What to make of Metallica now?  No longer the angry youths that ruled the 1980s metal movement and no longer the ascendant metal-cum-alternative rock band its members morphed into during the 1990s, the band has spent the current decade trying to define itself and appease a growing dissent in the fanbase, a base which felt the band no longer represented them as a collective audience.

In some way, Metallica is the kind of band that should realistically almost never have become a juggernaut in the first place.  Its rough sound and disaffected message has always seemed somewhat strange co-opted by and fixed on the Billboard charts alongside pop artists.  “The Black Album” worked because Metallica still hadn’t fully left its earlier world, recording in the comfort of unfounded, but hopeful expectations.  14 years later, during a different scenario from the 2004 documentary Some Kind of Monster, singer/guitarist James Hetfield temporarily checked out of Metallica and went into secluded rehab, expressing the idea that the band was, to him, “a beast” of formidable burden.  Metallica had recently released St. Anger, the tumultuous album that spawned the documentary.  Its fans may have once been disenchanted with society, but by the time of St. Anger, they were simply disenchanted with Metallica.

In 2008, comes the answer.  Cut ties with longtime producer Bob Rock and pick up with Rick Rubin, known as the musical guru of renewal.  The result, Death Magnetic, which could have been just another mediocre effort, is a powerful return to form which draws upon Metallica’s roots and features all the beloved elements of its previous recordings.  For his task of bringing the band back from the creative abyss, Rubin had the band act as though it was following up its masterpiece, 1986’s Master of Puppets.  Symbolism runs amok on an album that both addresses the pull of humanity towards the grave and continues to detail Hetfield’s confessional battle with alcohol.

Death Magnetic kicks off with “That Was Just Your Life,” the sound of a thumping heartbeat signifying perhaps the pulse of a band returning to life. The ominous acoustic guitar, very much in the spirit of Puppets’ “Battery,” gives way to an electric riff combination that reminds of …And Justice for All’s opener, “Blackened.”  From the outset, Metallica, more energized than it’s been in years, is essentially trampling through its entire history in a song that is epic in song length and features complex riff structures, guitar harmonies and a return to the ripping solos of lead axe-wielder Kirk Hammett.

Meanwhile, “The End of the Line” begins with a riff that hearkens back to “Wherever I May Roam,” hailing from the band’s breakout self-titled album.  A barrage of mid-tempo riffs leads into Hetfield’s tale of an individual at wits end.  The song features a soft, lush middle acoustic part that eases back into the crushing finish.  Similarly “Broken, Beaten, and Scarred” also opens with the similar influences of its ‘90s output.  The song may be slower, but still brutal in its quick riffing and double-bass drumming, with a defiant Hetfield reminding that “what don’t kill you make you more strong.”

As the album’s lead-off single, “The Day That Never Comes,” starts off with a soft, reflective tone and brief solo that hearkens back in time to its classic ballad “Fade to Black.”  Lyrically similar as well, “Day” somberly sings of the search for an emotional “sunshine” that never arrives to provide its warmth.  Midway through the song, the heaviness kicks in and the band picks up steam like a freight train, winding and twisting through a series of jagged riffs and harmonized solos.

Quickly moving right into the album’s high point, “All Nightmare Long”’s dusty, detuned acoustic intro immediately goes for the jugular, whipping into a pummeling mid-paced riff as Hetfield quietly opines that “luck runs out.”  The album’s weakest track, however, is arguably “Cyanide,” which recalls the cumbersome plodding of its ‘90s Load-era output.  Similarly, another track that may flummox listeners is “Unforgiven III,” which might have served better under a different title.  Fans won’t be used to hearing piano on a Metallica album, but the earnest ballad is highlighted by a blistering solo from Hammett.

The heaviness kicks back in with “The Judas Kiss,” a punchy track with another stellar run of licks.  It’s as indicative of Metallica’s fire as anything else, just as “Suicide & Redemption” has the fortune of being Metallica’s first instrumental track in two decades.  Measuring up with familiar musical terrain old and newer, at ten minutes it comes dangerously close to wearing out its welcome, but rides the edge of aggression as only this band can.  The album finishes out its ten-track roster strong with “My Apocalypse,” which burns a frenetic path as the similarly fiery “Dyer’s Eve” did exactly twenty years ago.  

The end result is an album that reminds listeners of Metallica’s potency and its future possibilities as a rejuvenated speed metal band.  It has already garnered a rightful high praise.  This is the album Metallica simply needed to record at this time.  The album truly belongs to Hammett, who was discouraged from soloing on St. Anger, but here seems to relish with glee the chance to run wild across the fretboard once again.  If there is any major drawback, it has been, as was publicly reported, a disastrously high mix, resulting in a high-end hiss across the recording.  The Guitar Hero version has apparently been mixed to a more endearing result.  Still, the audio glitches are not prevalent enough to detract from the wealth of strong material presented by such veteran metal pioneers.

No longer unforgiven, welcome back, Metallica.