Metallica - Death Magnetic
That Metallica have become metal’s answer to the Rolling Stones – an endlessly touring megalith who’s albums have be come increasingly irrelevant as their live shows have become greater spectacles – should not negate getting the most out of this 75 minutes of heads down thrash.
There’s a trillion fakers out there currently trying to make a living out of successfully aping the incisive dynamics, relentless riffing, caustic soloing and doom-focussed imagery that Metallica pioneered in the 80s, so why can’t they? They give it a shot, foregoing ‘Enter Sandman’ crowd pleasing for a belligerent pomp metal spectacle.
Drummer Lars Ulrich remains a one-dimensional percussive force that limits the expansion of the Metallica blueprint into any new sonic territory and James Hetfield’s confessional lyrical meditations remain firmly on the wrong side of pastiche. But, if you can take being mocked by hipsters, naysayers and back-in-the day merchants, the broad strokes Death Magnetic offers more than ample unashamed riffage.