Released on November 23, 1999, S&M has spent much of its life wearing the label of Metallica’s “big, strange experiment” — the one where they stepped out of the metal arena and into a symphony hall, daring everyone to follow along.
For some longtime devotees, it was the moment Metallica wandered even further from the razor-sharp thrash identity that defined their earliest years. The idea of pairing their heaviness with violins felt, at the time, almost too bold to process.
But for others — and increasingly for newer fans discovering it without that late-90s context — S&M stands out as one of the most fascinating turns in the band’s catalog. It’s ambitious without being pretentious, theatrical without losing its grit, and surprisingly heartfelt in ways that only become clearer with age. Looking back now, decades later, it doesn’t feel like an odd detour at all. It reads as the culmination of everything the band had been leaning toward throughout the decade: atmosphere, mood, emotion, tension, and musical space big enough to stretch out in.
Where the studio albums of the era saw Metallica exploring groove, dynamics, and vulnerability, S&M magnifies those qualities into a full-blown dramatic spectacle. It’s expansive, warm, heavy, delicate, chaotic, and occasionally oddly beautiful. And honestly? It’s a project Metallica rarely gets enough credit for — because it proves, without apology, that their songs have structural bones strong enough to stand alongside a full orchestra.
Opening the Velvet-Curtained Gates
The night begins with “The Ecstasy of Gold,” but hearing an entire orchestra play it live gives it a sense of ceremony usually reserved for major film premieres. It’s grand, towering, and a little overwhelming — which is exactly the mood setter the concert needs.
Then “The Call of Ktulu” storms in, and suddenly the collaboration clicks. This piece feels like it was born to be performed with a symphony. The original track already had an eerie, cosmic weight, but here it becomes a full-scale force, swirling and surging like a storm at sea. The orchestra doesn’t soften it; it amplifies every shadowy corner until the whole thing feels mythic.
“Master of Puppets” follows, and the arrangement adds accents that push the familiar riffs into new emotional territory. The middle clean section feels colder, more ghostly, and the return to heaviness sounds sharper with the orchestra behind it. It isn’t a reinvention, but it definitely reframes the song’s mood in surprisingly effective ways.
Walking Between Two Worlds
The album’s second stretch is where the blend between metal and classical begins to feel less like contrast and more like conversation. “The Memory Remains” becomes almost mournful with the strings humming beneath the main riff. The lack of Marianne Faithfull’s original cameo might seem odd at first, but the orchestra fills the void with a smoky, drifting quality that suits the song’s themes.
Then comes “The Thing That Should Not Be,” which transforms into a lumbering, atmospheric creature. The brass section gives it a low, ominous growl, and the layered crescendos make it feel even more monstrous than the album version.
But the real revelation arrives with the two stage-made originals: “No Leaf Clover” and “-Human.”
“No Leaf Clover” remains one of Metallica’s strongest songs from the entire late-90s period. The orchestra lifts it into something almost cinematic — uplifting and melancholy at the same time. Hetfield’s delivery, steady and controlled, floats above the symphonic swells beautifully.
“-Human” takes the opposite route, leaning into thick, brooding heaviness. The orchestra adds depth rather than decoration, turning the track into a dense, pounding statement that feels oddly ahead of its time. These two songs alone justify the project; they show Metallica weren’t just revisiting old material but actively exploring what new ground could be created in this hybrid space.
The Molten Middle: Rough Edges, Real Emotion
The emotional core of S&M begins to shine in the middle portion of the concert, where the band’s more introspective material gets room to breathe — often in ways the studio versions never fully allowed.
“Until It Sleeps” becomes almost icy and haunted, with strings that swirl around the melody like smoke drifting through a dim room. The arrangement teases out the personal pain of the lyrics, letting the song bloom into something surprisingly fragile.
But the true emotional centerpiece is “Bleeding Me.” The studio version is already expansive, but here it becomes a multi-layered journey, slowly building until it erupts into a massive, cathartic climax. The orchestra draws out the tension and release in ways that feel almost physical. Every rise hits harder; every quiet moment feels like a breath held too long. It’s one of the rare moments in Metallica’s catalog where the symphonic approach feels not just fitting, but essential.
The mood shifts sharply when “Fuel” comes blasting into the hall. It’s rowdy, loud, and slightly unhinged — and hearing the orchestra scramble to keep pace is strangely delightful. It’s chaotic in the best way possible, a reminder that not everything in this concert needs to be grand to work.
A Band Unafraid to Step Into the Unknown
What continues to make S&M so interesting isn’t the mere fact of the collaboration; it’s the commitment behind it. Metallica didn’t simply slap orchestral backing on fan favorites. They reworked arrangements, experimented with dynamics, and allowed the symphony to become a genuine partner rather than just an embellishment.
There are moments where things wobble, where the two worlds don’t quite lock perfectly — but those imperfections are part of the charm. They make the concert feel alive, spontaneous, human. And above all, they showcase a band unafraid to take risks at a point in their career where many groups would have played it safe.
Legacy of a Fearless Experiment
S&M remains one of Metallica’s most unusual and divisive releases, but time has been unexpectedly kind to it. Younger fans discovering it now often come away impressed by how emotional and layered the arrangements are. Songs that once felt overlooked — “Ktulu,” “Bleeding Me,” “Devil’s Dance,” among others — gain new life in this expanded form.
It may not be Metallica at their fastest or most ferocious, but it absolutely is Metallica at their most adventurous, leaning into artistic curiosity rather than sticking to proven formulas.
Final Verdict: 9 / 10
S&M isn’t the album that built Metallica’s legacy — it’s the album that revealed how much farther that legacy could reach. It’s bold, emotional, daring, and often breathtaking. Imperfect in places, yes — but vibrant, inspired, and wholly unique.
All these years later, its echoes still feel powerful: sweeping, thunderous, and defiantly symphonic.
