IN REVIEW: Metallica & Lou Reed - "Lulu"

"I would cut my legs and tits off when I think of Boris Karloff."

When your album starts off with this pleasant couplet, it's obvious that what you're in for isn't going to be your standard rock fare.  And that is certainly true with Lulu, the bizarre and challenging collaborative effort between Lou Reed and Metallica.  Based on German expressionist writings, filtered through Reed's rose-colored glasses and piled recklessly on top of a loopy, mundane Metallica jam session, the album is a near 90-minute exercise in musical Russian roulette.  And every chamber is full.

The last album to perplex and intrigue me in such a way was They Were Wrong So We Drowned, Liars' 2004 batshit insane ode to witches.  That album basically made me rethink my limits taste-wise.  Disjointed, ugly and messy, that album was a full-blown endurance trial, one that made the listener feel as though they were tied to the stake and watching the flames rise.  It was downright frightening in places, always confusing and unnerving.  And, when it was over, I found myself utterly and completely caught up in the experience.  That pushed me to listen again, and again, each time looking for an answer; maybe this time, the meaning would jump out at me.  Well, I never had an epiphany, but I did gain a new appreciation for the band.  That's because every time I listened to that album, I had no idea whether I was listening to an enthralling, genre-defying masterpiece or the biggest, most heinous and rancid piece of shit ever dropped onto wax.

The short answer: I ended up loving that record.  It pushed me and prodded me into some very uncomfortable places, but never made me feel like my time was wasted.  Which is precisely why I mention it in the same breath as Lulu.

Let's not sugarcoat it; Lulu is one of the worst atrocities ever committed to tape in rock's name.  Granted, the participants are no strangers to testing their fans' patience; Reed's 1975 album Metal Machine Music is often cited as one of the worst albums of all time, an alienating noisefest that held no regard for Reed's fanbase and is nearly impossible to digest at all, let alone in one sitting.  As for Metallica?  Well, depending on who you ask, they've been pissing on their legacy for the better part of the last 25 years.  Personally, I've kept an open mind throughout, and have enjoyed the majority of their output.

Lulu isn't as mind-numbingly awful and disorienting as Metal Machine Music, nor as musically displeasing as St. Anger, Metallica's therapy-induced tuneless orgy of power chords and trash can lids.  But that's little consolation, because the sum of Lulu's parts makes it arguably more disappointing than either.

Over the course of the terribly drawn out album, we are treated to a barrage of generic Metallica riffs mixed in with a couple of musically exciting tracks and a few very quiet numbers.  The View, Pumping Blood and Mistress Dread will sound good enough on the inevitable fan-made instrumental versions of the album.  It's when the music becomes more sparse that it really gets dull.  Iced Honey, despite being the most listenable song on the album, is almost embarrassing in its generic tedium.  Cheat On Me wouldn't be so bad if they'd cut it in half; it runs over 11 minutes long and is generally a cut and paste job of riffs and choruses.  The worst offender is Junior Dad, a dreary dirge that meanders toward the 10 and a half minute mark, at which point all band members nod off.  However, in a final move of audience defiance, the strings and keyboards drone on for another nine minutes.

I haven't even mentioned Reed's vocal performance, which is downright laughable.  Between his horribly tuneless singing and his scattershot, repetitive lyrics, it's absolutely embarrassing to listen to.  You literally feel bad for Metallica listening to Reed ramble on and on, all nonsensical prose and shock value (is there really a need to use the phrase "colored man's dick" in any context in the 21st century?).  I get it, there's respect between the two parties involved, but when you've got Kirk Hammett calling it one of the greatest things Metallica's ever done as a band, you can't help but want to shake him and scream "what is wrong with you?"

In short, Lulu is worth listening to, just once.  Be forewarned; it won't be pretty, and most of you won't make it all the way through.  If you somehow come out the other side better for the experience, please tell me what I missed the first time through that was so amazing, because I have no plans on ever listening to this experiment gone horribly awry ever again.  Really, the whole thing is like putting maple syrup on Kraft Dinner.  It's okay to appreciate each separately, but putting them together results in a hint of nausea and a bad taste in your mouth.  It's what happens when rich rock stars decide they haven't pissed a large enough percentage of their fan bases off yet and go for career murder/suicide.  Sadder still is the fact that, through the entire process, there probably wasn't a single person involved with the balls or presence of mind to say, "I don't think we should go through with this".  Don't get me wrong, I can appreciate the leap of faith it takes to really get outside of your comfort zone.  But you don't have to throw yourself into a pit of spikes.

November 1, 2011 • Warner Bros.

Highlights The View • Pumping Blood • Mistress Dread