So I’ll start off by saying that this song is evidence of several things. The first thing that it is undeniable, irrefutable proof of, is that Kirk Hammett needs to quit. He has had a well publicised battle with arthritis, and it really shows. St. Anger had no solos, and somehow, that was still preferable to Death Magnetic‘s pathetic offering of wah-laden, standard pentatonic abuse. I don’t know how someone goes from writing, say, the ‘Call of Ktulu’, or ‘Unforgiven’, or ‘Master of Puppets’ solos, to peddling out an increasingly bland palette of utter shit, but I wish he would fuck off already. This actually hurts, considering I hero worshipped the curly-headed fuck when I was a kid. Now, it seems like he is rocking up into the studio, and recording his solos with a dildo. And not a big, impressive, veiny motherfucker either, no. I’m talking one of those little petite ones that is shaped like a lipstick tube, the kind that your mother keeps in her handbag just in case she runs into me down town and needs to duck off into the squats for a quick bit of relief.
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