3. Reload
While I still think that Load and Reload should have been combined into one album featuring the best tracks from each, Reload stands alone as the strongest of the two. Whether were taking in Marianne Faithfulls chilling contribution to The Memory Remains, or having the opening rupture of Fuel etched into our consciousness, the Bob Rock-produced set sounds like a gasoline fire gone wildly out of control with nobody around for miles willing to extinguish the flames. Sure, its a messy, uncivilized affair that reeks of artistic desperation at times, but even a slight improvement on Load was better than nothing amid the mainstream rock lull of 1997. Where the Wild Things Are is the song I find myself going back to the most, because Hetfields wrath manifests itself with a degree of veracity I dont think he ever reached on Load. It makes sense that six years passed before St. Anger came out, because the ire unleashed on Reload sounds an awful lot like a band struggling to navigate its way through the trials and tribulations that accompany being the biggest metal act in the world. They had reached an impasse where fans didn't know which version of the band they would see on any given night, which transformed their concerts into events where the epic songs weren't always given the same attention to detail as the newer tracks were. In her memoir titled Simple Dreams, Linda Ronstadt writes "I was not surprised when the heavy metal band Metallica achieved a style that was huge and orchestral in its guitar textures, showing itself to be perfectly capable of producing beautiful melodies with unusual, finely constructed harmonies." Her astute analysis of the band's original sound gets even more intriguing when you juxtapose it with how far outside of that box Metallica decided to go on Reload. The melodies aren't beautiful, the harmonies aren't finely constructed, and there's certainly nothing orchestral to be found within Devil's Dance or Bad Seed. This was a brutal and brooding record whose sole intention was to punch you in the stomach until you feel just as miserable about the state of the world as the band does.