What review of a new Metallica album could be had without first firing a 21-gun salute over the body of St. Anger? So let’s get that out of the way– it certainly had its part to play, but what was it? It was like a vivid nightmare. Did we imagine it? It makes me feel existential and a little pissed off, like how I feel at a funeral; like life is long and mean and disorderly, and when it passes we feel like we barely knew it at all.

But it’s in the ground now; and in its place is Death Magnetic, thundering about like a suddenly reanimated patchwork monster.

And I do mean patchwork. I think there is a distinction to be made between a song that is complex and one that is simply cluttered. There is plenty of lean-and-mean riffing to be had— much more than on any album since …And Justice for All— but there is no cohesive center to it; no soul. Riffs are stitched together arbitrarily and songs do not progress so much as they simply continue, relentlessly. It’s impossible to find it boring because it’s the sonic equivalent of running from a tornado.

Take the first single, “The Day That Never Comes.” It’s a relatively straightforward rock song, and it’s decently memorable. That is, of course, until the senseless racket of the final minutes. I would never have supposed that all four members of the band could lose their sanity at the exact same moment, but I can only guess that’s what has happened from the fact that no one raised an objection while recording the mess at the end of this song. What else could explain it? I suppose they are trying to recreate the epic structure and emotional impact of “One,” perhaps the band’s signature song, but it just doesn’t work here. The approach worked on “One” not only because the progression of the song is logical—you can feel the closing riff building before it actually arrives—but also because that final riff is focused. The pseudo-furious noodling that closes out “The Day That Never Comes” is almost comical. It’s heavy metal parody.

To be fair, this is the low point of the album; the majority of the songs have true potential. There is speed, energy and passion, but rarely the focus. Kirk Hammett especially seems to be in a state of relapse after having nothing much to do last album, suddenly sounding like Jeff Hanneman: every square inch of available space has been crammed with manic solos. There are, of course, some moments when it all seems to come together— “The Judas Kiss” occasionally shreds, and “All Nightmare Long” is the best track on the album, a lethal injection of thrash— but there are too many flashes of tired, stoner-rock leads and bizarre transitions for this to be called a return to form, or even a re-imagining. Still, overall, this is a real improvement over Metallica’s last three albums; if there’s time left for one more change of oil, this old machine might run like new.