Review Summary: 72 Building Blocks
72 Seasons does what Metallica do best. An assortment of riffs are distributed that have the trademark logo and classic style. The drummer’s incredibly loud drum set is beat to death like a whore, with robotic, passionless precision and predictability. Also, certain bass notes are plucked that no one will remember. These items occur at the same time to create predictable grooves that go on for much longer than merited or desired. These are the beats — these are the tracks, all of them. Not quite as fun as advertised.
At surface level the depth of ingenuity is shallow, though if one dives deeper they will immediately hit their head at the bottom of the pool. The album trudges along with the same pace, beats, drums, vocals, and riffs. Not creative in the slightest, though on the bright side, various pieces are in complete synchronization with each other, making a perfectly derivative picture. A testament of Metallica’s experience, or a result of their complete inability to think outside the box? Regardless of the answer, Metallica are here to serve their leftover, repetitive morsels. That includes singing which doesn’t have the same bite it used to. However, auto-tune replaces the bite in what can only be described as a modern tragedy.
The seemingly ageless, never changing Metallica is here. Rather than being gods, they are sounding like humans that have grown old. They are playing with their ancient building blocks, and created a bland, uninspired tower that looks like the other towers they previously built but minus the unique features (such as excellent shreds). They should know what they’re doing by now, and they do, playing every predictable, generic note with the confidence and swagger of veterans. Still, there’s some weak excitement around the corner if you can find the riffs which are buried beneath literally deafening drum noise.
There, you have it — the new, but very old sounding album. It packs a bit of heat and pinache as per Metallica. The drums certainly pop, the riffs are alright, and the singer sounds okay. It is quintessential dad metal to bring to the party because it is Metallica. Everybody loves them, but it’s time to admit they’re washed up.
