The Eye of the Beholder - RnRF-Reviews: Lulu

No, it doesn't get less depressing.

First: No, it's not Master of Puppets part two. If you are one of those dyed-in-the-wool-total-bonehead-let-it-be-1986-again die-hards who just cannot cope with Metallica not trying to record the same album for the 17th time, then this record is not for you. Stop reading this and go back to trying to fit into your black stretch jeans. Second: I'm not liable to give you a truly unbiased account of this. I love Metallica. I even managed to find something (very little) vaguely redeemable in the mess that was Garage Inc. So don't expect me to go all high-brow and read a yard of Brecht before I go and comment on the somewhat anxiously awaited collaboration between Metallica, the royalty of all things metal, and Lou Reed, erstwhile frontman of cutting edge art-rock wonder Velvet Underground and by now probably one of the gnarliest and moodiest bully-brains on stage.
Talking of anxiety: I had been anticipating the arrival of 'Lulu' with a barely contained sense of dread since from when I first learned about the collaboration effort between the (by now slightly ageing) gods of thunder and the (yet even older) undisputed king of sexually inspired misery poetry. What good could possibly come of that? I wasn't heartened after the first bunch of reviews. At best there seemed to be a sense of confusion and incredulity mounting in the open minded. Outright disbelief and scorn from traditionalists on both side of the marriage. And howls of incomprehension from the rest. Not exactly a good sign.

All in all, somewhat unexpected.

Strangely enough, however, I kind of like this album. Don't get me wrong, it's not exactly the kind of aural energy drink equivalent you listen to on the way to the office to get pumped up before a particularly beastly client meeting. It's more of a soundtrack to an evening with a bottle of wine, a gripe about political incompetence in the Eurozone or the inversion a CDS curve and the time to turn it into a blog post. It's not an entirely sane affair. It does name-check both Boris Karloff and Klaus Kinski in the first song. And it kind of relegates one of the world's most dominant and charismatic rockbands to a supporting ensemble to an expert in bitterness. Except that that supporting ensemble occasionally coalesces into a menacing snarl that reminds you that it  _is_ Metallica that is hanging back in the wings. What it does have is tension and latent violence that sometimes comes close to the surface. Like a fanged octopus-monster rising to the surface of a muddy lagoon...while some demented shaman is howling it's name in some Lovecraftian un-language. And a palpable sense of disappointment that is what the music is about. Not what it is!
So would this discerning critic recommend it to you? Not if you are looking to stuff something entertaining onto your iPod. To be honest, this is probably best listened to at home, on your own, when you are sufficiently misanthropic to start with. And bear in mind that I actually wanted to like this. I'm sure you can find plenty of reasons to find this underwhelming. But if you are ready to accept that jaded millionaire rockstars can sometime actually strike gold in their (often misguided) search for a new experience, rather than turn into Iron Maiden / a circus act, then this might actually work for you. Just don't expect to feel chipper afterwards.