The One Off Series: Metallica Some Kind of Monster

Welcome back to SGT Rock’s Headbangers Ball, SGT Rock Army, Headbangers and the Hardcore, Veterans, Patriots, and everyone else not sitting in a diamond castle! On this episode, Metallica’s Some Kind of Monster era wasn’t just a documentary—it was a public autopsy of a band that had already flatlined creatively and was now flailing in its own entrails. Here we see the mighty thrash titans, once the scourge of the underground, reduced to whimpering millionaires in therapy circles, clutching acoustic guitars like security blankets while a $40,000-a-month “performance enhancement coach” named Phil Towle strokes their egos and bleeds their bank accounts. James Hetfield, the snarling riff-lord who used to spit fire on Kill ‘Em All, now mumbles through group hugs and “I feel” statements, looking like a grizzled biker who wandered into a yoga retreat and forgot how to leave. Lars Ulrich, the pint-sized Napoleon of drums, throws tantrums over napkin sketches and auctions off his basement art collection to fund his midlife crisis. Kirk Hammett? The poor bastard just nods along, a ghost in his own band, occasionally plucking a wah-wah pedal like it’s a pacifier. Jason Newsted, meanwhile, is the only sane one of the bunch—having already bailed years earlier like a rat with a PhD in self-preservation, leaving behind a trail of “told you so” that echoes louder than any bass line he ever laid down. The doc barely acknowledges his departure beyond a shrug and a “he wasn’t happy,” as if the guy who survived hazing, …And Justice for All ’s buried bass, and a decade of ego whiplash simply evaporated. Turns out he just saw the iceberg while the Titanic Elite was still arguing over deck chairs.

And then there’s the piece de résistance : the album they birthed from this cesspool of self-pity— St. Anger.

St. Anger is the sound of a band collectively pissing its legacy down the drain. No guitar solos (because “solos are selfish,” apparently), a snare drum that sounds like a trash can being kicked down a stairwell, and lyrics that read like a 14-year-old’s LiveJournal entry after his parents took away his Xbox. “My lifestyle determines my deathstyle”? “Frayed ends of sanity”? It’s not angry—it’s petulant. The riffs are there, sure, but they’re smothered under a production so murky it makes Lulu sound like Master of Puppets. The title track’s video has Hetfield screaming in a cage like a zoo animal that’s realized it’s never going out. And the “raw, unpolished” aesthetic? That’s not grit—that’s laziness. They didn’t strip away the polish; they forgot how to play their instruments with any semblance of finesse.

The documentary itself is a 140-minute cringe-fest: grown men arguing over who gets to play the “tick-tock” riff, Newsted’s exit reduced to a shrug, and the crowning moment when Dave Mustaine— the guy they kicked out in ‘83 —shows up to gloat while Lars squirms like a kid caught stealing. It’s not a rock doc; it’s a snuff film for Metallica’s dignity.

Watch this train derail... enjoy!

Remember this SGT Rock Army, Headbangers, Rock and Rollers, Servicemembers and Veterans. “Music and Partying was the mortar that kept us all together and no one can take that from us. And now...we want to share this with you, The SGT Rock Army...enjoy the show. To our Fallen, we’ll see you on the other side, Brothers and Sisters. Til Valhall! Til Valhall! Til Valhall!”

There’s a little something for everyone from Boomers, GenX, GenZ, and GenA! We hope you dig this show as it was made with you in mind. The Metal and Rock Music fan.

SGT Rock’s Headbangers Ball isn't just any show; it's a rite of passage, a cathartic journey for those who live for the heavy metal experience. It's a call to arms for headbangers, moshers, and fist-raisers alike. Keep your horns held high and that volume knob cranked to 11! This is YOUR…Headbangers Ball!

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