Anger Management

Image credit: Metallica Photographed by Jeff Riedel

There followed a nine-month recording hiatus while Hetfield entered rehab for substance addictions. ''It was college for my soul. I'd been caught up quite a bit in being 'the dude in Metallica' -- not James Hetfield, person, HUMAN, who also sings and plays guitar, who also is a dad, who also loves cars, all the other things that make me, me.''

When they reconvened the recording sessions with Rock -- as well as suddenly more fruitful group-therapy sessions with Toll -- the band threw out all but four of the previously penned songs in favor of new material that was unusually collaborative. ''When James asked me to partake in the lyrics, it was one of those Kodak moments, because those were always his thing,'' says Ulrich. ''He'd guarded that like it was the Dead Sea Scrolls. And when James would be recording vocals, there'd be a 500-yard restraining order around the studio for the rest of Metallica. We'd catch up on movies that day. So now for him to sing words I've just written down, asking for feedback, it's an example of how far he's come.''

Not everyone cottoned to the idea of a therapeuticized Metallica, worrying that if contentment turned the seemingly more surly Hetfield as gregarious as Ulrich or the band's guitarist, Kirk Hammett, 40, some essential tension might be lost. ''There were a lot of people who thought it was gonna be sappy or limp-wristed,'' Ulrich recalls. ''I think one of the greatest accomplishments about the last two years is that this record is a testament to the fact that you don't need a negative, s---ty-ass environment where everybody's at each other's throats to have a record that is aggressive, energetic, and f---ed up.''

''People think once you're happy, all your songs become mellow,'' adds Hetfield. ''I think when you're SAD your songs become mellow. When I feel good, I want to yell.''

''GET ME A REFUND!'' comes the demand from one cell.

''Quiet down! We're trying to watch 'Oprah'!'' yells another inmate.

''Somebody get a knife and chase 'em around and make it real!''

''We want 50 Cent!''

Metallica's gear has been moved from the yard into the five-story cell block housing the lifers, and not everybody is dancing to the jailhouse rock. But for every catcall, there's a request for a Metallica chestnut. Sometimes ''it seems like they're vibin' us,'' says a somewhat skittish Robert Trujillo, the band's new bassist, ''but I think honestly, they're pretty excited that Metallica is in the house. So to speak.'' The ex-Suicidal Tendencies member had to quickly desert Ozzy Osbourne's band when the Metallica offer came in a couple of months back; with this prison gig marking his first ''public'' appearance, he's gone directly from Ozzy to ''Oz.''

Trujillo, 38, has joined the group at a time when anticipation for a new album is so high that the ''St. Anger'' release date will have to be moved up five days, once the inevitable Internet leaks occur, in an attempt at headbanger management. The CD harks back to their heaviest salad days (''punishing'' being a key adjective in early reviews, speaking of the penal system), but fans are finding some wrinkles: There's nary a guitar solo to be heard, nor a ballad, which means all those seven- and eight-minute tracks are populated with nothing but intense riffing and roller-coaster dynamic turns. ''It's gonna be a test of our age to play these songs, man,'' says Hetfield, looking forward -- or not -- to the Summer Sanitarium tour. Ulrich already has a plan for that: ''Sometimes the old muscle gets a bit wobbly, but I'm the one who writes the set lists, so I'll make sure and put f---ing 'Nothing Else Matters' in there when I need a break.''

The band again launches into ''St. Anger.'' Proving there's no such thing as justice for all, some of the most die-hard metalheads remain penned up while rap fans roam the corridors. One such frustrated inmate is holding a small mirror just outside the bars of his cell, trying to catch a reflected view of his heroes. '''Sandman'!'' he keeps baying. '''Never Never Land'! 'I'm Your Master'!'' These requests won't be forthcoming, but as playback resumes, mirror still in hand, the lifer bangs his head furiously, to within an inch of the steel bars. For a few fleeting, joyfully raging minutes, nothing else really does matter.

Additional reporting by Tom Sinclair