Clever boys, these death punchers; On new album Afterlife they throw in just enough straight-outta-popville nuggets of difference to suggest that the album is their most progressive ever; however, the reality is that this is a band that’s made a virtue out of going nowhere, thus becoming a rock for millions of fans around the world who have come to depend on their at-times chucklesome mix of Panteraesque ‘stronger than all’ boneheadery and delicate, chartbound ballads as some sort of simplistic design for living, a beacon of solidity as the world continues to head down the Swanee at an alarming rate…

We shouldn’t laugh, of course, because it’s a formula that keeps sending Zoltan Bathory and company off to the bank every day, erm, laughing all the way as they go. But it’s hard to warm to a band that is happy to pass off lyricism that wouldn’t even pass muster at your local under twelves poetry slam as something of worth, much less applaud same when it’s trotted out on tracks like IOU almost because it’s so trite and unappealing. Very often, however – and here’s what makes this band such a winning ticket for many -just as you’re groaning at another slice of Ivan Moody doggerel, here comes some slick guitar work (this time courtesy of Brit axeman Andy James, replacing fan fave Jason Hook for the first time here) to take away the pain.

James’ work throughout is exemplary, with his solos hitting the bullseye every time; similarly Bathory hits hard with the riffs, when allowed, although the album loses it’s way midway through in a morass of processed beats aimed squarely at an audience that has clearly been identified by the powers that be at 5FDP HQ as having not surrendered any cash to the cause as of yet; I’m no expert, but the mix of r n’b rhythms, fragile/bellicose vocalising and stadium-busting riffs infused with the spirit of Limp Bizkit might just be a winner, somewhere…

The Metallica-lite of All I Know will hit a few old school fans right in the feels, probably, if only because it’s as close to ‘proper’ heavy metal as we get on Afterlife, but the cod-profundity of Blood and Tar and the gonzoid Gold Gutter are the best things here by a country mile, delivered with force and vigour and pleasingly bereft of the fannying about that defeats much of the rest of the album. But that’s a defeat in the mind of your reviewer, of course; elsewhere this is going to be another in the long line of Five Finger Death Punch albums welcomed with open arms and wallets by the proletariat – and at the end of the day that’s what it’s all about. Or so I’m told.

Afterlife releases today.