Metallica Deep Cuts That Need to Be Heard

Metallica has never really had a shortage of attention. The hits are etched into the walls at this point, between “Enter Sandman,” “One” and “Master of Puppets.” Songs that long ago escaped the albums that birthed them and became something closer to rock folklore.

But if you’ve spent any real time with Metallica’s catalog, the late-night drives, the worn-out CD booklets, the deep streaming dives, you know the real story isn’t just in the singles. It’s buried in the corners. The songs that didn’t get videos. The tracks that never sniffed radio but still hit like a hammer if you catch them in the right mood.

That’s where things get interesting. Three songs, from three very different eras of Metallica, tell that story pretty well: “The Struggle Within” from Metallica (1991), “Thorn Within” from Load (1996), and “Inamorata” from 72 Seasons (2023). None of them sit in the band’s usual highlight reel. But they probably should.

“The Struggle Within” closes Metallica — the so-called Black Album — which is a tough job when you think about it. That record is basically a mountain range of gigantic songs. “Sad But True,” “The Unforgiven,” “Wherever I May Roam.” Even the deep cuts loom large.

Yet this one kind of slips through the cracks. Part of it is placement. When you reach the end of Metallica, you’ve already been through nearly an hour of arena-sized metal. By the time the machine-gun drum intro kicks in, a lot of listeners are already halfway out the door.

But stick around. The song explodes immediately — Lars Ulrich hammering the double-kick like he’s trying to outrun the clock — before James Hetfield drops into one of those tight, chugging riffs that defined early-’90s Metallica. It’s leaner than most of the record, closer in spirit to the band’s thrash roots than the heavier, slower stomp that dominates the album.

Lyrically, it’s Metallica at their most internal. No war imagery. No mythology. Just a blunt admission that the biggest fights tend to happen in your own head.

Hetfield spits the lines more than sings them. There’s something refreshingly unpolished about it. The Black Album is famously meticulous, but “The Struggle Within” still feels a little feral. Like it snuck in before the band fully locked the doors.

It also rarely shows up live, which adds to the mystique. Metallica’s setlists lean heavily on the hits, and understandably so. But if they ever dusted this one off again, it would probably land harder now than it did in ’91.

Some songs age well because they’re timeless. Others age well because the band eventually catches up to them. This one sits somewhere in the middle.

By the time Load arrived in 1996, Metallica had already done the one thing metal bands aren’t supposed to do. They slowed down. The riffs breathed a little more. Blues and hard rock crept into the DNA. Some fans took it personally. Others quietly kept listening.

Lost in that whole culture war was “Thorn Within,” a song that probably deserved a little more daylight than it got. It sits in the middle of Load, which is an album that often feels like Metallica stretching out in real time. Some of it works. Some of it meanders. But “Thorn Within” lands right in the sweet spot.

The riff is simple and mean, crawling forward instead of sprinting. It’s closer to a grinding Southern rock groove than anything from …And Justice for All, and that’s the point. Metallica wasn’t chasing thrash anymore. They were doing it all.

Hetfield’s vocal is the real hook here. There’s a weariness in it.  The lyrics circle around betrayal without spelling everything out. That ambiguity gives the song some weight.

It’s not subtle, but Metallica was never really built for subtlety. What matters is the mood. The track moves like someone pacing the floor at 2 a.m., replaying every bad decision they’ve made in the last decade.

And unlike some of the longer jams on Load, “Thorn Within” keeps things tight. No extended detours. No indulgent outro. It arrives, does its damage, and leaves.

Which is probably why it holds up better than some of the more talked-about songs from that era. For a band that spent the mid-’90s getting accused of losing its edge, this track quietly proves they hadn’t forgotten how to twist the knife.

“Inamorata” arrives at the end of 72 Seasons like a long exhale. At nearly 11 minutes, it’s the longest studio song Metallica has ever recorded. Which sounds like the kind of thing bands do when they run out of editing discipline. But here it actually works.

The song builds slowly — a thick, sludgy riff that feels closer to Black Sabbath than classic thrash. Robert Trujillo’s bass slides underneath everything like wet pavement while the guitars stretch out overhead.

It’s patient. Almost suspiciously patient. James Hetfield has said the song is about misery and the strange comfort people sometimes find in their own suffering. That idea hangs over the entire track like weather.

That line shows up again and again, almost like a chant. Not dramatic. Just resigned. What makes “Inamorata” interesting isn’t just the length. It’s the mood. Metallica has written plenty of long songs before — “Master of Puppets,” “Orion,” “…And Justice for All.” Those tracks feel like battles.

“Inamorata” feels more like reflection. There’s space inside it. Long instrumental passages where the band isn’t trying to prove anything. They just let the groove settle in and ride it for a while.

Metallica is a band in their 60s now, which means the anger that fueled the early records has inevitably shifted into something else. Not softer, exactly. Just more aware of the weight it’s carrying.

By the time the final riff rolls around, the song feels less like a finale and more like a slow fade into the night. No fireworks. No giant ending. Just the sound of a band that knows exactly who they are.

Metallica’s catalog is big enough now that entire corners of it can sit quietly for years before someone wanders in and notices something new. The hits will always get the spotlight. They earned it. But the deeper you go into the albums, Metallica, Load, 72 Seasons, the more you start finding songs like these.

Tracks that didn’t need to dominate the charts to leave a mark. Sometimes they just needed a little time.