phenomenon” he gives his spin on Chuck D’s classic rhyme “back once again it’s the incredible” from “Bring the Noise”. These references have a hidden layer of genius in that Public Enemy themselves also bridged the worlds of rock and rap. There’s no better seminal hip-hop crew for Limp Bizkit to tip their hat to. When it comes to revered rapping white boys (Paul Revered, perhaps), Beastie Boys are the kings of breaking new ground by merging punk and hip-hop. Fred acknowledges this influence with a cheeky “Hey Ladies” callout on “Show Me What You Got.”
These golden-era shout-outs aren’t just buried lyrical samples on their records. There are more clear references in their music videos. B-boy legend Mr. Wiggles’s cameo in the “Rollin’” clip is a particularly deep cut. The Rock Steady Crew and Zulu Nation member appeared in two seminal hip-hop movies, Beat Street and Wild Style. That’s not some random dude popping and locking with a cosplaying Wes Borland. That’s hip-hop royalty.
Kings or rap get no more regal than Rakim — “the GOD MC” — and clear influence whom Fred has referenced multiple times over the years. From lifting the immortal line, “I Ain’t No Joke" for “I’m Broke", to the “Check Out My Melody” sample on “My Way”, to the “Microphone Fiend” cuts on “Gimme the Mic,” it’s clear Fred and Limp Bizkit are paying respects to one of the culture’s forefathers with lyrical pastiche.
Now, to be fair, hip-hop pioneers aren’t the only artists Limp Bizkit tip their Yankee fitted-cap to. From George Michael to The Who, like all artists, Fred and company began as fans and often cover and work with their musical inspirations. But the hip-hop slice of the pie isn’t insincere. Hip-hop is part of the band and Fred’s DNA.
Gimme the mic: Fred Durst’s genius verified
The true mark of an emcee (for me at least) is effortlessness and mettle. Those are the unteachable qualities that secure Biggie and Pac their immovable spots on the Rap GOAT Mount Rushmore.
I’m talking about the intangible that makes a rapper special. In a different way than poets and singer-songwriters. A rapper is someone who can read the back of a cereal packet, and make it sound fly. On paper, lyricism is important, but complicated rhyme schemes can’t make up for weak presence and character. Mix the ethereal with solid craftsmanship and that’s where Fred Durst’s emceeing skills enter underappreciated and overlooked territory.
What separates simple rapping from advanced is understanding perfect rhymes and imperfect rhymes. Perfect rhymes match most consonant and vowel sounds with a near-identical syllabic count i.e. “cat”, “hat”, “fat”, “sat”, etcetera. That’s why there’s a common assumption that nothing rhymes with “orange”. What I assume people mean by that is there’s no perfect rhyme for “orange” — which is more defendable. However, I’d argue the word “lozenge” unravels even that claim (although there are different stressed and unstressed syllables there).
Sorry, I don’t mean to whisk you back to high school Poetry class. But honestly, true emcees like Nas, and yes, Fred Durst, understand perfect and imperfect rhyme, stressed and unstressed syllables.
Imperfect rhyme is a catalogue of different rhyme types entirely. Alliteration (repeated first letters) is one of them. But I want to focus on the bread and butter for most rappers: assonance AKA vowel rhyme. This is why the casual fan may decry, “Why can’t I rhyme like that?” I’d argue rappers actually use assonance more than perfect rhyme. In assonance, the focus of the rhyme is the dominant vowel sound i.e. ache and way share the same AY vowel sound. Another trap basic lyricists fall into is thinking they need to match syllable counts with vowel sounds i.e. they’ll rhyme “say”, “day”, “pay”, and “play” with “way”. But if you open up your options beyond monosyllable to multi-syllable, and combine that with assonance, you have a lot more options to rhyme. Say “break” with “mistake”. Or you can rhyme “lie” with “deny”.
Fred Durst knows this. Fred Durst does this:
Yeah, you were so caught up on “nookie” and “cookie” that you overlooked Fred using a similar technique to the late great Notorious B.I.G. in “Hypnotize”: a subtle but nevertheless technical combination of single-line rhyme schemes, assonance, and stressed syllables.
Genius in rapping is simplicity. Sure, Eminem’s “Rap God” is technically masterful. But I prefer lyrics that hit like a freight train…
I really can’t express enough admiration for the syllabic assonance pairing of “complain” and “bloodstain.” It proves Fred’s rhyme technician status. One of the most interesting choices in the above is rhyming “back” with “program.” Many will turn their nose and say, “That doesn’t rhyme.” But it does. The short “ă” vowel sound is the same, the ending consonants make it appear like the rhyme isn’t there. It looks like someone who can’t rhyme well. It’s actually someone who can rhyme very well, who’s exploring their use of imperfect rhymes.
What proves that these rhyme choices and word selections aren’t accidental is Fred’s consistency in using deceptively simple techniques. Some of my favourite Fred verses are on “N 2 Gether Now” featuring Method Man. Bouncing back and forth with the Wu-Tang Clan superstar makes Fred bring out all the stops.
Another expert rhyme technique often paired with assonance is the compound or holorhyme. This is when all syllables of a word rhyme with all the syllables of another word. It’s what makes “sideways” and “highways” so pleasant to the ear. Sure, the repetition of “ways” waters down the technicality of the rhyme. But the juice for me is the genius of rhyming “charcoal” and “barcode”.
Now, Fred could lose points here for no straightforward meaning in those last two lines. He’s being pretty abstract. But that use of metaphor and wordplay isn’t too dissimilar from what makes MF DOOM so acclaimed.
Further proof of Fred’s proficiency is his deceptively densely layered rhyme schemes. This is courtesy of his in-depth understanding of internal and end-rhymes: a method perfected by Rakim in the '80s. As their name implies, end rhymes happen at the end of the line/bar, and internal rhymes happen in the middle of the line/bar.
Lines 3–5 in the above are possibly my favourite Fred lyrics. There’s the internal compound rhyming of “sunblock” and “one-shot”. Then he daisy-chains “dissolve” with “revolve” and further cross-links “got” back with “shot.” It looks simple but it’s not.
One of the greatest rappers of all time, Notorious B.I.G, was a master of rhyme: assonance, multi-syllable and compound patterning, internal and end rhyming. But he didn’t cram every single line with all these techniques. He spread them out and used them with impact and purpose to elevate his craft. I’m not saying Fred Durst is in the same echelon as Biggie Smalls. But, like Biggie — yes, I’m really about to say this — Fred Durst is a virtuoso of the deceptively intricate.
A good rapper who just happens to be in a nu-metal band
You got me. This entire (very long) piece is essentially just a glorified justification of why I am to this day an unapologetic and unironic Limp Bizkit and Fred Durst fan. More than that, I want this to stand testament that dumping on Freddy D’s rap skills is punching down.
It’s simply a matter of optics. A Jacksonville-born and bred nu-metal frontman has no business being praised as a genuine member of hip-hop culture. But Fred is simply a good rapper who happens to be in a nu-metal band.
Don’t take his old-school approach for granted. Fred Durst's rhyme schemes are illusively dense. A student of Rakim and hip-hop’s golden era, Fred has a solid understanding of rap mechanics and a clear reverence for hip-hop culture. The artists he’s consistently collaborated with show he has rap cred amongst some of the genre’s greats. His technical mastery and unteachable unique presence set him apart from the carbon copy white rapper archetypes of hip-hop’s culture vulture rogues gallery. Fred Durst isn’t a culture vulture. He’s a proficient rapper and hip-hop head who frequently pays his respects.
Let the above be the unconventional truth (see what I did there) that Fred Durst as a rapper should be as lauded as Mike Patton and Zac De La Rocha.
After all that, if you still think he’s a rookie, well you can take that cookie…