Metallica St. Anger Album Review

Feature Photo: Ben Houdijk / Shutterstock.com

In the case of many artists, there exists one project within the scope of the respective discography representative of a career-low as dictated by the general consensus of the listening public. For The Rolling Stones, it’s 1986’s Dirty Work. For Guns ‘N’ Roses, it’s 2008’s Chinese Democracy – an underrated record, deserving as it may be of its distinction as the band’s worst – and for Metallica, that record is 2003’s St. Anger.

Some listeners may point to 2011’s Lulu – the most popular metal band in the world’s experimental, collaborative double album with Lou Reed that left a slew of the Metallica faithful scratching their heads – as deserving of this distinction. But one’s feelings on the project notwithstanding, the band couldn’t justifiably be held solely responsible for the end result of the work.

Metallica are a band that have accomplished so much and have been around for so long that it can be difficult to assess their more recent output, overall body of work, and indeed the group themselves, within any sort of discernible context that stands to do the whole thing justice.

For over forty years Hetfield and company have been slamming down grooves and sparking spirited discourse over what exactly it is that constitutes metal music. Early career offerings like Ride the Lightning and Master of Puppets continue to inspire acclaim for listeners and critics alike, while material from the hit-heavy Metallica, more frequently referred to as The Black Album, continues to garner massive amounts of radio play today.

The thrash titans would fall upon tough times critically throughout the late ‘90s and early 2000s, however. The immense commercial success of 1991’s Metallica was less than well received by die-hard fans of the group, and stylistic diversions for the subsequent Load and Reload were the subject of much ire from the same demographic.

Further compounding the issue was the band members’ collective decision to forsake their iconic locks in favor of sleeker, more stylish, short looks to complement their more recent and more accessible output.

It was in the wake of a 2000 lawsuit filed by the band against peer-to-peer file sharing network Napster, however, that the band truly began to fall out of favor with the public at large. Despite the group’s public profile being arguably as high as it had ever been, the ensuing years would bring with them a stream of tribulations that ultimately would threaten to tear the band apart.

Bassist Jason Newstead departed the group in January of 2001, citing personal reasons as the catalyst for his decision. In July of that year, James Hetfield entered rehab to seek treatment for alcoholism and other issues. Upon departing treatment, Hetfield reunited with Metallica to begin work on a follow-up album to 1997’s Reload.

The process of the album’s production and recording would be documented for what would become 2004’s Some Kind of Monster documentary. The album itself, St. Anger, would see release in 2003, and would be the band’s first and only album to date as a three-piece. Rather than immediately replace Newstead on bass, the band opted to allow producer Bob Rock to contribute bass parts, and committed to deciding upon a replacement following the album’s completion.

The album took years to complete, and boasted a markedly different sonic aesthetic than what fans had come to expect from the band. The overall sound of the record has served as a general lynchpin for arguments built up against the album by its detractors, as the primal mix and lack of polish can understandably make for a challenging listen.

Both Metallica and Rock were committed to capturing a raw and authentic sound with St. Anger, opting for quick mixes, minimal takes, and no studio manipulation. Perhaps the most polarizing element of the record, however, would be the recording and production of Lars Ulrich’s drum tracks.

Very minimal mic utilization on the drum kit resulted in a clanging, reverberating sound to which Ulrich quickly took. As such, the sound was dispersed throughout the record, its abrasiveness only compounded by the drums remarkably high placement in the overall mix. This was complemented by an almost muddy guitar tone from Hetfield, and a dry, abrasive attack from lead guitarist Kirk Hammet, who in committing to the almost punk rock aesthetic of the album, chose to forgo guitar solos for the album.

Sonic departure notwithstanding, one could argue that Metallica accomplished all they had set out to with St. Anger. It was, and remains, a challenging listen, sure. But the same can be said for 1988’s …And Justice for All with its dry mix of all highs and lows with barely any bass guitar audible in the mix.

The difference? The songwriting for …And Justice for All was objectively better. Though that isn’t to say that St. Anger doesn’t have its fair share of good songs. A common misconception and arrow in the quiver of those who choose to tear the album down is that the songs simply aren’t good. While it certainly isn’t the band’s best work, St. Anger features a number of hidden gems in its tracklist, and displays an emotional susceptibility not seen from the band before or since.

The vulnerability on display throughout the record no doubt came, at least in part, due to Hetfield’s decision to seek treatment and conduct a series of deep assessments of his own thoughts, fears, and motivations in life. Inner-band conflict was also a contributing factor, as can be seen documented in the aforementioned Some Kind of Monster.

All these elements make St. Anger an outlier in the band’s discography on essentially every level. The reaction of a commercial audience to the contentious mix was of no surprise to anyone, but more intriguing was the antagonistic response from fans of the band’s heavier material.

Say what you will about the album, but St. Anger is forceful in nearly every sense of the word. The riffs throughout come fast and hard, and the drums are downright sporadic in what becomes a cacophony of sound akin to a train barrelling down the line at full speed and struggling – and just barely succeeding – to stay on the tracks at all, in a sonic interpretation of Hetfield’s conflicted mental state.

Opener “Frantic” and late-album cut “Purify” utilize breakneck rhythm changes in conveying a thinly veiled rage which is also heard on the more dynamic title track and punk-infused “Invisible Kid.” In fact, one might posit that the album is the closest Metallica had come to effectively emulate English speed-metal heroes Motorhead.

The sessions for St. Anger would mark Metallica’s final collaboration with producer – and interim bassist – Bob Rock, who had manned the boards for all of the band’s 90s output. After months of auditions for a replacement bassist, Robert Trujilo, who had played with Ozzy Osbourne and Suicidal Tendencies prior, assumed the role and continues to perform with the group today.

St. Anger is representative of true carnage – a visceral expression of inner turmoil that is seldom pretty and occasionally beyond comprehension. Listeners of heavier music convey a longing for this sort of musical chaos, but are often only welcoming of a diluted, processed, pre-packaged, and user-friendly version of said chaos, eschewing the rough edges in favor smooth, digestible concoctions that imply a threat without ever actually presenting anything threatening.

St. Anger is Metallica exposed for the world to see, guts and all, and by that token will be assessed in hindsight as one of the most significant offerings of the band’s career, general listenability notwithstanding.