Good lord. How many albums actually change the world? Maybe one or two a decade, maybe five. Hetfield’s rotating corncob guillotine wire downpicking was just fast enough to make it clear that Metallica wasn’t the Bad Brains or AC/DC—something new was happening. His cornball horror movie delivery worked, even though it shouldn’t have, possibly because the grindcore bands started doing the Cookie Monster voice and Hetfield sounded normal next to them. The secret is the songs, which are as durable as folk and just dumb enough to make it the perfect morning workout record. Also it’s about death and stuff. I still hear “For Whom The Bell Tolls” every time I miss a subway. Also they were grimy, pimply garage rats from the West Coast, and that played perfectly against MTV’s feathered fellas.