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NEW RECORDINGS ’98

1. FREE SPEECH FOR THE DUMB (2:35) 2. IT’S ELECTRIC (3:33) 3. SABBRA CADABRA (6:20) 4. TURN THE PAGE (6:06) 5. DIE, DIE MY DARLING (2:26) 6. LOVERMAN (7:52) 7. MERCYFUL FATE (11:10) 8. ASTRONOMY (6:37) 9. WHISKEY IN THE JAR (5:04) 10. TUESDAY’S GONE (9:03) 11. THE MORE I SEE (3:23) GARAGE DAYS RE-REVISITED ’87

12. HELPLESS (6:36) 13. THE SMALL HOURS (6:40) 14. THE WAIT (4:52) 15. CRASH COURSE IN BRAIN SURGERY (3:08) 16. LAST CARESS/GREEN HELL (3:29) GARAGE DAYS REVISITED ’84

17. AM I EVIL? (7:50) 18. BLITZKRIEG (3:36) B-SIDES & ONE-OFFS ’88-’91

19. BREADFAN (5:41) 20. THE PRINCE (4:24) 21. STONE COLD CRAZY (2:17) 22. SO WHAT (3:08) 23. KILLING TIME (3:03) MOTORHEADACHE ’95

24. OVERKILL (4:05) 25. DAMAGE CASE (3:40) 26. STONE DEAD FOREVER (4:51) 27. TOO LATE TOO LATE (3:12)

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JAMES HETFIELD – GUITARS, VOCALS LARS ULRICH – DRUMS KIRK HAMMETT – GUITARS JASON NEWSTED – BASS Tracks 1-11: Somewhat produced by Bob Rock with Hetfield & Ulrich Engineered by Randy Staub Additional Engineering by Brian Dobbs Assisted by Kent Matcke, Leff Lefferts and Chris Manning Digital Edits by Paul DeCarli and Mike Gillies Recorded & mixed at The Plant Studios, (except Track 10), Sausalito, California, in September-October 1998 Mixed by Randy Staub and Mixed by Mike Fraser Mastered by George Marino at Sterling Sound As always, thanks to all the good people involved at The Plant Tracks 12-16: Not very produced by Metallica Engineered by Csaba “The Hut” Petocz Recorded in Los Angeles, California, in 1987 Tracks 17-18: Produced by Metallica and Mark Whitaker Engineered by Jeffrey “Nik” Norman Recorded in Sausalito, California, in 1984 CLIFF BURTON – BASS Tracks 19-20: Not produced Engineered by Mike Clink and Toby “Rage” Wright Rough mix by Flemming Rasmussen Recorded in Los Angeles, California in 1988 Track 21: Kind of produced by Metallica Engineered by Toby “Rage” Wright Recorded in Berkeley, California in 1990 Tracks 22-23: Roughly produced by Bob Rock with Hetfield & Ulrich Engineered by Randy Staub Recorded in Los Angeles, California, in 1991 Tracks 24-27: Not produced Recorded live direct to two-track at The Plant Studios in Sausalito, California, in December, 1995 Mixed by Randy Staub Remastered by George Marino at Sterling Sound Album Design by Andie Airfix at Satori Front cover photography and “Metallicats” photograph by Anton Corbijn Back cover photography of original sleeve by Ross Halfin Additional photography by Ross Halfin and Mark Leialoha Management by Q Prime, Inc.

NEW RECORDINGS ‘98

GARAGE DAYS RE-REVISITED ‘87

1. FREE SPEECH FOR THE DUMB

12. HELPLESS

(Morris/Wainwright/Molaney/Roberts) Published by Maxwood Music Ltd

Originally released by Discharge in 1982 on the “Hear Nothing See Nothing Say Nothing” album

2. IT’S ELECTRIC

(Tatler/Harris) Published by Happy Face Music/Zomba Enterprises, Inc

Originally released by Diamond Head in 1980 on the “Lightning to the Nations” album

3. SABBRA CADABRA

(Featuring an excerpt from A NATIONAL ACROBAT) (Black Sabbath) Published by Essex Music, Ltd

(Harris/Tatler) Published by Happy Face Music Ltd/Zomba Enterprises, Inc

Originally released by Diamond Head in 1980 on the “Lightning to the Nations” album

13. THE SMALL HOURS (Holocaust) Published by Edgy Music Ltd

Originally released by Holocaust in 1983 on the “Holocaust Live – Hot Curry and Wine” EP

14. THE WAIT

(Killing Joke) Published by E.G.Music Inc/BMG Music

22. SO WHAT

(Exalt/Culmer) Published by Link Music Ltd

Originally released by the Anti-Nowhere League in 1981 as a B-side to the “Streets of London” single

23. KILLING TIME (Sweet Savage) Published by Telstar Music

Originally released by Sweet Savage in 1981 as a B-side to the “Take No Prisoners” single Tracks 22-23 originally released by Metallica in November 1991 as B-sides to “The Unforgiven” UK single

MOTORHEADACHE ‘95

24. OVERKILL

(Kilmister/Clarke/Taylor) Published by EMI Intertrax

Originally released by Black Sabbath in 1973 on the “Sabbath Bloody Sabbath” album

Originally released by Killing Joke in 1980 on the “Killing Joke” album

4. TURN THE PAGE

15. CRASH COURSE IN BRAIN SURGERY

Originally released by Motorhead in 1979 on the “Overkill” album

Originally released by Bob Seger in 1973 on the “Back in ‘72” album

Originally released by Budgie in 1971 on the “Budgie” album

(Kilmister/Clarke/Taylor/Farren) Published by EMI Intertrax

(Seger) Published by Gear Publishing Co

5. DIE, DIE MY DARLING (Danzig) Published by Evilive Music

(Shelley/Bourge/Phillips) Published by Essex Music International, Ltd

16. LAST CARESS/GREEN HELL (Danzig) Published by Evilive Music

6. LOVERMAN

(Cave) Published by Mute Songs Ltd/Windswept Pacific Songs

“Last Caress” originally released by The Misfits in 1980 on the ”Beware” EP. “Green Hell” originally released by The Misfits in 1983 on the “Earth A.D.” album. Tracks 12-16 originally released by Metallica in August 1987 on The $5.98 E.P. – Garage Days Re-Revisited

Originally released by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds in 1994 on the “Let Love In” album

GARAGE DAYS REVISITED ‘84

7. MERCYFUL FATE

17. AM I EVIL?

Originally released by The Misfits in 1984 as a single

(Featuring SATAN’S FALL, CURSE OF THE PHARAOHS, A CORPSE WITHOUT SOUL, INTO THE COVEN and EVIL) (Shermann/Diamond) Published by Roadblock Music, Inc

“A Corpse Without Soul” originally released by Mercyful Fate in 1982 on the “Mercyful Fate” EP. All other songs originally released by Mercyful Fate in 1983 on the “Melissa” album.

8. ASTRONOMY (S.Pearlman/A.Bouchard/J.Bouchard) Published by Sony ATV Tunes

Originally released by Blue Oyster Cult in 1974 on the “Secret Treaties” album

9. WHISKEY IN THE JAR (Traditional)

Released by Thin Lizzy in 1972 as a UK single

10. TUESDAY’S GONE (Collins/Van Zandt) Published by MCA Duchess Music

Originally released by Lynyrd Skynyrd in 1973 on the “Pronounced Léh-nérd Skin-nérd” album Original Metallica (& friends) version heard on the “Don’t Call Us, We’ll Call You” radio special on December 18, 1997 Jerry Cantrell appears courtesy of Columbia Records. Les Claypool appears courtesy of Interscope Records and Primus. Pepper Keenan appears courtesy of Columbia Records and Corrosion Of Conformity. Sean Kinney appears courtesy of Columbia Records. Jim Martin appears courtesy of himself. John Popper appears courtesy of A&M Records and Blues Traveler. Gary Rossington appears courtesy of CMC International.

(Harris/Tatler) Published by Happy Face Music Ltd/Zomba Enterprises, Inc

Originally released by Diamond Head in 1980 on the “Lightning to the Nations” album

Originally released by Motorhead in 1979 on the “Overkill” album

26. STONE DEAD FOREVER (Kilmister/Clarke/Taylor) Published by EMI Intertrax

Originally released by Motorhead in 1979 on the “Bomber” album

27. TOO LATE TOO LATE (Kilmister/Clarke/Taylor) Published by EMI Intertrax

Originally released by Motorhead in 1979 as a B-side to the “Overkill” single Tracks 24-27 originally released in September 1996 by Metallica as B-sides to the “Hero of the Day” UK single

18. BLITZKRIEG

(Jones/Smith/Sirotto) Published by Men From The North Ltd

Originally released by Blitzkrieg in 1981 as a B-side to the “Buried Alive” single Tracks 17-18 originally released by Metallica in November 1984 as B-sides to the “Creeping Death” UK single

B-SIDES & ONE-OFFS ‘88-’91

19. BREADFAN

(Phillips/Shelley/Bourge) Published by Essex Music International Ltd

Originally released by Budgie in 1973 on the “Never Turn Your Back on a Friend” album

20. THE PRINCE

(Harris/Tatler) Published by Happy Face Music Ltd/Zomba Enterprises, Inc

Originally released by Diamond Head in 1980 on the “Lightning To The Nations” album Tracks 19-20 originally released by Metallica in September 1988 as B-sides to the “Harvester of Sorrow” UK single

21. STONE COLD CRAZY

11. THE MORE I SEE

(Mercury/May/Taylor/Deacon) Published by Glenwood Music Corp

Originally released by Discharge in 1984 as a single

Originally released by Queen in 1974 on the “Sheer Heart Attack” album Originally released by Metallica in September 1990 on ”Rubaiyat,” Elektra’s 40th Anniversay compilation album

(Morris/Wainwright/Molaney/Roberts) Published by Maxwood Music, Ltd

25. DAMAGE CASE

FOR FAN CLUB INFORMATION GO TO WWW.METALLICA.COM metallica.com

©1998 Blackened Recordings.

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It may be the worst thing you can say about a rock band: “They just play covers.” The very word – covers – is terse and ugly. It stinks of long nights in smelly bars run by shitbird owners who pay basement wages. It reeks of four-and-more sets a night, tired hits, human-jukebox arrangements and dispiriting crowds, dazed barflies and howling frat guys more interested in getting laid – or just laid out on hard drink – than in getting rocked. But everybody who’s anybody has done it; there’s no better kind of rock & roll schooling. Every great band, any superstar combo that has ever truly mattered, started out playing covers, forging an identity and agenda out of the licks and kicks of other people’s songs: the Beatles in Hamburg, gassed on German beer and amphetamines, roaring through Chuck Berry and Carl Perkins; the Rolling Stones in London blues pubs, putting an English, suburban spin on the black Chicago mojo of Howlin’ Wolf, Jimmy Reed and Muddy Waters; the Grateful Dead taking 20-minute improv rambles through Bob Dylan and classic Motown at aciddance parties in San Francisco; Led Zeppelin dropping napalm shots of Buddy Holly, the Buffalo Springfield, Spirit and the Sun Records catalog into the elastic jam sections of

“Whole Lotta Love” and “How Many More Times.” The Who, the Beach Boys, Deep Purple, the Yardbirds, the Sex Pistols, the Allman Brothers, Blue Öyster Cult, R.E.M.: they were all cover bands at one point – on stage, on B-sides, in the garage. Go back 16 years – past the sold-out, 24-month tours; the gizzillion-selling albums; the MTV video awards – and yeah, Metallica played covers. From Day One. At their debut live performance, in March, 1982 at a club called Radio City in Anaheim, California, Metallica – the first gigging foursome of drummer Lars Ulrich, singerguitarist James Hetfield, bassist Ron McGovney and guitarist Dave Mustaine – performed everything they knew. That included three originals, all they had so far: “Hit the Lights,” “Jump in the Fire” and an early blueprint of “The Four Horsemen” called “Mechanix.” And there were seven covers, all pulled from Ulrich’s deep library of British metal-underground vinyl. Five of those covers are on this album. One of them, “Am I Evil?” by Diamond Head, is still a Metallica-encore standard. In fact, there is nothing in this collection – 27 songs or medleys from 18 artists cov-

ering nearly 30 years of metal, thrash, punk, post-punk and otherwise – that doesn’t have a vital, valid connection to Metallica’s history and ambition. This is the stuff that made the classic lineup(s) – Hetfield, Ulrich, guitarist Kirk Hammett, bassist Jason Newsted and his crucial predecessor, the late, great bass monster Cliff Burton – want to play instruments, form a band, hit the road and write original songs. In short, to be as good, and maybe even better, than the records they loved. But that was down the road apiece. That night in Anaheim; the show a week later opening for British cult gods Saxon at the Whisky A Go Go in Los Angeles; the Blitzkrieg, Sweet Savage and four Diamond Head songs they played at those shows – there was a simple reason for all that. “It was,” Ulrich insists, “just, ‘Let’s do something

light-opera singer, raised in a strict Christian Science household – answers the ad; jam sessions start. In the fall of ‘81; the band (briefly including guitarist, Lloyd Grant) cuts “Hit the Lights,” which ends up on a local, independent compilation, Metal Massacre. First shows in early ‘82. World conquest begins. There is, of course, more. Born December 26, 1963 in Copenhagen, Ulrich enjoyed the kind of breezy independence and cultural exposure only possible in a truly bohemian family. His father, Danish tennis pro Torben Ulrich, was a jazz head, tight with many of the expatriate American stars living in Scandanavia. Lars’ godfather was the great saxophonist Dexter Gordon; trumpeter Don Cherry lived down the street. One of Lars’ first rock-concert experiences was going with his parents to the Rolling Stones’ historic free show in London’s Hyde Park in July, 1969 – he

fun. Here are these records we sit around and listen to, here are the records that get us off. It would be fun to play some of this music.’ We started life as a cover band.” You probably know at least the pocketedition version of Metallica’s origins: A Danish-born, junior-tennis player and aspiring drummer, living in Southern California with a massive record collection, places a newspaper ad in the spring of 1981 seeking like-minded headbangers. A guitarist from the L.A. suburbs – the son of a truckingcompany owner and

was five. Lars was nine when he saw Deep Purple in Copenhagen. Ulrich was already a teenage metalhead when he was knocked flat by the youngblood renaissance that ripped through England between 1979 and 1983, a roaring hybrid of air-guitar testosterone and punk-ish DIY temper christened the New Wave of British Heavy Metal by Geoff Barton, a writer for the British music weekly Sounds. In L.A., where he moved with his parents in 1980, Ulrich kept up to date with the torrent of U.K. indie-label and living-room-imprint releases (some with pressings in the low three figures) by subscribing to an English mail-order house, Bullit Records. He was such a loyal customer that after

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awhile, rather than wait for Ulrich’s want lists and checks, Bullit just dispatched everything – regular shipments every couple of weeks – and billed him for the goods. Born August 3, 1963, Hetfield was already hip to the tip of the NWOBHM, bands like Iron Maiden and Angel Witch, when he met Ulrich. He learned to play guitar by playing along with Scorpions and UFO albums, slowing the turntable down to copy Michael Schenker’s solos. Hetfield developed his taut, muscular style of rhythm playing from hours of study with Black Sabbath platters. But he was astounded by the size and specialist depth of Ulrich’s collection. It was, Hetfield says plainly, “fucking huge. When Lars first came to the States, he had all these singles with devils and pentagrams and rough-looking guys with leather jackets on the covers: Motörhead, Diamond Head, Witchfynde, Sweet

Savage, Tygers of Pan Tang. I would stay over at his place for days at a time, making tapes of his records and sleeping on the carpet. “The other thing that was amazing to me was that all these bands lived in the same cities and towns in England, scraping the money together to make a single. In Birmingham, there would be ten bands and they’d all sound different.” In L.A., you could go stupid from hearing local bands wringing the life out of the same old templates – Aerosmith, Zeppelin, Purple, AC/DC. Two decades later, it is hard to imagine why a scene as short-lived and geographically provincial as the NWOBHM was such a wow. Many of the hallowed, seven-inch artifacts of the day sound like rushed, shoestring-budget demos, which many actually were. There is also the lingering aroma of rock-warrior cheese in fly-the-flag anthems like Diamond Head’s “It’s Electric”: “I’m gonna be a rock’n’roll star/Gonna groove from night to day. . .” Maybe you had to be there. I was – in the spring of 1980, on a Def Leppard tour – and it was righteous fun: a breath of hot, dank air from the street, a fan-driven backlash to the platinum-rock aristocracy and the hokey grandeur of arena-show culture. It was the punk-rock wars all over again with longer hair, longer songs and an obsessive emphasis on the power and glory of the Almighty Riff. Which is why, when Ulrich made an NWOBHM pilgrimage in July, 1981 to experience the action first hand, he zipped right from Heathrow Airport to the Woolwich Odeon to see Diamond Head. Formed in 1977 in the West Midlands town of Stourbridge, Diamond Head– singer Sean Harris, guitarist Brian Tatler, bassist Colin Kimberley and drummer Duncan Scott – were that very rare bird in heavy metal: hard and smart. Their debut album, Lightning to the Nations, initially released in 1980 by the band with a plain white sleeve and label, remains one of the finest full-length documents of the period, a record of ferocious riff games and clever, expansive arrangements, honed to crisp, stabbing effect.

‘Xanadu’ by Rush and Led Zeppelin’s ‘Kashmir.’ We liked epicness; we wanted things to be grand.” “Am I Evil?,” “The Prince,” “Helpless” and “It’s Electric,” – all from Lightning – are covered here. The first three were performed in Anaheim and at the Whisky. (A fourth number from the album, “Sucking My Love,” was

Lightning was an Ulrich passion and Diamond Head became one of the single biggest influences on Metallica’s sound and modular riffbased style of composition. Ulrich even roomed with Harris and Tatler during that ‘81 trip and sat in on their writing sessions. “I used to go over to the singer’s house and we’d write in his bedroom,” Tatler explained to me in a 1989 interview. “And Lars would be there, hanging out while we were laboring over arrangements. We’d spend all day writing songs, arranging sections, and he probably thought that was the way bands write. We didn’t worry about how long a song had to be. It came out however it felt right, whether it was three minutes or ten. We probably got the idea from things like

dropped from the set soon after.) Diamond Head were, Ulrich bluntly declares, “50 percent of what ended up being Metallica. We got the whole thing about riffs and structuring, the adventure and liberties, from them.” The other 50 percent was Motörhead: the howling aggro, the lean, mean attack. Hetfield: “We put the two ‘Heads together and came up with something unique.” They just didn’t have enough of it – yet. No one noticed. There was no stage banter, no announcements about who wrote what, at the Radio City and Whisky gigs. Metallica played the songs. And the covers were so obscure that, Ulrich admits, “everybody just assumed they were our songs.” Everybody except a guy who came up to the band backstage at the Whisky. In a British accent, he dryly inquired, “Have you guys ever heard of a band called Diamond Head?” Ulrich, stunned, just asked, “Why?” “Well,” the guy replied, “I worked with Diamond Head for the last two years doing their monitors.” “Of course, we’d heard of fucking Diamond Head,” Ulrich says, laughing in retrospect. “We’d just played half their catalog. That was so surreal – he

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was the only one in Southern California who was in on the secret.” The punch line: that British gentleman, Paul Owen, one of Saxon’s sound men that night, has been a member of Metallica’s road crew for the last decade.

The cassette cover was black all over, with nothing on it except a piece of white tape with the word “Mezzfits” written on it. The music was supersonic punk-a-rama, Bmovie gore and twominute riff’n’roll by the Misfits, a New Jersey band of late’70s vintage, extraordinary staying power and mad pop genius. And it was the only thing Cliff Burton listened to during Metallica’s summer of 1985. He drove the rest of the group, in Ulrich’s words, “fucking crazy with this shit. We were writing Master of Puppets and driving around in his green Volkswagen station wagon to photo sessions,” Ulrich says. “Cliff would just pound this Misfits stuff, drum on the dashboard and make everybody fucking nuts. And Cliff wasn’t the best driver to begin with. “But through submission, we got into it too. The vocals and melodies were infectious. When you heard the stuff ten times, no matter how hard you tried to resist it, you got caught up in it.” “Cliff,” Kirk Hammett notes fondly, “had a way of commandeering the tape player in any vehicle.” In 1985, Metallica were an older,

bolder and profoundly more powerful band than the one that began by cribbing from NWOBHM 45’s. Their 1982 demo cassette, No Life ‘Til Leather, had been the talk of the international tape-traders network. They had two new members – Burton, who joined in late ‘82, and Hammett, who replaced Mustaine the following March. The realigned Metallica then took speed metal overground, big time, with the 1983 release of their atomic debut LP, Kill ‘Em All, and now had a deal with a major American label, Elektra. The group had also recorded its first cover versions: “Am I Evil?” and “Blitzkrieg,” paired as Garage Days Revisited on the 1984 U.K. 12-inch single, “Creeping Death.” In Burton, born February 10, 1962 in San Francisco, Hetfield and Ulrich found a young musician so special – a college-level student of classical piano with feral stage presence and a volcanic bass technique — that they relocated to the Bay Area just to poach Burton from his old band, Trauma. Born November 18, 1962 and, like Burton, an S.F. native, Hammett was a guitarist whose catholic education in heavy music – Kiss, UFO, the rich, local punkmetal scene, the Haight-Ashbury flavor of his older brother’s records (Santana, Hendrix) – could be heard in his knockout combination of chops and velocity. Making Garage Days Revisited was an accident of necessity. “Creeping Death” was pulled from the ‘84 album, Ride the Lightning, to promote a European tour and it has long been an article of faith in England and Europe that singles, as an art form and value-added item, include fresh kill on the B-side. Metallica had no new or leftover originals. “Am I Evil?” and “Blitzkrieg” were naturals. Blitzkrieg – the band – formed in 1980 in Wolverhampton, England and were one of several NWOBHM bands (including White Spirit and

Tygers of Pan Tang) associated with the Neat Records label in Newcastle. The original quintet never got to make an album; they lasted just over a year and broke up shortly after issuing their only single in 1981. (Later Blitzkriegs featured different members.) But the group’s namesake anthem, the Bside of “Buried Alive,” was demon wax, a shameless but irresistible rewrite of the 1973 hit “Hocus Pocus” by the Dutch group Focus, given the bracing, twin-guitar treatment of mid-’70s Thin Lizzy. To Ulrich, “Blitzkrieg” was “just one of those singles: ‘Fuck, this rocks.’” The title, Garage Days Revisited, was a literal tribute to Metallica’s beginnings. Early rehearsals in L.A. were held in Ron McGovney’s garage, soundproofed with cardboard, supermarket egg cartons and old carpet remnants pinched by Hetfield and Ulrich from trash dumpsters in the Newport Beach apartment complex where Ulrich lived at the time. When Hetfield and Ulrich moved to San Francisco after recruiting Burton, the pair made one last sweep of the dumpsters and scored enough carpet, however worn and smelly, to outfit the garage in their new bachelor crib in the East Bay neighborhood of El Cerrito. Burton would not live to see Metallica’s next Garage Days record. On September 27, 1986, Metallica were on an overnight drive between gigs in Sweden when the tour bus suddenly veered off the road and overturned. Burton was killed instantly; he was 24. But his broad taste in music had a lasting effect on Metallica’s songwriting and the genre spread of later cover romps. Hammett recalls many listening sessions with Burton: “He’d make us listen to Creedence Clearwater Revival, Simon and Garfunkel. He turned me on to the Velvet Underground and the Dictators.” Burton frequently played piano recordings of the works of Johann Sebastian Bach and was always spinning Thin Lizzy, particu-

larly songs from the group’s early’70s period with guitarist Eric Bell. “Cliff had a very melodic sensibility,” says Hammett. “If you listen to ‘Orion’ (on Master of Puppets), the melodic part at the end with those guitar harmonies – he wrote that entire bit. I remember when we were going over that, I said to him, ‘Damn, that sounds like Thin Lizzy.’ He turned to me and said, ‘That’s where I get all my shit from, man.’” Like the “Creeping Death” B-sides, The $5.98 EP: Garage Days ReRevisited – its full title, with the price up front so retailers couldn’t fuck the kids for an extra buck – was partly conceived as a promo tool. In November, 1986, Hetfield, Ulrich and Hammett picked themselves up out of mourning and found a new bassist, Jason Newsted, from the Phoenix, Arizona, band Flotsam and Jetsam. The four of ‘em quickly hit the road, fulfilling outstanding Master of Puppets tour dates. They also got a prestigious booking for the summer of 1987: a slot on the Monsters of Rock bill at Castle Donington, England. The band’s U.K. label, Vertigo, proposed an EP to coincide with the appearance. Never a band of overwriters, Metallica had nothing to pull out of the songbag. An attempt, after the last Puppets shows, to jump into the next studio album proved premature, yielding only a formative “Blackened.” Then Hetfield broke his arm skateboarding; another couple of months went out the window. With Donington looming, the solution was clear: more covers. For Hetfield, Hammett and Ulrich, The $5.98 EP was therapy through noise, a chance to work through their loss via songs that were part of their years with Burton. For Newsted – born March 4, 1963, in Battle Creek, Michigan – it was an opportunity to prove himself as a player and bandmate without the immediate burden of a new studio record. He started by assuming the role of job foreman in the renova-

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tion of Metallica’s latest rehearsal space: the garage in Ulrich’s new house, right across the street from his and Hetfield’s old pad in El Cerrito. Raised on a farm and experienced in construction, Newsted put together a $4,000 budget, bought tools and materials and, usually with a team of friends, appeared at Ulrich’s place at 10 o’clock each morning, ready to hammer. To soundproof the walls, he used the old-carpet trick, hauling discarded rolls from his apartment building. “At first, you didn’t notice it,” Newsted says, “but once the carpet was in the room, the stench hit you – huge spill spots, beer stains, that used to be on people’s floors. I tried to create a little air-conditioning system in there; it never really worked. But we spent a lot

of time in that garage and rehearsed those EP songs for a month before going into the studio to cut ‘em.” While in high school, Newsted moonlighted at the University of Black Sabbath, taking bass lessons from Geezer Butler by listening repeatedly to the Master of Reality album. He had a “big hero-worship thing” for Rush’s Geddy Lee and was dead into Lemmy from Motörhead because “he was playing distorted bass, fast, with a pick.” In Phoenix, Newsted haunted the import-metal bins in local record shops, getting

his fill of Iron Maiden and Diamond Head. Still, most of the material recorded for The $5.98 EP was new to him. “I just studied it the best I could,” Newsted says, “and tried to put my signature on there.” Among the songs considered for The $5.98 EP, then dropped: “White Lightning” by a NWOBHM group, Paralex; “Signal Thunder” by Bow Wow, a Japanese band that enjoyed a minor flurry of U.S. cult interest; and “I’m No Fool,” by the NWOBHM trio Gaskin. At one rehearsal, Hammett says, Metallica were running into brick walls with “White Lightning,” so he began playing the hellish, staccato riff of “The Wait” by the British post-punk band Killing Joke. The rest of Metallica fell in. They all knew it from a mix tape given to Burton by Rich Birch (R.I.P.), best known to Metallifans as “Rich Banger” for his immortal quote on the back cover of Kill ‘Em All, “Bang the head that doesn’t bang.” “The Wait” was not obvious Metallica meat. A London four-piece, Killing Joke were part of the arthouse mutiny in British punk at the turn of the ‘80s. Like their best contemporaries – Gang of Four, The Pop Group, Public Image Ltd. – Killing Joke applied the rhythms and instrumental character of funk and dub reggae to punk’s martial-riff dynamics and black-hearted world view. The 1980 album, Killing Joke, which included “The Wait,” remains a high-octane cocktail of heaving guitar corrosion and nihilistic snarl. Budgie were from the far, opposite end of Metallica’s heavy-boogie radar. From Cardiff, Wales, Budgie – led by singer-bassist Burke Shelley – played old-school muck’n’howl, the thermal-trio sound of Cream curdled with mega-spoonfuls of Black Sabbath. Rodger Bain, Sabbath’s original producer, even did the honors on the 1971 debut, Budgie, noting in his back-cover testimonial that Budgie “aren’t the world’s greatest composers, they’re not particularly

subtle, they’re not progressive. . . they are a Rock Band, a freaking good Rock Band.” Too true. What Budgie lacked in finesse they made up in the tonnage and ten-story-drop impact of their guitar hooks. Alas, the group tended to lace the big fun with incongruous acoustic-ballad passages and weird ham like the “Oooh, baby, I can rock’n’roll” vocal break in “Crash Course in Brain Surgery.” “There’d be this awesome riff,” says Hetfield, “then they’d go off into some mellow trip through the daisies.” For the EP, Metallica replaced the “Oooh, baby” part with massed drunken bellowing. When Metallica covered Budgie’s “Breadfan” during the . . . And Justice for All sessions, they simply chopped the mellow-daisies bit. Budgie footnotes: The label copy of The $5.98 EP noted that “Crash Course in

Brain Surgery” was recorded in 1974. It was included on Budgie’s album of that year, In For the Kill, but had been cut in 1971 and first issued on Budgie, listed simply as “Crash Course.” Also, Budgie had some of the best song titles in the business: “Hot as a Docker’s Armpit,” “Panzer Division Destroyed,” “Nude Disintegrating Parachutist Woman.” Not as amusing was the night Metallica met Burke Shelley in Cardiff on the Justice tour. He was employed at the venue as a stage hand. “Then, to add injury to insult,” says Ulrich, “his fin-

gers got caught in a roadcase on the loadout. I think he broke his thumb.” “Helpless” by Diamond Head and “The Small Hours” by Holocaust were the EP’s inevitable nods to the NWOBHM. Metallica gave a near-literal, hyperspeed reading of the first two-thirds of “Helpless,” lopping off a lengthy coda that Diamond Head had played in a strange type of metal gallop. Holocaust were from Edinburgh, Scotland. “They were one of those bands kicking around in 1981 and ‘82,” Ulrich says. “They had a little bit of cheese factor to them, but they also had some stuff that was really weighty.” “The Small Hours” was a slow, mean bruiser, with a tempo like a dying man’s crawl, taken from a 1983 EP, Holocaust Live: – Hot Curry and Wine. “I’ve got something to say/I killed

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your baby today”: Those memorable lines were the starting gun for the climactic Misfits medley, a grafting of the homicidal “Last Caress” and the headlong death curse “Green Hell.” “There was a huge comic element to the Misfits,” Hetfield says with nothing but admiration. “They got their whole being from comic books and monster mags. But I loved their amazing, almost pop-y hooks. They were smashing guitars and singing about some horrible stuff – in these pop songs. “And Glenn Danzig was singing some cool shit. He was a major influence when I was trying to become a real singer, getting that yelling/singing sound down. Most of the other punk bands – there were no notes. The Misfits had notes.” But no respect. Now routinely cited as godhead, the Misfits were ignored by critics and record-company A&R clowns in their first lifetime, from 1977 to 1984. Danzig and bassist Jerry Caiafa (a/k/a Jerry Only) started the band as a trio in Lodi, New Jersey, naming themselves after Marilyn Monroe’s final movie and initiating their own label,

Blank, with the hard, brooding single “Cough/Cool.” In 1978, in a freak twist of business, the Misfits, by then a quartet, received 30 hours of free studio time from Mercury Records in return for dropping the Blank name, also used by a Mercurydistributed imprint – run by Metallica’s future managers, Cliff Burnstein and Peter Mensch. Among the 17 songs recorded at those sessions – material that was supposed to comprise the Misfits’ debut album, but which went unreleased in America until 1996 as Static Age – was “Last Caress.” (Hetfield knew the song from a 1980

take the piss out of ourselves.” According to Newsted, The $5.98 EP: Garage Days Re-Revisited was recorded and mixed in six days. Metallica never work that fast on their own songs. For Metallica, studio albums are marathon labors in obsession and perfection, completed in what Hammett characterized to me in 1996 as “Metallitime”: “We’re the master procrastinators. We tend to sweat and toil on the beginning of a record, and a lot of that has to do with establishing a stride that works for us. Sometimes establishing that momentum is very difficult.”

English EP, Beware.) “Green Hell” was on the 1983 LP, Earth A.D., a fast, vicious document of the Misfits’ evolution into mighty hardcoremetal rompers. Despite the spread in vintage, “Last Caress” and “Green Hell” were, Hetfield says, “just two songs we liked, so we butted them together.” The snatch of bent-note wailing in the fadeout was not from the Misfits catalog but a nutty bow to Iron Maiden, an out-of-tune taste of “Run to the Hills.” “Lars had learned this drum bit,” Hetfield explains. “He kept playing it over and over, and we just kind of goofed on it at the end of the track. It was nothing against Maiden. It was just a way to take the piss out of metal. “And,” he quickly adds, “a way to

Revisiting their garage days on the EP proved beneficial on that count. Metallica discovered that, instead of leaping into the deep end of a new album, they could work up to running speed – check guitar and drum sounds, settle into a studio – with covers. The first things to hit tape when Metallica started . . . And Justice For All were Diamond Head’s “The Prince” and Budgie’s “Breadfan.” Ulrich concedes that it was “predictable” to go back to Diamond Head; he also uses the word “loyal.” “Breadfan” was a mixtape favorite, something he and Hetfield listened to as they tooled through L.A. in a rental car, checking out prospective recording facilities for Justice. The start-of-session covers solved the continuing B-sides problem as well. “Breadfan” and “The Prince”

appeared on the backside of “Harvester of Sorrow” in Britain. Emerging from twelve months of writing and recording Metallica in 1991, the band had “Killing Time” by Sweet Savage and the ludicrously obscene “So What” by AntiNowhere League in hand. “Killing Time” was NWOBHM time again. Today, the Irish band Sweet Savage are best known, if at all, for their lead guitarist Vivian Campbell, a Belfast native now in Def Leppard who did time with Ronnie James Dio and David Coverdale’s Whitesnake. But “Killing Time” – the B-side of Sweet Savage’s ‘81 single, “Take No Prisoners” – was solid metal, a passionate blast of anti-war games in the same, high-decibel protest tradition as Metallica’s “One.” Anti-Nowhere League were, by contrast, cartoon hooligans, comic relief from the Sid Vicious clones and skinhead riots that brought U.K. punk to a disheartening, early-’80s low. A quartet including an Iranian drummer, a guitarist called Magoo and a singer, Animal, who definitely looked the name, the League became the toast of British lager lads with a riotous disemboweling of a genteel, ‘70s folk hit, “Streets of London,” by singer-songwriter Ralph McTell. The London police were not so pleased with the B-side, “So What,” a feast of sexually, scatologically explicit, pub-bully boasts. In February, 1982, authorities confiscated 10,000 copies of the 45, then destroyed them under the Obscene Publications Act and forbade the label, WXYZ, from pressing any more. A BBC Radio jock, Tony Blackburn, was quoted on the matter in the tabloid press: “These records are a disgrace to the industry. They are obviously made by untalented people who are out to make money by shocking people.” Purists to the bone, Metallica recorded the song with speed and sleaze intact. Queen’s “Stone Cold Crazy” is the only cover Metallica has ever cut to order. To celebrate its 40th anniversary, Elektra Records asked 38 acts on the roster to record vintage Elektra-catalog songs for a double CD, Rubáiyát. Ulrich says doing Queen was a no-brainer: “You could

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sit down, look at the song list and go, ‘Well, maybe someone else should cover ‘Hotel California.’” For Hetfield, picking “Stone Cold Crazy” – two minutes of premium locomotion from 1974’s Sheer Heart Attack – was a tribute to Queen guitarist Brian May: “Brian May was the harmony master. He came up with these huge parts that sounded like string sections, flamboyant orchestrations. And he was doing it all on guitar. Along with Thin Lizzy, what he did on those records helped us a lot in using guitar harmonies in our songs.” Metallica were deep into the ReLoad sessions, in December of 1997, when they were called about a birthday party – for Ian “Lemmy” Kilmister of Motörhead, about to turn 50. Metallica said yes, without thinking twice, but passed on the notion of showing up for an all-star jam in L.A. at the Whisky. Instead, they offered to open for Motörhead, unannounced, as a tribute band. Hetfield, Ulrich, Hammett and Newsted quickly rehearsed six tunes: “Overkill” and “Too Late, Too Late,” both sides of a 1979 single; “Damage Case” from the Overkill LP; “Stone Dead Forever” on the ‘79 album Bomber; and, from 1980’s Ace of Spades, “We Are the Road Crew” and “The Chase Is Better Than the Catch.” Tape was rolling (Metallica keep a DAT machine running at all times in the studio) and the first four songs, taken live from the floor, mistakes and all, became U.K. B-sides. Much has been said about Lemmy as a punk and metal father figure. It’s still not enough. He is one of the most ferocious bass players to walk the earth and a seemingly indestruc-

tible embodiment of the road life. Born on Christmas Eve, 1945, Lemmy played in Beatle-pop and acid-rock bands in the ‘60s, roadied for Jimi Hendrix and was the bassist in the British space-rock group Hawkwind until they fired him following a 1975 Canadian drug bust. Lemmy then formed the first of several protolineups of Motörhead (slang for amphetamine user) before settling on the classic ‘76-’82 formation with guitarist Fast Eddie Clarke and drummer Phil “Philthy Animal” Taylor. Lemmy once claimed that if Motörhead moved next door to you, your lawn would die. That is everything you need to know about the raw, violent magic of Motörhead at their best. Metallica turned up at the Whisky in Lemmy wigs and aviator shades. For “We Are the Road Crew,” the man himself hit the stage, singing and playing bass with an awestruck Newsted. “I knew all the words – Flotsam and Jetsam used to play

‘Road Crew’ all the time – but he was right next to me, rubbing his warts on me, talking in my ear, saying the words backwards,” Newsted says, laughing. “I was like, ‘Dude, I love you, but I’m freaking out enough without you fucking with me.’” Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Tuesday’s Gone” is another oddfellow here – acoustic and recorded live at the studios of KSJO-FM in San Jose, California, during a national interview-and-campfire-jam broadcast to promote ReLoad in December, 1997. Friends on hand included Blues Traveler harmonica wiz John Popper, guitarist Jerry Cantrell and drummer Sean Kinney of Alice In Chains, Les Claypool of Primus on banjo, Corrosion Of Conformity guitarist Pepper Keenan, ex-Faith No More guitarist Jim Martin and Metallica’s specially invited guest, founding Skynyrd guitarist Gary Rossington. Metallica had deep, if not visible, roots in Skynyrd. “Sweet Home Alabama” was the first record Hetfield ever bought (“I rode my Schwinn bike over to the music store where I bought the sheet music for my fucking piano lessons”); Newsted talks about how much he learned (“the swing and rockin’ vibe”) from Leon Wilkeson’s bass work. And it is not hard to find parallels in the way Skynyrd, a working-class-outlaw crew from Jacksonville, Florida, and Metallica, a generation later, both became stars – by singing and playing not for the press and the industry, but the people. “The very plainspokenness that was Skynyrd’s glory,” Dave Marsh wrote in Rolling Stone in 1978, “was also what kept them from critical acclaim; they always seemed too vulgar. Mostly, the group’s music is about simple pleasures and grim problems, but if the songs are realistic, a romantic’s vision has shaped that reality.” There may be no finer example of Skynyrd’s intuitive balance of gritty truth and bittersweet yearning than the chiming guitars, slow, sad gait and gin-soaked blues of singer Ronnie Van Zant in “Tuesday’s

Gone,” from Skynyrd’s August, 1973 debut, Pronounced. . . “I always loved that one,” says Hetfield. “It’s a movin’-on song – you’re splitting, you’re leaving your woman at home. You’re off doing your own thing. It really fits the road.” Touring and startime; the hunger, the parties, the work and learning – Metallica have tried to telescope it all into the ten new recordings in this collection, selections meant to capture the long haul from youthful exuberance and what-the-hell recklessness to craft, experience and reflection. Black Sabbath, Mercyful Fate, Discharge, Blue Öyster Cult, more Diamond Head (“It’s Electric”) and Misfits (“Die, Die My Darling,” the last single of the Danzig era): it’s obvious which end of the yardstick they come from. Metallica could have pulled anything from Sabbath. They declined, naturally, to do the hits: “Paranoid,” “War Pigs,” etc. Buried in the middle of the 1974 album, Sabbath Bloody Sabbath, “Sabbra Cadabra” has always been, in Ulrich’s estimation, “the fucking riff from hell. I remember, on the Load tour, talking with Kirk about this project one night in Frankfurt, staying up and watching the sun rise, and saying, ‘If we do any Sabbath, it’s got to be “Sabbra Cadabra.”’ There’s actually a bit of that feel in ‘2X4’ (on Load).” But Sabbath’s original also had a spacedout midsection not as suitable to Metallica’s temper; hence the inserted, cast-iron shot of “A National Acrobat,” also on Sabbath Bloody Sabbath. “Black Sabbath were not a direct influence on our music,” Ulrich asserts. “They had been going for too long. But they were a big influence on the four of us as we were growing up.” He adds that on their 1986 tour dates, opening for the solo Ozzy Osbourne, Metallica had the love and nerve to soundcheck

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with songs from Osbourne’s Sabbath days: “We were doing it, hoping he’d be backstage in his dressing room, hear us and come out and jam.” It didn’t happen. “Astronomy” comes from Blue Öyster Cult’s 1974 guitar-army classic, Secret Treaties. Newsted claims that, in his teenage concert-going years, he saw BÖC more than any other band – “because they toured more than any other band.” I vividly remember seeing them in Philadelphia in ‘75, Buck Dharma and Eric Bloom locking guitar necks like medieval swordsmen in front of three floor-to-ceiling banners with the group’s trademark cross-andclaw logo, turning the classy Shubert Theater on Broad Street into some kind of electric teenage Nuremberg. On record, BÖC were metal with brains. They wrote fierce, savvy garage-noir songs about biker wars and adolescent meltdown. They collaborated with punk priestess Patti Smith and rock critic Richard Meltzer, were literate in ‘60s punk and psychedelia and, in Dharma, had a lead guitarist of astounding force and precision. He didn’t just play licks; he shoved hot needles in your ears. “Whiskey in the Jar” is a traditional Irish folk ballad, certainly the oldest song Metallica have ever covered. Revived on record in 1967 by the Irish singing group the Dubliners, the song was radically recast in 1972 by Thin Lizzy. A young man of mixed race in a rough-and-tumble culture, the group’s singer-bassist Phil Lynott was a part-black, part-Irish poet and raver who understood all too well the deep blues and swaggering, embattled optimism of great Irish storytelling. “Whiskey in the Jar” was definitely his cup of sorrow – a

dashing young bandit robs an army officer to keep his girlfriend happy, only to be imprisoned after she betrays him – and Lynott sang with the warm, resigned soul of wounded youth. Eric Bell created the elegant, signature guitar line, with its distinctive stutter, and the song, released in the middle of English glam mania, became the first of many hits for Lynott and Lizzy. But it was a rough ride. Lynott died in January, 1986, after experiencing, all too intimately, the blinding excesses and bleak depths of rock-star living. Metallica were as likely to be listening to the English bullet-punk anarchists Discharge as they were Lizzy or the Misfits during those recordplaying binges in El Cerrito. “Back in

is only slightly more wordy: “From where I stand I see/Pain, suppression and misery/The more I see, the more I see/The less, the less I believe.” “I love singing the Discharge stuff,” raves Hetfield. “You’ve only got three lines, sung 50 times over. But the riffs – that guitarist Bones was pulling off some serious metal riffs.” Unlike most of the acts Metallica have covered, Mercyful Fate were friends and contemporaries. They formed in 1981, the same year as Metallica, and, like Ulrich, were Danish. Fronted by King Diamond – an operatic howler with aspirations to Satanism who performed in face paint which made him look like a cross between Gene Simmons of Kiss and a professional

the partying days,” says Hetfield, “we’d put on a Motörhead record, Angel Witch, then Discharge — and no one flinched. It all belonged together. It was aggressive, it had guitars, it felt good.” That’s Hammett in a Discharge Tshirt on the back cover of Ride the Lightning. “Free Speech for the Dumb,” one of fourteen torpedos on Discharge’s 1982 debut album, Hear Nothing See Nothing Say Nothing, is definitive punk pith: The title – that’s the whole lyric – is repeated four times in two passes over roiling hardcore thunder. “The More I See”

wrestler – Mercyful Fate followed a roughly parallel track to Metallica in the early ‘80s underground, scoring raves for the dense, torrid riff architecture of guitarist Hank Shermann on three privately-released demo tapes and a 1982 EP, Mercyful Fate. When Metallica went to Denmark in 1984 to make Ride the Lightning, they practiced in Mercyful Fate’s rehearsal studio. Of the five Fate songs in Metallica’s medley, “A Corpse Without a Soul” is from the EP; “Evil,” “Curse of the Pharaohs” and “Satan’s Fall” first circulated among tape traders as a BBC Radio session, done in March, 1983; “Into the Coven” was on the ‘83 album, Melissa. “Mercyful Fate were very Danish guys in attitude,” says Ulrich, who should know such things.

“They were very pure, very sarcastic, very friendly, very open and warm. And they were doing this wild Purple-meets-Judas Priest thing with a more progressive element. Really insane stuff.” Nick Cave’s “Loverman” is at once the most bizarre, and logical, entry here, an example of how superficial categorization confuses deeper connections in music. Cave and Hetfield couldn’t come from more apparently different worlds: Hetfield was a suburban adolescent metalhead at the same time Cave – born in 1957 in Warracknabeal in Victoria, Australia, the son of a mathematics and literature teacher – was terrorizing punks and Goths as the shamanistic vocalist of the pioneering Aussie band the Birthday Party. But Cave, with the Birthday Party and then with his own group the Bad Seeds, found lyric inspiration in the darkest corners of the human condition, particularly as described in the Old Testament; Hetfield wrote about capital punishment and ancient Egyptian plague. And both men are very fond of extremes, the juxtaposition of soft, focused menace with chaotic despair. The same jarring mix of light and dark in Metallica’s “Fade to Black” can be heard in the convulsive erotic misery of “Loverman,” from Cave’s 1994 album with the Bad Seeds, Let Love In. Cave first came to Hetfield’s attention through Metallica’s producer Bob Rock, who gave the guitarist a copy of Cave’s death-song cycle, Murder Ballads. “I went, ‘Whoah! These are cool songs and they’re all about murders,’” Hetfield says, cackling. “But that made me investigate his other material and I was turned on by it completely, by the moods he created.”

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In 1996, at the time of Murder Ballads, I asked Cave in an interview about his impulse, and talent, for writing about violence and degradation. “I’m no authority on the subject at all,” he said. “I just have a certain way with words when it comes to writing about violence. I enjoy ruminating over the details.” Love songs were a thornier problem. “I don’t think I could ever write a straight love song in the sense that it’s truly optimistic, because I don’t have that relationship with love. I’m always conscious of the way it’s gonna end from early on, from the tiny cracks that appear. You can see the things that will ultimately destroy the relationship.” Like, for instance, the road. Listening to his car as he drove across the Golden Gate Bridge about three years ago, Ulrich heard Bob Seger’s “Turn the Page,” a brutally honest, white-soul ballad about the oppressive grind and stupefying ennui of touring, the stuff the fans never see. Ulrich’s response: “That song has ‘James Hetfield’ written all over it.” Hetfield had a similar initial reaction: “It was the lyrics. We should have written that.” A heartland-rock superstar working consistently, proudly, in the rock & roll mainstream of Dylan, the Stones, Presley and classic soul, Seger, a Detroit native, was the antithesis of everything Metallica aspired to in 1981 and ‘82. But like them, he knew about the high price of going for the gusto, of putting your music on small-hope indie labels and playing in bars for beer money and flickers of encouragement. He cut a string of mid-’60s singles (“Ramblin’, Gamblin’ Man,” “East Side Story,” “Heavy Music”) now considered garage-punk diamonds but which were mostly regional hits. For a decade, Seger was virtually unknown outside the Midwest, where he toured tirelessly on the back of fine, woefully underpromoted albums, like Back in ‘72. Released the following year, Back in ‘72 included “Turn the Page,” a slice from Seger’s own life on the endless highway: “But your thoughts will soon be wandering the way they always do/When you’re riding 16

hours and there’s nothing there to do/And you don’t feel much like writin’/You just wish the trip was through.” It was a song of brooding quiet, pregnant with the loneliness of hotel rooms, the stares in restaurants, the deafening silence after the audience goes home. Seger told Rolling Stone in 1978 that “all the roadies I’ve ever met say, ‘Yeah, you’re telling my story.’” Metallica have told it again, their way. And that’s it, all the covers Metallica have committed to record – for now. They don’t need to play other people’s songs, for fun or profit, ever again. But they will. “Man, it helps you get better,” Hetfield contends. “It gets you thinking about sounds and things, makes you a better musician. You can go in some of these directions, and it’s a little less of a shock, at first, for the fans – ‘Oh, it’s just a cover song.’” “The songs we write,” says Ulrich, “are dissected and analyzed. We sit with them for months. With someone else’s song, you only have to capture the moment. And there will always be a real need for us to have that outlet, as long as there is a Metallica. I really believe that.” – David Fricke New York City, October, 1998

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NEW RECORDINGS ’98 1. FREE SPEECH FOR THE DUMB (2:35) 2. IT’S ELECTRIC (3:33) 3. SABBRA CADABRA (6:20) 4. TURN THE PAGE (6:06) 5. DIE, DIE MY DARLING (2:26) 6. LOVERMAN (7:52) 7. MERCYFUL FATE (11:10) 8. ASTRONOMY (6:37) 9. WHISKEY IN THE JAR (5:04) 10. TUESDAY’S GONE (9:03) 11. THE MORE I SEE (3:23)

GARAGE DAYS RE-REVISITED ’87 12. HELPLESS (6:36) 13. THE SMALL HOURS (6:40) 14. THE WAIT (4:52) 15. CRASH COURSE IN BRAIN SURGERY (3:08) 16. LAST CARESS/GREEN HELL (3:29) GARAGE DAYS REVISITED ’84 17. AM I EVIL? (7:50) 18. BLITZKRIEG (3:36)

22. SO WHAT (3:08) 23. KILLING TIME (3:03)

MOTORHEADACHE ’95 24. OVERKILL (4:05) 25. DAMAGE CASE (3:40) 26. STONE DEAD FOREVER (4:51) 27. TOO LATE TOO LATE (3:12) metallica.com

B-SIDES & ONE-OFFS ’88-’91 19. BREADFAN (5:41) 20. THE PRINCE (4:24) 21. STONE COLD CRAZY (2:17) ©1998 Blackened Recordings. BLCKND-477308

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