Growing up, Metallica felt like a subcultural band, something passed between metal fans.
At school, a handful of us would gather in the music room, trading tapes and playing tracks such as Orion or For Whom the Bell Tolls. Some parents confiscated records or T-shirts, which only made them more desirable.
In October 1992, a few of us made it to Glasgow for the Black Album tour, finding our way to the front by any means necessary. Back then, Metallica were still spoken about as part of the “Big Four” of thrash, alongside Slayer, Megadeth and Anthrax, still outsiders in many ways even as their reach began to expand. Few could have predicted they would become one of the defining stadium bands of their generation.
More than three decades later, I was back in Glasgow at Hampden, this time with my son Ryan. On the hottest day of the year, the atmosphere outside the stadium already felt charged. There was a symmetry to it all. Ryan’s route into Metallica had been through Stranger Things, where Eddie Munson’s performance of Master of Puppets reintroduced the band to a new generation. Around Hampden, there were as many women as men, families alongside long-time fans, teenagers alongside people who had followed the band for decades. The audience had widened without losing its core.
Each band member gradually walked out to AC/DC’s It’s a Long Way to the Top (If You Want to Rock ’n’ Roll) and then entered the stage to Ennio Morricone’s Ecstasy of Gold, as if arriving in their own Scottish western. They opened with Creeping Death going straight into For Whom the Bell Tolls; for a few moments I was instantly back in that school music room again, the songs unchanged but the context refreshed. I was taken back to footage of Burton in a Misfits T-shirt, double denim and hair flapping in the wind. A nice touch was James Hetfield’s T-Shirt paying tribute to his fallen comrade who died while on tour in a bus crash with Metallica in 1986.
Tonight, the band gathered around Lars Ulrich’s kit as the 360-degree stage pulled everything into the centre. Rather than being stuck at the back, he became the focal point, with Kirk Hammett, James Hetfield and Rob Trujillo circling around him at various points. Hammett’s horror-themed “Mummy” guitar, inspired by classic monster cinema, cut through the air like a piece of living B-movie horror, while Hetfield played his glorious white Flying V.
Watching Ulrich moving between various kits and different points in the stadium is a sight to behold; at times slightly behind the beat and never rigid. Metallica’s live sound lends itself to that feel over clinical precision. You can see why he is such a big Oasis fan, as it’s not unlike Definitely Maybe, where the rhythm is loose, much like Steven Adler’s playing in Guns N’ Roses and Tony McCarroll in the early ’90s for Oasis. That slight instability is what gives the music a slight danger.
Since the loss of Cliff Burton, the bass role has never been an easy one to fill. Jason Newsted brought more aggression; tonight Trujillo delivers something looser, with more swing and groove. His positive energy is infectious, and that spills over into the Kirk and Rob “doodle” section, one of the night’s most playful moments, where they pay tribute to Nazareth, a nod to one of Scotland’s great hard rock exports, performing Hair of the Dog and a version of The Proclaimers’ 500 Miles. In the middle of a stadium metal show, it’s a lighter moment that works well in the set. The Unforgiven is a moment that pulls everything back into focus, and as the set opens out, Nothing Else Matters brings the first real moment of stillness. One follows with its intensity and precision. One concertgoer climbed onto part of the stage structure for a better view and refused instructions to come down, eventually being dragged out by stewards, his trainer left behind in the violent struggle.
Before Seek & Destroy, M72 massive yellow and black beach balls bounced out across Hampden as the crowd moved into the chaos, and a mosh pit began yards from where we were standing. We moved position for the final stretch, ending up directly in front of Lars Ulrich’s kit for the closing songs. From there, Master of Puppets felt both familiar and fresh. For me, it’s tied to those early schoolroom jams, but now, alongside Ryan, there is something of the spirit of Eddie Munson in Stranger Things.
Enter Sandman closed the set as fists pumped into the now cool Scottish air, for a gig that will linger long in the memory. Soon, buckets of plectrums were thrown into the crowd. Lars lingered a moment in a dressing gown, touching a few hands before disappearing. The journey home felt like a different event entirely. Motorway delays and a storm extended the night back to Edinburgh. We had to ride the lightning on the last leg home, but after a night like that, it felt entirely appropriate.
