Metallica - Reload (1997)

I usually don't do consecutive reviews of the same band, but I take exception here, simply because one scathing review is generally best followed by another -- think of it as a kind of musical criticism bukkake. Anyway, Reload is exactly that -- a reload of the same garbage you heard on Load, except that the songs are more or less outtakes and recycled versions of the same filth. If Load was a rotten discolored dog turd, Reload is that same turd but having been maliciously stepped on and scavenged by vultures for undigested corn droppings.

The first track, "Fuel," is enormously fantastic -- so fantastic that Metallica immediately decided to sell the rights to NASCAR for use during broadcasts. Don't let anyone fool you into thinking that Danica Patrick got more people interested in racing; it was all because of "Fuel."

Beautiful, man, beautiful. Like McDonald's, I'm lovin' it. Like GEICO, you guys make it look so easy, a caveman could do it. Most importantly -- and this is perhaps the purest distillation of wisdom and individual verbal craft I can construct to bestow with marvelous munificence on your magnificent album -- where's the beef? An F for everything, you bastards.