Death Magnetic immediately takes metal purists back 20 years to a time when self-indulgence was measured by how many pulled neck muscles your guitar riffs could induce. This was a time before Metallica took sand paper to metal's rustic beard and churned out a dark masterpiece smeared with pop-sensibility and radio-friendly hooks. In the wake of the commercial success of Metallica's eponymous fifth studio effort, the quartet's level of danger waned exponentially as its music sounded less qualified by true angst and more justified by reputation and entitlement. When Metallica cut the painfully over-produced St. Anger in 2003, the softening that resulted from a decade's worth of indulgence and aging could no longer be pushed aside by an excess of metaphors about death set to a backdrop of chunky guitar riffs. The nicely polished result (thanks to super-producer Bob Rock) came across as a forced effort devoid of any real urgency.
Metallica knew it had a metal-sized problem on its hands. The first positive decision came when the band decided to replace longtime producer Rock with Rick Rubin. Easily the Bill Parcells of the music industry, Rubin has probably resurrected more careers than the Tuna has football teams - a perfect match for the elder statesmen of metal's era of no frills.
The 75-minute journey of brisk tempo changes and tightly wound, guitar-led, catch-and-release starts with a simple heartbeat. Considering that there is another album released 35 years earlier that comes into being in a very similar fashion (The Dark Side of the Moon), Metallica sets the bar impossibly high after only a few measures. Obviously the Pink Floyd relic will come out victorious. And the comparisons will stop as soon as James Hetfield enters the picture with the first of many power-chord-fueled shotgun spikes (courtesy of his guitar). Complete with Hetfield's breakneck growls, Lars Ulrich's meaty snare-drum upper-cuts, and lead guitarist Kirk Hammett's milking of the upper registers, "That Was Just Your Life" snarls at the band's recent downturn while seeking refuge somewhere in the dark reaches of 1984 in an all-out metal blitz.
Borrowing heavily from the same playbook, both "The End of the Line" and "Broken, Beat, & Scared" continue the aural assault and provide more compelling evidence to suggest that Metallica's new life may be no fluke. Even as soon as the album's first single, "The Day that Never Comes," gives you a chance to breathe, Hetfield and Hammett only use the mellow first half - which is clearly spliced together from the genes of "Fade to Black," "One," and "The Unforgiven" - to leave listeners vulnerable as they are thrown headfirst into easily the album's most unmerciful attack.
To further prove that these are some of Metallica's finest compositions to date, the longest track, "Suicide and Redemption," which slides in just under the 10-minute mark, is purely instrumental. In his first studio album with Metallica, bassist Rob Trujillo thunders his way to the foreground as Hammett runs around on a swivel closely tied to the muscle in Hetfield's chugs.
By the time Death Magnetic's closer "My Apocalypse" kicks into full swing, Metallica, still running on a full tank, conducts an all-out race to the finish. The palm-muted pulse accelerates beyond any other riff heard in the first 70 minutes and all comes crashing down for one last explosion.
With an album that feels refreshingly live, Metallica certainly has plenty of new ammunition to toss up against its timeless classics as it looks to take Death Magnetic on the road for an extensive world tour. Once again, the word "dangerous" can be applied. B+
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