“Traumatic! Volcanic! Psychotic! Demonic! Hypnotic!” So runs the rhyme scheme in the title track of Metallica’s 11th studio album. Obviously, they’re not going for subtlety. They’ve annoyed fans before by attempting to tone it down on their past couple of releases so, as they edge into their sixties, the band return to the solidly compelling thrash metal with which they made their name. And honestly, when they’re on form, no band on the planet is better at writing and executing epic songs that head hugger-mugger for the horizon in a way that makes listeners feel as though they’re hugging the curves and swerving the spills of a Formula One racetrack. Songs don’t follow formulae; they just accelerate hard through the straights and snake wildly through the corners as they come. James Hetfield’s screaming hyperbole locking directly into the pounding rubber of Lars Ulrich’s relentless riff-making.
In recent interviews, the band have spoken of embracing their age. Thundering their way through a week-long residency on Jimmy Kimmel Live!, they joked that the new generation of kids who discovered them after their 1986 song “Master of Puppets” featured in Netflix’s hit series Stranger Things last year (it was streamed 17.5 million times and flew to the top of the iTunes rock chart) had no idea how decrepit they are.
