It's hard to believe that Metallica almost went their separate ways following bassist Jason Newsted's departure. For years, this seemingly rock solid 'band of brothers' have constantly clocked up the sales and the miles without the bitter personnel disputes that marked their early days. But at a price it seems.
So 'St Anger' sees them once again fall back on the trusted multi-platinum hands of Bob Rock at the production desk (and filling in on bass duties following Newsted's exit). To those looking for clues as to the album's direction though, the choice of producer is a red herring - there ain't any stadium anthems to be found amongst these 75 minutes of music. Instead, this is the sound of Metallica drawing back into themselves and their history.
Opener 'Frantic' sets the agenda, with the kind of stop-start, grinding riffing and breakneck drumming that made the band's name. "My lifestyle determines my deathstyle" bellows James Hetfield and the tone is set. 'St Anger' itself has a frenetic chorus that sounds like it's come straight out of the Bay Area circa 1983.
What's immediately striking about Metallica's sound this time around is the lack of soloing. Instead of flexing his fingers, Kirk Hammett is now doubling up with Hetfield to provide riffs so heavy you could chew on them for a week. Melody is mainly eschewed in favour of brute force. 'Invisible Kid', a typical Metallica ode to alienation, is a good case in point albeit with some sixth-form poetry attached: "Invisible kid/Never see what he did/Got stuck where he hid/Fallen through the grid".
Yet amongst the hell-for-leather bombast there are some subtler moments. 'Some Kind of Monster' begins with a flowing drum groove, while 'St Anger' itself has a quiet, bass-led part before the thunder rolls in again. But these are exceptions to the black cloud that rules over these 11 tracks. Take the furious 'Purify', with Hetfield spitting out the words as the guitar and drum shrapnel flies around him. Fittingly, the album ends with Hetfield shouting "kill" repeatedly as the final aural blows are administered.
'St Anger' is Metallica at their most raw, 11 songs designed to flay bedrooms and moshpits the world over and sales figures be damned. It may not make them any new fans but it might persuade some old converts to return to the cause. And while the stop-start juggernauting becomes repetitive at times and the songs could benefit from some editing (self-censorship has never been Metallica's forte), it reaffirms that they can still make this kind of music 20 years on from their brutal debut album. Job done then.
