When it comes to releasing new music, legacy acts are often put in an unenviable position. If they experiment or even tinker with their signature sound, fans are likely to chide them for straying too far, but if they stick too closely to an established formula, they risk being accused of phoning it in or attempting to create a pale imitation of past glories. In short, they’re damned if they do and damned if they don’t.
To wit, Metallica’s 11th studio album, 72 Seasons, serves up a streamlined hodgepodge of everything the band has done to date, mixing the speed and precision of their celebrated ’80s output with the groove and nuance of their more divisive ’90s material. The opening title track begins, uncharacteristically, with just a bassline: rangy and punky, heavily distorted, recalling classic Motörhead, one of Metallica’s chief influences. Once the main riff slams in, it sets the tone for the whole album, halfway between old-school thrash and straight-up rock ‘n’ roll.
But while the grooves are solid, there are few truly memorable riffs or solos to speak of on 72 Seasons. Even when the band does manage to recall the trappings of their early days, as on the thrillingly breakneck “Lux Æterna” or the Iron Maiden-style “Room of Mirrors,” the arrangements generally lack the intricacy and dynamics of their classic albums. And for the first time since their 1983 debut, Kill ’Em All, there are virtually no mellow moments or clean guitar tones, as nearly everything here rides the same chunky midtempo rhythm.
This is more than made up for, though, by James Hetfield’s vocal performances. His trademark grit-choked growl remains peerless, its sheer aggressiveness tempered at once by a bluesy swagger and sinister melodic inflection. It’s the vocal hooks, not the fret or drum work, that drives 72 Seasons, particularly on “You Must Burn!” and “Chasing Light,” not to mention the minor-key melodies and call-and-response coda of “If Darkness Had a Son.”
And there’s a bit more variety on the 11-minute closer “Inamorata,” wherein the band dips its collective toes into doom metal. Over volcanic Sabbath-style guitar sludge, Hetfield sings, “Comfort in the hell I know/Resentment like a cancer grows/Longing for the day I’m free/Burn to get you out of me.” While these lyrics arguably fall flat on paper, Hetfield’s convincing delivery suggests that he isn’t merely wallowing in pain. That elusive and tender musical moment finally arrives when the distortion subsides and overlapping vocal harmonies croon the refrain—“Misery/She needs me/Oh, but I need her more”—over a soft, nimble guitar and bass lick. The contrast is devastating, and it’s one of Metallica’s finest moments.
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