But from Got Your Six onwards (an album that, for the record, has only become more forgettable over time), Five Finger Death Punch have resorted to their genre’s laziest tactics, leaching the effectiveness out of themselves more and more over each album for regularly hollow clap-backs at nebulous haters, a sense of anger that’s devolved into feeling more like petulance, and a bad habit of recycling the exact same ideas to almost parodic degrees. That’s not to say there was some greater depth or nuance to them, because that’s definitively not the case, but in the ranks of Monster-swigging metal designed to fill the arenas these bands so routinely wind up in, there was at least a power and proficiency that set them on a higher rung to their contemporaries. It couldn’t be easier to rag on Five Finger Death Punch at the moment as they’ve come to be the band embodying the most derivative and repetitive impulses of radio-metal with a notorious loose-cannon of a frontman, but it’s also worth acknowledging that they weren’t always like this.
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