The record refuses to linger, spinning from psychotrope to meditative musical montage, from brilliant electric brain impulses to blue-purple aural tears.
Hearing the wall-eyed melangé of surf riffs, pop sniffles, end-of-the-world shrieks, and the cracked harmonies of Black Francis and Kim Deal is always a treat.
Metallica’s lack of adrenaline is primarily due to their songwriting strategy of submerging power ballads beneath their traditional guitar chugging techniques.