When Rock Legends Come to Town: Thoughts on Metallica's Melbourne Show
I’ve been mulling over something that came up in discussions about Metallica’s Melbourne show last Friday, and it’s got me thinking about what’s happened to live music crowds – or maybe what’s happened to us.
First off, let me say this: Metallica delivered. Of course they did. You don’t become one of the biggest metal bands in history by phoning it in. The production was spectacular, the setlist was solid (even if some folks were hoping for Fade To Black), and watching them tear through their catalogue was everything you’d expect from a band that’s been doing this for four decades. One person mentioned getting emotional when The Ecstasy Of Gold started, and honestly, I get it. There’s something about those iconic moments that hit differently when you’re actually there.
But here’s what’s been nagging at me: the number of people talking about flat crowds, people with their hands in their pockets, everyone filming on their phones instead of actually experiencing the moment. Someone described their section as having people just standing there, barely moving, even during Enter Sandman. Enter bloody Sandman. If that doesn’t get you moving, what will?
The phone thing really gets under my skin. I’m not some old codger yelling at clouds here – I work in IT, I’m comfortable with technology, hell, I’m fascinated by it. But there’s something fundamentally wrong when you’re at a Metallica concert and people are more focused on getting the perfect video for their Instagram stories than actually living the moment. You end up with a sea of screens instead of a sea of fists in the air. And for what? A shaky video with blown-out audio that you’ll never watch again?
Someone made an interesting observation that really resonated with me: imagine being in a band, growing up with passionate crowds that genuinely lost their minds at your shows, and then decades later playing to people who are basically treating you like a living museum exhibit. Stand there, watch politely, capture it for posterity, maybe nod along a bit. It must be disheartening.
The discussions about Suicidal Tendencies were particularly brutal – and apparently justified. Multiple people described them as a “dumpster fire” and questioned the sound mix. It’s a shame because they’ve been around forever and deserve better than that. On the flip side, it seems like Evanescence absolutely killed it. Amy Lee’s voice apparently still has that power, and several people said they might have actually outperformed Metallica on the night. That’s high praise.
There was also mention of the beach ball situation getting out of hand. I mean, come on. A few beach balls can be fun, but when you’ve got thirty of them and you’re missing Seek & Destroy because you’re constantly batting them away, that’s just taking the piss. Sometimes I wonder if people actually want to see the band or if they just want to say they were there.
Look, I’m not trying to be the fun police here. Everyone experiences concerts differently, and that’s fine. Maybe I’m just showing my age, reminiscing about times when people weren’t glued to their devices. But I genuinely believe we’ve lost something important. The whole point of live music is the shared experience, the energy between the crowd and the performers, the feeling of being part of something bigger than yourself. When everyone’s experiencing it through a screen, or not really engaging at all, that connection breaks down.
The good news? Some sections seemed to buck the trend. GA1 apparently was going strong, and people managed to get mosh pits and circle pits happening in parts of GA2. Those people get it. They understand that you’re not going to remember the night because you got a great video – you’re going to remember it because you actually lived it.
Maybe this is just part of getting older – noticing things changing and feeling a bit melancholic about it. Or maybe it’s a genuine shift in how we engage with live entertainment. Either way, I hope the next time a legendary band rolls through Melbourne, more people decide to put their phones away and just be present. The algorithms can wait. The algorithms will always wait. But moments like these? They only happen once.
And to those who did lose themselves in the music, who sang until their voices were hoarse and moved until their bodies ached – cheers to you. You’re keeping the spirit alive.