When the metal gods roll into Atlanta, you expect the sky to crack open, stadium foundations to quake, and enough raw, volcanic energy to power the entire South. Metallica’s June 3rd, 2025, spectacle at Mercedes-Benz Stadium delivered on that promise—blasting eardrums and scorching retinas.

Suicidal Tendencies kicked off the evening, though no press was allowed. Having seen them live before, I can confirm they’re legends, and braving the traffic to catch their set early is highly advised. The floor area was still filling up, so fans could easily get front and center for their performance.

Pantera was the first band I caught, delivering a fierce yet somewhat disjointed set. Their formidable power was diluted by the round-stage setup, which spread the band out and lacked the cohesion of the tight unit I’ve seen before. Phil Anselmo’s voice was incredible, and he prowled the stage, giving everyone a few moments of his intensity. If you ever get the chance to see Zakk Wylde and his Black Label Society, don’t miss it—he’s always amazing to watch. While Pantera remains an explosive band, this performance felt more like four individuals playing alone rather than a unified group.

Finally, the time came for Metallica to rage. Nearly sold out and rabid, the Atlanta crowd came ready to riot—loud, raucous, and shockingly youthful. When James Hetfield took a poll, half the hands shot up as Metallica virgins, a testament to the viral surge "Master of Puppets" received after its feature in Stranger Things. Hell, my first Metallica gig in 1986 had fewer fans in attendance than tonight’s merch line—a comparison that’s both depressing and glorious in equal measure.

Metallica barreled in with "Creeping Death," igniting the arena with thrash-punk pyrotechnics. Lars Ulrich’s drum kit setup was a cool trick. Never one to stay buried in the back, he had several kits embedded in the floor around the giant round stage, moving from kit to kit and giving fans a closer look. It added a manic delight to the showmanship, offering everyone glimpses of his sneering intensity.

But let’s be brutally honest about the circular stage gimmick: it’s a feast-or-famine gamble. One moment, you’re eye-to-eye with Hetfield, snarling out lyrics like a preacher possessed; the next twenty minutes, you’re stuck staring at empty microphones and vacant space. Even the towering screens, which leaned heavily on psychedelic visuals over practical live feeds, occasionally left fans gazing into abstract oblivion. I get it—they’re playing to a football stadium and want everyone to have the best experience, but I’d rethink those expensive floor seats.

Still, when Metallica hit their stride, the logistical grievances vanished into the vortex of sheer sonic catharsis. The savage churn of "For Whom the Bell Tolls" was gloriously brutal, and newer tracks like "If Darkness Had a Son" blazed with youthful venom. These aren’t aging rockers grasping at relevance—they’re primal beasts who’ve only sharpened their claws with age.

Robert Trujillo and Kirk Hammett’s mid-show doodle was a quirky highlight. Their spontaneous cover of "No Remorse" merged bizarrely and brilliantly into The Allman Brothers Band’s "One Way Out," a playful nod to the Southern setting that the crowd devoured like barbecue on a Sunday.

"Nothing Else Matters" offered a much-needed moment of communal vulnerability, with thousands of glowing smartphones illuminating faces and transforming the stadium into a cathedral of metal balladry. But sentimentality was fleeting, obliterated by the joyous chaos of that riff that set the metal world on fire in 1982: "Seek & Destroy."

As an old-school fan, I wanted to see a massive mosh pit encircling the round stage—thrashing rage, stage divers going over the railings, blood, and pandemonium. Instead, we got beach balls. I get it—that’s not who the band or the audience is anymore. Still, the only rage I felt was my own, watching everyone have fun with those massive beach balls.

Ultimately, Atlanta bore witness to Metallica’s defiant insistence on blending primal chaos with reflective melody, sentimental nostalgia with raw aggression, and quirky imperfections with breathtaking showmanship. Was it flawless? Never. Was it magnificent, absurd, and genuinely unforgettable? Absolutely. Because rock and roll at its best is never clean or tidy—it’s messy, loud, exhilarating, and undeniably alive. Metallica, even decades on, embodies that beautifully.