Why arrange Metallica’s “One” for saxophone quartet? A fair question. First off, I love the saxophone. Before the electric guitar took over as the official scapegoat of classical music purists everywhere, that role belonged to the saxophone—an instrument once sneered at for being too populist, too gritty, too expressive. Like electric guitarists, saxophonists live or die by phrasing, tone, and feel.

It’s also why, when forming my band, I stubbornly insisted on including two woodwind players. I have a particular soft spot for saxophones blending in unison, the way big band arrangements often feature those glorious sax soli sections—intricately composed, rhythmically synchronized passages with lush harmonies and razor-sharp articulation. To me, nothing in big-band music tops the thrill of a good sax soli moment.

Enter “One,” a Metallica track built from two distinct halves: a haunting, lyrical ballad that abruptly flips into a blistering metal assault. Years ago, probably while avoiding something I was supposed to be doing, I noticed the first half’s interwoven acoustic and clean electric guitar figures—full of delicate trills, intricate ornaments, and graceful flourishes—had a distinctly saxophone-like quality. Curiosity got the better of me, so I booted up Logic and began sketching out the arrangement using saxophone virtual instruments that, astonishingly, still sound fantastic a decade later despite their minuscule digital footprints.

I got through the first half easily, taking plenty of liberties and thoroughly enjoying the process. Then I hit that sudden pivot, the moment “One” transitions into an entirely different beast: the ferocious, palm-muted riffage of its second act. Translating chunky, percussive guitar parts to saxophones—an instrument not exactly built for relentless rhythmic chugging—proved immediately daunting. I managed a few bars, then promptly shelved the whole thing. Classic me.

There it sat, half-finished and mostly forgotten, for exactly ten years—until last year. Coming out of a long musical hiatus and finally getting some momentum back into my creative life, I forced myself to reopen this dusty old project. Finishing it was equal parts frustration and satisfaction. Along the way, I learned Dorico, my new scoring software of choice (sorry, Sibelius), and found ways to keep the second half creatively fresh despite its repetitive metal structure. Rather than repeating each riff verbatim four times—true to Metallica’s thrash-metal roots—I honored each idea once, then introduced increasingly varied harmonies and phrasing with each repetition. Far more interesting, at least to me.

And so, by sheer accident of timing, this arrangement now neatly divides into two halves a decade apart: 2014 for the gentle half, and 2024 for the brutal half. Thankfully, I’m pretty pleased with both.