'Death' and rebirth

Clint Eastwood's character in Unforgiven. Batman in The Dark Knight Returns. And now Metallica on Death Magnetic.

The greatest, storied and long-M.I.A. badass is back, missing a step or two from his old self but displaying the toughness, attitude and individuality that earned him the reverence of millions. Metallica have been in rehab and in therapy, out of favor and the public eye, and now they're going to "hunt you down without mercy, hunt you down all nightmare long." This is not an offer, it's a vow.

Starting with the distant rhythm of a pulsating heartbeat, Death Magnetic sounds alive before the instruments even kick in. When they do, on the furious, restless "That Was Just Your Life," they sound violently out of control, attacking any chances of radio success by abruptly changing meter and embedding an arena-ready chorus in a seven-minute monster of punk aggression and death metal structure. "There it went, almost like your life," barks James Hetfield over Lars Ulrich's blast beats in the chorus, addressing album's prevalent mortality theme.

Having conquered the metal world, the rock world and now the entertainment industry, Hetfield confronts midlife turmoil on "The End of the Line" and "Broken, Beat and Scarred." Repeating Nietszche's most overused mantra in the latter, Hetfield isn't preaching or giving lessons, but repeating self-empowering idioms to himself to keep from going over the edge. Liberated from the asphyxiating, solo-less St. Anger, Kirk Hammett unleashes some of the most fluid guitar work in Metallica's history. His fretboard stunts on Death Magnetic leak out in short bursts, epic measures and wah-wah pedal magic that make up many of the album's best moments.



Hammett's level of musicianship is one that the whole band strives for. Having been advised by producer Rick Rubin to attempt to revisit their Master of Puppets mindset, the forward-thinking band does so by finding the mentality of Master's follow-up, ...And Justice for All. As with Justice, Magnetic finds the band obliterating conventional standards for metal composition and musicianship, particularly in the 10-minute, hard-grinding instrume(n)tal "Suicide & Redemption" and the throbbing, thoroughly terrific "All Nightmare Long," propelled by a Robert Trujillo bassline and Hetfield's continually underrated rhythm antics into a progressive thrash keeper that Mastodon would've been happy to release. When Metallica takes a breather with the relaxed, empathetic "The Day that Never Comes," the album's first (and most plausible) single, they're only gearing up to release hell in the song's frenetic second movement.

As with any old legend coming back to reclaim his territory, Metallica are imperfect on Death Magnetic. Fans have vocally complained about the album's poor mixing, but even when the sound isn't there, the songs are, and the turned-up drums can't overwhelm the potency of "All Nightmare Long" or the bullet-paced, mouth-foaming closer "My Apocalypse." More lamentable is the album's length. Magnetic doesn't hold any clunkers, but ten songs spread over 75 minutes is a task for anyone, even the greatest bands. Death Magnetic would be a better listen if it were trimmed two or three songs. Still, all I can nominate for removal is "Unforgiven III," a not-bad, piano-laden chantey that feels incongruous and (oddly) bears no resemblance to the earlier Unforgivens.

Death Magnetic doesn't top any of Metallica's first five albums, and they're not the best metal band currently making music again. But it trumps their previous few albums, and more importantly, it marks the greatest metal band in history's return to the ring. For the first time in years, the word on new Metallica music isn't "I hope it doesn't suck" but "I can't wait to hear what's next." Gene Hackman and the Joker better watch out.



Buy it.

Badass Lemmy video of the month

Metal gods don't get more badass than Ian Fraser "Lemmy" Kilmister. A roadie for Jimi Hendrix and Pink Floyd in the '60s, Hawkwind's bassist in the early '70s and the throat, bassist and force behind Motörhead since 1975, Lemmy has kicked ass for longer than metal's existed.

Other than Watchmen, I can't think of a movie that I'm anticipating as much as Lemmy: The Movie.



I can't stop watching that trailer or sending it to friends. What a badass. Slash, Dave Grohl, Steve Vai, Mick Jones (the cooler one), Alice Cooper...watch 'em all bow down to Lemmy. Stick around for Lem's joke at the end.

Motörhead tour and release albums annually, all of which defy criticism by consistently being relentlessly louder than loud and faster than fast (with one or two curveballs,) and by being awesome every-single-time. Motörhead is the harbinger of everything punk and metal, and have been at the forefront since their first album (initially considered unreleasable in the US.) Lemmy turns 63 this year and shows no signs of slowing down from his life of tour buses, Jack Daniels, unfiltered cigarettes and loose women. To paraphrase Warren Zevon, he's gotten to be Jim Morrison for a lot longer than Jim Morrison did. That's if Jim Morrison were a badass, unpretentious, innovative and really ugly metal god.

Just as there's no way to imagine Keith Richards being uncool or Andrew W.K. being lethargic, there's no way for Lemmy to not be badass. This is almost summed up in a Steve Buscemi line from Brendan Fraser's most underrated movie, Airheads.



Best of all, Lemmy totally doesn't care. I remember one time he appeared in a Kit Kat commercial, and was asked if he worried about ruining his badass reputation. "No," said Lemmy. "I've got nothing against chocolate."

Of course he wouldn't worry about his reputation--there's nothing he could do to not be badass. This is a guy who once broke a Rickenbacker over someone's head because it "Felt right." His autobiography, White Line Fever, reads like an unapologetic, one-man account of The Dirt. He's never bickered with the band and came back for a lucrative reunion tour, never fell victim to gimmickry, never made an MTV-ready power ballad, never gave his infamous mug (a fu manchu w/two warts the size of golf balls) a Hollywood makeover, never cashed in on hair metal or nu metal, never put his home life on a reality TV show, never sued a file-sharing service or filmed himself going through therapy...

Lemmy thrives on the road, rocks out every time around, and can sell out venues all over the world despite never having a radio hit or platinum-selling album. His gravelly larynx and machine-gun bass tactics have launched thousands of humble imitators. No punk or metal legend has aged so well. None more badass. None more Lemmy. Death, taxes and Lemmy.

But if you really want to know why Lemmy is so badass...check out Motörhead 's new song, "Runaround Man."

For Richard Wright

Smile for Boris

Now that I'm no longer scared to like Japanese art-metal band Boris, I checked out their free headlining show at South Street Seaport. Following a politically-charged, high-energy performance by KRS-One, the rock innovators from the land of the rising sun silently erected their gear in preparation for their assault on the East River.

Steam poured out of fog machines while the band gathered in the middle of the stage, black-garbed, solemn-faced and flashing horns. A splash of processed sound effects (a childbirth? a hospital?) gave way to Wata's devastating guitar lead in "Buzz-In, " and the whole band hurtled into the blaring track from this year's Smile. The strobe light flashes and punk-inspired racket seemed incongruous with the band themselves, who, excluding drummer Atsuo, were calm and composed performers, barely moving any muscle unrelated to their instruments while subjecting us to their noisy opuses.



One highlight was "Statement," a stoner-metal nightmare heavier than anything that Kyuss ever dreamed up. Having seen two released versions this year (the Japanese Smile release features a more ambient take, whereas gringos get the balls-out rocking rendition,) Boris combined the two to create a bridge between Sonic Youth and the Melvins that would've rocked Kurt Cobain's existence. Guitarist Wata and two-necked guitarist/bassist Takeshi piped in with train-whistle vocals that fought with their instruments' distortion for our ears. Melding heavy feedback, chugging riffs and some Van Halen-esque guitar wailing, Boris were at their best when purely rocking out.

The band's spacier material, such as Smile's 20-minute, untitled closing track, was atmospheric if less compelling. Sonically exciting but musically undistinguished, Boris' noise collage indulgences are comparative to the Grateful Dead's jamming--fanatics will eat it up and the rest of us will wait for the songs to come in. Fortunately, come in they did, especially on the abrupt, shred-heavy "Laser Beam" and the heavily veiled J-pop tune "My Neighbor Satan."



Atsuo, the exception to the band's composed presence, attacked his instruments while hamming it up as if he'd taken drum lessons from Tommy Lee. He was the only band member to dive into the front row when the set ended, grinning, and waving while the feedback from the last song melted what was left of our eardrums. Some will scoff at such rock star antics, others will check their watches during the droning segments, but everyone should see this band live.

Drugs are bad, mmmkay?

Reading about the movement to ban "South Park" in Russia reminded me that I still haven't posted their hilarious parody of the movie Heavy Metal from earlier this season. Here are a few scenes that I like:









Of course, the original Heavy Metal is even better--re-rent it or check it out if you haven't seen it.



What the hey--here's James Hetfield's uncredited cameo in the "South Park" movie as well. Coming in around :35.

Nine Inch Nails: Alone with everybody

Perpetual maverick, eternal adolescent and ostensible genius Trent Reznor has spent 20 years ensuring that nearly all that the world knows about Nine Inch Nails comes from records and live performances. Even an arena show, like the August 27 performance at Izod Center, feels like an intimate visit to one of music's iconoclasts.

The show kicked off with the first few songs on The Slip, the free, uncharacteristically tossed-off sounding album that NIN released this year. Tracks like "Letting You" and "Discipline" are some of Reznor's least processed songs, and they unsurprisingly had a garage band edge that proved Reznor is still capable of surprises. But the show took off noticeably at the start of "March of the Pigs," and the 7/8 drum intro and monosyllabic verse had the crowd screaming and headbanging in seconds.



The rest of the show was rooted in Reznor's albums from his prolific past year, with '90s touchstone The Downward Spiral also getting considerable rotation. Along hits like "Closer" and the first-set closing "Head Like a Hole," fan favorites like the hugely underrated Fragile standout "The Big Come Down" and an explosive "Gave Up" from the Broken EP kept the audience on their feet (or off it, in parts of the mosh pit.) Even his lesser-known music, such as the sparse instrumentals from his two-CD set Ghosts, all feature the diligent songmanship and sense of melody that took songs like "Terrible Lie" and "The Hand that Feeds" onto rock radio, next to nothing else remotely industrial. Purists can scoff at Reznor's commercial success, but if KMFDM or Skinny Puppy wrote music this versatile and exciting, they would be selling out arenas too.

The best of his recent releases, the brave, multilayered and downright brilliant Year Zero, was serviced with show highlights like the pulsating "Vessel," the rousing "God Given" and the hypnotic "The Warning," all accompanied by video images on the Blue Man Group-like stage set that reflected the album's Orwellian themes. Hopefully history will rightfully remember Year Zero as one of Reznor's finest statements.



For a renowned studio perfectionist, Reznor also persistently works to create a memorable show. He is a mesmerizing performer, suggesting a composed everyman on the verge of blowing a fuse, and his band expertly replicates sounds created almost entirely by Reznor in the studio. Guitarist Robin Finck nailed every background vocal and guitar quirk while sporting rock star charisma, and should Reznor every settle on a lineup for Nine Inch Nails, Finck would be the most ideal first mate.

Encoring with some newer songs, Reznor politely thanked the crowd and his road crew before Finck strummed the opening chords to "Hurt." Despite Johnny Cash's rendition overtaking Reznor's as the definitive version a few years ago, Reznor and Finck performed the sparse, emotional ballad with the choked-up instability of the original, blaring the song's final three tones over the stunned crowd and seemingly wrapping the enchanting night. But Nine Inch Nails one-upped themselves by following "Hurt" with "In This Twilight," a positively gorgeous album track from Year Zero that offered bare optimism in the face of all plight. "Watch the sun, as it crawls across a final time...and the sky is filled with light, can you see it," reassured Reznor, addressing a nation on the edge and expressing faith in its survival.



One by one, Reznor's bandmates bowed and made their exit, until Reznor was alone at the piano. Watching him wave goodbye and walk off into the dark, I felt very lucky to be alive while this guy is making music.

British dance-rock openers openers Does it Offend You, Yeah? were entirely inoffensive.