“St. Anger” is the eighth studio album by Metallica. Released on June 5, 2003, this album marks the longest time span between studio albums from Metallica, with the nearly six years between the release of “ReLoad” and “St. Anger.” It was also the first to receive a Parental Advisory label excluding Garage Inc. (a cover album), Live S**t: Binge and Purge (a live album), and S&M (also a live album). The album was originally intended for release on June 10, 2003, but was instead released five days earlier due to fear of unlicensed copying over filesharing networks. St. Anger received Read more on Last.fm.
The problem with an accomplished band’s “garage record” is that it should blow actual garage records away. There are literally thousands of groups of adolescents in garages all over America and the world writing better stuff than this, with not more than six months’ of formal practice between them – and honestly, Hetfield’s lyrics are more cringeworthy than eighth-grade LiveJournal “poetry.” In fairness, there are a handful of ideas worth sharing here, but they’re soon forgotten in the midst of the neanderthalic bludgeoning we’re forced to endure. I feel like people’s (legitimate) anger/disgust/disappointment was simply misguided: musically, it’s not really a horrible record – in that capacity, it’s just childishly self-indulgent. It’s just so, so, so, so, SO unforgivably boneheaded in all regards.
Now the documentary? That’s an awesomely compelling piece of film. BUT, this isn’t Moviegrid.me, so I’ll not digress.
Surprised that I gave St. Anger more than one star?
Well, let me explain myself. I might be the only Metallica fan on earth that understood the damn thing. It was made to be a garage record, a tribute to raw intensity.
And you know what? If you’re gonna be some kind of purist and dismiss St. Anger, its worthy to note that it hath not a commercial bone in its body, not a second of radio sheen or a chorus that sticks to your brain. It’s an assault on the senses, a defiant, nearly unmixed 75 minute exorcise in self mutilation, angst and redefinition. That’s it, pure and simple. It’s ugly, visceral and raw. It’s basically overt career suicide.
Why do I like it? Because there is purity in the growth of this band, in the snarl of the riffs, and the blatant disregard for vocal cleanliness. This is a purging of poison, a mission statement. So what if the lyrics are sometimes chaotic hyku? So what if the drums sound like trash cans? It’s heavy fucking metal, dosed with some punk aesthetic. It’s a harrowing little bastard of a record, loud and defiant until the last scream of “kill, kill, kill”.
If you don’t like that, that’s your problem.