Released: April 14, 2023
72 Seasons doesn’t arrive as a reinvention or a late-career statement designed to reframe the band’s history. It feels more like Metallica choosing to stay inside motion—long songs, repeated figures, and a pace that favors persistence over surprise. The album moves forward by holding patterns in place, letting time and repetition do the work instead of contrast or escalation.
The title track, “72 Seasons,” establishes that approach immediately. The riff cycles with intent, drums staying steady rather than urgent, the song advancing by reaffirmation instead of buildup. There’s energy here, but it’s regulated. The band sounds less interested in dramatic shifts than in maintaining forward drive across extended stretches.
That logic carries into “Shadows Follow” and “Screaming Suicide.” Both tracks rely on familiar Metallica mechanics—tight riffing, clear verse–chorus separation—but they don’t rush to distinguish themselves. The album isn’t chasing standout moments. It’s building continuity, asking the listener to stay with the motion rather than wait for a peak.
“Sleepwalk My Life Away” and “You Must Burn!” slow the tempo without releasing tension. These songs deepen the album’s sense of weight, leaning into groove and repetition rather than speed. The riffs sit heavy and deliberate, allowed to repeat long enough to feel physical. The album’s pressure comes from duration, not density.
“Lux Æterna” injects a sharper burst of momentum, but even here the posture holds. The song moves faster, but it doesn’t disrupt the album’s frame. It functions less as a turning point than as a brief tightening of pace before the record settles back into its established rhythm.
Mid-album tracks like “Crown of Barbed Wire” and “Chasing Light” reinforce how committed 72 Seasons is to consistency. These songs don’t introduce new ideas so much as rework existing ones with slight shifts in emphasis. The repetition isn’t accidental—it’s structural. Familiarity becomes the album’s primary tool.
“If Darkness Had a Son” and “Too Far Gone?” continue that pattern, their riffs looping with controlled insistence. Even when melodies surface more clearly, they’re folded into the same framework. Nothing opens outward. The album stays inside its chosen boundaries.
“Room of Mirrors” adds a subtle lift without changing direction, its pacing and harmony offering momentary breadth while remaining tethered to the album’s core motion. It feels like expansion within limits, not escape.
The closing track, “Inamorata,” stretches that approach to its furthest length. At over eleven minutes, the song doesn’t aim for resolution or climax. It sustains atmosphere and repetition, allowing the album’s method to play out in full. The ending doesn’t summarize the record; it reinforces it.
Production across 72 Seasons is clear and unadorned. Guitars are thick without becoming opaque, drums are prominent but controlled, and vocals sit firmly within the mix. There’s little studio gloss or layered trickery. The sound emphasizes presence and durability, supporting the album’s emphasis on long-form motion.
72 Seasons matters less for individual songs than for how consistently it holds its shape. The album isn’t trying to surprise or redefine Metallica. It’s documenting how the band operates now—through repetition, extended structures, and sustained forward movement.
When it ends, it doesn’t resolve its themes or close a chapter. It simply stops. That restraint feels deliberate. 72 Seasons holds because it commits fully to its method, trusting time, repetition, and continuity to carry the record from start to finish.
Written by Rob Joncas for DeadNoteMedia.
Artist information and music courtesy of the band.
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