The kind of strange pairing off that usually results from a game of spin the bottle. Few albums in recent memory can boast the bizarre opening impact of Brandenburg Gate: The exploratory strumming, like a coffee house folk singer trying to locate the start of an early Dylan song. Lou Reed in lyrical drag, deadpanning the line “I would cut my legs and tits off.” Then some whomping riffage. James Hetfield repeatedly bellowing “Small town girl!” It’s like Journey’s ‘Don’t Stop Believin’ redrafted as an inner monologue that recalls the golden age of horror movies. Both artists seem energised by their collaboration. Reed’s trawl through the impotent drudgery of self-hatred, tiny-dicked dogs and spermless men is evangelised by the raw attack of Metallica in the guise of a savage, impressionistic thrash band. A lurking narrative steers the music into more reflective territory in the drawn-out second half, elevating the album to something beyond a mere jamming session.