Review Summary: The best album ever made
Sometimes I forget that other music exists. Don’t get me wrong, music exists, but there’s only one album that’s actual music, and that’s St. Anger. From the frostbitten tears of the guitar to the deluxe rhythm juice, St. Anger is a lost Beethoven masterpiece (that we don’t deserve) in the always creative key of Metallica. We cannot begin to comprehend the depth of the genius on offer, nor should we. Such would be forbidden knowledge, the modern day tree of good and evil gone very, truly metal. It bears fruit — deadly fruit.
Easily the best member of Metallica is the drummer. He slaps away consistently like he’s basically chiseling his name in a mountain. Instead he sledge hammers some of the best drum patterns and tantalizing grooves ever put forth to human paper, with triceps activation. The production is even better. It sounds exactly like desperately attempting to scrape the last morsels out of a Ravioli can: a hypnotizing clang sound, jarringly loud, and nostalgic. The nuance is so diverse that the drum beats never stop changing. The drummer will do one simple beat, and then have a faster punk beat in the same song — it’s brilliant. If only my wife would slap me that hard with such variation.
Not to mention the singing parts are wildly exotic and a thing of immediate beauty. The man gives his best, most masculine growl like an intimidatingly passionate bear invading a house, while wagging its sexy tail. These angelic oil vocals are in every track, and it’s as intense as described. The combination of donkey whipping drums and blush-inducing manliness comes in full blooming form, and it is drugged candy. It is also the closest thing to perfection since Barrack Obama. The melodies that infuse in your soul leave such a lasting impression that you will be psychically unable to hear the world around you, or move anything but your head whilst head-banging. Indeed, the hooks catch you and put you in a sandwich, which is the perfect time to imagine being sandwiched by the drummer. Not even Pikazilla could deny such therapeutic treatment.
I don’t get why people wouldn’t love this album. It’s maybe very abstract and too heavy for some people, but those people have probably never listened to music or been smart. Neither have they listened to these insanely genius riffs that no other bands can match. They are as heavy and shredding as mountain man metal, and the perfect cup of tea to poison your friends. Only art has the power to whisper to you in multiple ways, and this was not made by humans. It was made by gods overseeing gods that oversee gods. Enter the blissful Metallica coma at your own risk: the risk of enlightenment, and peace fulfillment.
Conclusion: 7.5/5
