Hail to the Thief is the offspring of OK Computer, Kid A and Amnesiac, the logical progression of this aesthetic band. It finds a perfect balance between the abstract and the real, the traditional and the contrived. Furious guitars and melancholy keys contrast with high-tech synthesizers, as if conversing – and often arguing – with an alien of another musical world. Recorded in just two weeks in Los Angeles and produced by Nigel Godrich, Hail is at once upbeat and melancholy, serene and tense, warm and cold. And lead-singer Thom Yorke, rock's foremost whiner, rages against the machines of this corrupt world, where elections can be rigged (Hail to the Thief was a popular anti-Gulf War II slogan, in reference to President Bush's "election") and invasions onto foreign lands justify the end. From Orwellian paranoia to the rude awakening of September 11, the lyrics are metaphors of the reigning crude reality. And even if the album isn't an anti-war manifesto, it carries a certain sense of urgency, decrying humanity's indifference. Even the sleeve is covered in slogan and conscious-awakening words. Zoo TV, anyone?

The album kicks off with the guitar plucking away on "2+2=5," an Orwellian reference and a political statement full of anxiety marking Yorke's own War on Terror. Political terrors, that is. "It's the devil's way out/There is no way out... Because you have not been paying attention." Yorke sounds like one of us at times, and Big Brother at others. On "Sit Down. Stand Up," he says, "We can wipe you out. Anytime." Watch out, the whine can easily hide a sneer. But the aural piano notes intersperse with the guitar strings and bring forth tender, swelling melodies, notably on "Sail to the Moon." The balance has carefully been weighed on Hail between the warmth of the instruments and the iciness of computer-generated sounds. The rhythmic "The Gloaming" is a sinister foray into the underworld of their vampire connections, which want the "sweet" and "fresh" on "We Suck Young Blood." Sounds like a casting call for America's next idol. Thom is one tortured soul. He's trying to escape his inextricable demons as he rap-rants on "A Wolf at the Door." The wolf "calls me up/Calls me on the phone/Tells me all the ways that he's gonna mess me up."

Perhaps the most surprising – Radiohead never fail to surprise us – is the acoustic "Go To Sleep." The electronic theatrics have left center stage; it is almost strange to hear a traditional instrument taking the limelight. The album is heavy on the rhythms of Phil Selway's drums, sometimes palpitating, sometimes stammering.

Hail's tinkling melodies are light, its lyrics strong, and the overall effect weighs a ton on the soul – or conscience, as Thom would prefer it. The music is as risky as the lyrics and Radiohead have outdone themselves yet again, evolving from track to track and dwelling into the deep recesses of the paranoid mind. Their sixth production is more relevant than ever. It may take a few listens to appreciate, but the challenge is rewarding. And refreshing. — T.S.

Every single album Metallica has made in the last decade has been compared to the Greatest Heavy Metal Album of All Time. While none may have had a track potent enough to rival "Enter Sandman" or "The Unforgiven," their eighth studio album St. Anger comes close.

It opens with blitzkrieg guitar riffs and machine-gun drum tempos on "Frantic." The raging guitars reverberate the band's raw sounds of old, encapsulating all the fury in one sonic – structured – frenzy after another, making the vitriolic statement: This is us. Take it or leave it.

"Fuck it all and fucking no regrets," the token line from the Master of Puppets classic "Damage, Inc." shows up and repeats the sentiment in the title track. Lead-singer James Hetfield has resolved to accept his demons and deal with them with his signature growls. Maybe that's the best way to exorcise them. The album seems to be the recovery diary of this madman. While drummer Lars Ulrich was speaking out against Napster, Hetfield was in rehab exorcising the demons of the bottle. "My lifestyle determines my deathstyle." ("Frantic"). He's offering us a peek into the "Dirty Window" of his intoxicated soul, often over-expressing his ardor, but it's a salutary outpouring. Anger is his saint, residing on the flip side of his St. Christopher pendant.

On the verge of splitting a few years ago, the band apparently hired a therapist to help them work better as a team, with ex-Suicidal Tendencies bassist Rob Trujillo completing the lineup. The first album since the departure of bassist Jason Newsted, St. Anger isn't exactly a new beginning. They want to pick up from where they left off over a decade ago, but besides the structure on which the tracks are woven, the album lacks cohesion, with not a hint of melody holding it all together. Rather, you risk getting lost amid the 75 minutes of bombastic guitar performances stripped of any emotion other than brutal rage.

Produced by the ever-loyal Bob Rock, who also cameos as bass player, St. Anger is lackluster in the sense that it has no "superfluous" guitar solos, no radio-friendly power ballads. This is Heavy Metallica and the "comeback" of the bellwether is tough, rough and savagely unrelenting. Just like the fist on the album cover. The masters ready to knock out all the puppet nu-metallers. Sadly, they themselves have turned into a neo nu-Metallica without the punch. — T.S.