If you're here, you probably know who Metallica are. Reiterating their history would be more than unnecessary, except to say that they are one of the most successful American bands of the 20th and 21st centuries. With more than a hundred million albums sold, numerous films (including that documentary), and shows in most of the countries on this planet, the band is more a behemoth than a musical act; an entity, a symbol. And yet, on Thursday night, at the first of two shows in Toronto, they played a 16-song set that was, at times thrilling, at others, a snooze, and barely delivered.
Suicidal Tendencies opened the night with their OG brand of crossover thrash. The band bounced and shredded their way around the in-the-round setup's circular stage, with the current lineup — which features metal luminaries Ben Weinman (formerly of Dillinger Escape Plan) and Jay Weinberg (formerly of Slipknot and Against Me!) — blasting through the set with restless aplomb.
It was all good fun and aggressive as all hell, if not a little dull, with lead vocalist Mike Muir delivering the requisite "be-yourself-don't-let-anyone-else-tell-you-who-you-should-be" spiel halfway through for good measure. Unfortunately, the cavernous Rogers Centre washed out some of their resonance and swallowed up guitar solos like proverbial Tic Tacs, which didn't help the blunt force sound emanating from the stage.
Pantera were up next, but from the repeated tribute videos (including one titled "A Vulgar Legacy"), to lead singer Phil Anselmo's references to his fallen bandmates, to Vinnie Paul's face on the kick drum, this truncated version of the band felt more like a tribute act than the real deal. I'm sorry, but when your two most vital members have both passed away, your "reunion" screams of ~*cash grab*~.
People really seem to like this band, as evidenced by the boisterous response at the show. The videos just made me miss Vinnie and Dimebag that much more, and no disrespect to the other players — because Zakk Wylde and Charlie Benante are obviously very adept performers — but Pantera this ain't, and karaoke has never been that impressive. That's all there is to say about that.
As Metallica took the stage to the unmistakable strains of Ennio Morricone's "Ecstasy of Gold" from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, the audience showered them in cheers and applause. It's been eight years since the band have stepped foot in Toronto, and the excitement was all too real. The stage setup included eight water tower-like structures with screens to play videos and broadcast the band to the masses.
Over the course of the next two-plus hours, Metallica treated the crowd to a smattering of classics, with a few too many tracks from 2023's 72 Seasons peppered in (you've gotta support the new stuff, even if it's pretty mediocre). Sadly, the band completely ignored 2013's return-to-form Hardwired…to Self-Destruct, and, even more glaringly, St. Anger, which is seriously due for a reassessment (and would it kill you to play the blistering title track? That song rules, I don't care what the purists say).
The band started off at full-tilt with an absolutely rousing version of "Creeping Death." James Hetfield's right hand is a national treasure, and when he broke a string, a new guitar was produced within seconds. The band's performances are well-oiled machines at this point, but they started off full of piss and vinegar and all the fucked-up liquids, so it's hard not to get sucked in. During one pause, Lars Ulrich's drum set disappeared into the stage itself. Pretty cool.
As the first few songs came and went, much of the floor stayed inert, which isn't the band's fault because they came out blazing. "Harvester of Sorrow" stomped appropriately, followed by "Holier Than Thou," a rather pedestrian choice from the trillion selling Black Album. "King Nothing," from 1996's Load, grooved like a motherfucker.
Unfortunately, after this four-song "first act," the setlist completely faltered. In the second act, they played three songs from 72 Seasons and one from Death Magnetic (meh…), with a pre-recorded drums-backed Kirk Hammett/Rob Trujillo jam that was apparently written in Canada sandwiched in between. This brought the festivities to a grinding halt, from which the band barely recovered.
During this five-song lull, which lasted more than half an hour, the crowd around me sat down, or trudged up the stairs to go to the bathroom or to get a beer, clearly unenthused by the song choices and waiting for those classic Metallica moments when they could thrust their fists in the air and scream. It happened eventually — but it also didn't, and some of the extended tracks and song choices were clearly not appreciated, even by the faithful.
A Metallica show is a production. Sure, it's about the fans, and they make that abundantly clear, but the majority of us are so far away — removed to such a degree, both physically and philosophically-speaking — that it's hard to feel like we're in it with the band. Their banter was equally dad-pressive: at one point, James Hetfield asked the crowd if they had 72 Seasons, and the response was less than rapturous. Similarly, when Hetfield announced yet another track from 72 Seasons, he received a lacklustre response, to which he dejectedly and sarcastically said, "So enthusiastic." Yeah dude, write better (and shorter) fucking songs.
At times, the show felt mechanical, dull, phoned in; a life preset. The aforementioned second act was an unmitigated slog, relentless and utterly boring. You can cheer all you want, but I don't believe you. It took over an hour to get into the really good stuff, but when the band burst back with "Orion," so did the crowd. The bass solo alone made it all somewhat worthwhile. It was elegiac and epic and finally fucking METALLICAAAAAA!!!
"Nothing Else Matters" elicited one of the night's biggest cheers, which helped bring the audience back to life. The solo was a thing of beauty, effortless and soaring, the Rogers Centre illuminated by thousands of shining phones and lighters. Clearly, when they played the classics, it was transcendent.
At one point, Hetfield asked, "Do you like your music heavy? Does Toronto like its music heavy?" The crowd cheered. We're here, aren't we? The band responded by delivering a somewhat sloppy "Sad but True."
When the opening acoustic strains of "Fight Fire with Fire" played over the speakers, a palpable tension rose; everyone knew what was coming. Suddenly, a spark! A barrage of relentless riffs. Atonal growling. A testament to their abrasive thrash metal peak.
The shimmering intro to "Fuel" had shades of "Enter Sandman" written all over it, but it was just a tease. When those supercharged hammer-ons and pull-offs erupted from the stage, numerous pits finally opened up, and the crowd seemed elevated beyond anything that had come before it. Flames shot out from the stage, engulfing the band in fire and gasoline. You could feel them burn through your body. Pyro! That's the shit!
During highlight "Seek & Destroy," as the crowd repeated the titular phrase back to Hetfield en masse, giant beach balls adorned with the M72 logo fell from the ceiling — a childish, hilarious sight. Dozens of the balls got stuck on the stage, and the stagehands had to come by and kick them off, which looked pretty pathetic, the black and yellow orbs just sitting there lethargically; an unfortunate metaphor for Metallica in 2025. They may be loud and rich and popular, but at this point, it all feels a bit stagnant.
The visuals on the towers flashed ticket stubs from previous Metallica concerts in Toronto, including Maple Leaf Gardens (R.I.P.), before the band closed the evening with Eddie Munson's favourite song, "Master of Puppets." The song ripped — because how could it not? — but even before they finished, people were already heading for the exits, eager to beat the rush.
Legacy acts don't get a pass. In fact, they should be scrutinized even more intensely than other bands, especially at these prices. They should step up and blow us away. This didn't. While there were moments that got both the blood and fists pumping, overall, the show felt flat, uninspired and more than a little disappointing. I love Metallica, and this broke my heart.
While the third act picked up exponentially, the first two-thirds of the concert were sluggish and average at best, the crowd obligated to cheer after each song because that's just what one does. At the end, when Hetfield told us that he hoped we'd feel good enough to come back on Saturday, it felt like a reach. If you bought tickets to both nights, I really hope you get a better showing (and setlist) than this. "Metallica loves Toronto"? Could've fooled me.