Virgil was pacing nervously in the drizzle of a parking lot just off Sean Taylor Road outside Northwest Stadium, muttering something cryptic about brown M&Ms when I found him. Nearby, tailgaters braved the steady rain beneath hastily erected canopies, cooking pork belly on makeshift, beer-can-leveled griddles. Virgil’s muttering broke only to answer a passing fan’s casual shrug: “They’re just a band.”
Virgil and I locked eyes, simultaneously correcting this heinous misconception: “Metallica are the band!”
We weren’t alone in this sentiment. The first krewe of revelers we met hailed from Virginia, their Blackstone griddle sizzling pork fat with fits and bouts from wayward raindrops. One of the cooks proudly declared Ride the Lightning as his first Metallica album, waxing nostalgic about seeing Suicidal Tendencies perform in front of the Lincoln Memorial back in 1986. Another group had one attendee sheepishly confessing his brother accused him of being a poser for attending without sufficient Metallica credentials. “But who’s here in the rain?” he laughed triumphantly, winning the argument by default.
As we marched toward the stadium gates, the rain intensified, but so did the crowd’s excitement, surging with surprising gender parity for a metal show. I glanced up into the Blackened sky, ready to accept whatever Metallica’s divine whim might bring.
Suicidal Tendencies had the toughest task, opening for giants. Yet their gritty blend of crossover thrash and hardcore punk garnered a fiercely loyal response from those clustered around the circular snake pit stage. Their dedicated fans cheered wildly as Michelin Star (or was it Nisha Star? It was loud!) joined them briefly, even as the unrelenting rain hammered harder.
Watch the official music visualizers for “Adrenaline Addict” by Suicidal Tendencies on YouTube:
Between sets, the concourse was a frenzied bazaar of automated beverage checkout lines, fried food vendors, and merchandise stations. Individualized Northwest Stadium posters (one of 900) could be yours for a cool $65, complete with a free mailing tube. Twelve different Metallica t-shirt designs hung from hooks, with hoodies in myriad styles for both men and women. You could even grab your starter battle jacket in faded black denim, proudly adorned with a trophy Metallica back patch, all for $95. An announcement proclaimed that tonight’s performance would be recorded, available for purchase in August. Virgil raised an eyebrow knowingly.
In the merch line, I encountered Louis, proudly clad in a bootleg Creed shirt, which he confessed was a $15 score from a Baltimore street vendor. Louis wouldn’t buy Metallica merch (“too overpopular”), opting instead for Pantera apparel. “Pantera fucking rules, man,” he proclaimed earnestly, anticipating songs like “I’m Broken” and “Cowboys From Hell.”
Pantera themselves followed with a set that was both thrilling and mildly frustrating. Despite being essentially a Pantera tribute band with Phil Anselmo as the sole original member. Anselmo’s tease of “Cemetery Gates,” abruptly abandoned in favor of “Walk,” which admittedly ignited the stadium, felt akin to deliberate cruelty to this hopeful fan. Still, witnessing Zakk Wylde stud his way through Pantera classics was undeniably thrilling.
Watch the official music video for “Walk” by Suicidal Tendencies on YouTube:
Metallica’s entry was heralded by their ritual AC/DC pre-show music and nostalgic photo montage displayed on towering 99-foot LED pylons surrounding their immense in-the-round stage. Ennio Morricone’s “Ecstasy of Gold” crescendoed as Metallica emerged from the tunnel onto the field, triumphantly taking their places on stage.
SLAVES
HEBREWS BORN TO SERVE, TO THE PHARAOH
The moment Metallica hit the opening percussive riff of “Creeping Death,” chills coursed through me as my all-time favorite Metallica song thundered forth. The scale of what they have achieved and its spectacle was awe-inspiring, an overwhelming feast of audio-visual grandeur only hinted at during the technical preview I had witnessed the day prior (read my firsthand report here). Towering screens, pyrotechnics, and coordinated lighting engulfed Northwest Stadium, delivering pure sensory overload.
FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS
TIME MARCHES ON
Watch Metallica play “Creeping Death” live in France via YouTube:
Virgil and I took it all in as the mass of humanity swelled in the stadium around us and Metallica cranked out a curated setlist just for tonight’s crowd on what I’m sure is the LOUDEST SOUND SYSTEM EVER CONSTRUCTED.
Standing there in the swelling mass of humanity, Virgil elbowed me sharply and motioned toward a group of visibly intoxicated men joyfully wearing their newly purchased battle jackets while toasting with Metallica’s branded whiskey.
“Metallica, champions of the working class, are now manufacturing $95 battle jackets and branded whiskey,” he remarked dryly. “Gene Simmons must be proud.”
I nodded, slightly amused. “Virgil, it’s capitalism at its finest. This whole setup, these massive towers, LED screens, the biggest audio rig ever assembled, costs tens of millions. Someone’s gotta pay the piper.”
SEARCHING
SEEK AND DESTROY
Virgil snorted dismissively. “Sure, but what about the fans they claim to represent? People joked leading up to this that they’d have to sell their cars just to afford a ticket tonight. If your blue-collar roots can’t afford to see you, what does that say about Metallica’s commitment to the spirit and camaraderie of heavy metal?”
“That’s a good point,” I conceded reluctantly, watching yet another group stumble out of the tunnel beneath the stage to access the snake pit. “But look around. Tens of thousands willingly parted with their cash tonight. They voted with their wallets, Metallica are the Kings of Heavy Metal.”
Virgil shook his head slowly, squinting skeptically through the drizzle. “I hear you, but how much money is too much? Isn’t there a point where this crosses the line from entertainment to exploitation?”
“You could argue that about anything nowadays,” I replied, gesturing vaguely at the towering stage. “Yeah, tickets and beer cost an arm and a leg, but so does everything else. I mean, it’s easy to blame Metallica for the price of admission, but isn’t this just what Capitalism has wrought?”
Virgil paused, eyeing me carefully. “So what, it’s okay because everyone else is doing it?”
MASTER OF PUPPETS, I’M PULLING THE STRINGS
TWISTING YOUR MIND AND SMASHING YOUR DREAMS
“No,” I sighed, exasperated but grinning despite myself. “‘Don’t hate the player, hate the game.’ Metallica didn’t invent capitalism (see: Adam Smith) but they’re certainly masters at playing its game.”
Virgil chuckled softly, conceding with a shrug. “I guess there’s still value here. After all, it’s Metallica. They’re still kings, despite everything.”
I clasped Virgil’s shoulders, looking out from our lower-bowl seats across the stadium’s chaotic energy and Metallica’s resplendent grandeur. “Exactly. You can’t put a price tag on that feeling.”
He nodded, eyes twinkling with reluctant admiration. “Apparently, you can, and they did. Still, it’s worth every penny.”
WE’RE OFF TO NEVER-NEVER LAND
Here are some distant photos of Metallica performing live at Northwest Stadium on May 28, 2025. All pictures copyright and courtesy of Gerald Henry.
Huh? Rex Brown is an original member and has been a part of Pantera for even longer than Phil Anselmo…