“Fortune, fame, mirror vain, gone insane but the memory remains…”
Sinewed hands move effortlessly across the frets, fingers riffing out a clarion call to metal fans old and new. Drums pound with tribal abandon while the bass player moves, animalistic, across the stage. From behind sunglasses hiding the obvious signs of age, the singer shouts down the masters of puppets, demands to ride the lightning, and prays for the death that never really comes as a victim (and statistic) of war. This is Metallica, the pioneers of thrash metal who, three decades before, started a journey to rewriting the rock ‘n’ roll rulebook along with Megadeth, Slayer, and Anthrax. Adopting a punk ethic, a hard rock stance, and some of prog’s prolonged noodling, the group went from cult heroes to stadium gods so quickly that it now seems silly to think of them as anything but Establishment.