Creeping Death Ascends Over Mile High: Metallica Live in Denver, June 27 2025

The Friday sun slipped behind the snow-striped Rockies as nearly seventy-thousand metal faithful poured into Empower Field at Mile High for the first of Metallica’s two “No-Repeat Weekend” shows. Concession lines buzzed with patched denim vests, brand-new 72 Seasons hoodies, and the smell of green-chile nachos. Fans had driven in from Albuquerque, Cheyenne, and as far east as Omaha, eager to witness history at 5,280 feet. Ice Nine Kills and Limp Bizkit rattled the stands all evening, priming the crowd for the Bay Area legends’ 8:50 p.m. arrival.

Playing at altitude is no small feat, and Denver’s infamous “Mile High Thunder” promised to amplify every riff. Locals swear the bowl’s acoustics carry electric guitars farther than Russell Wilson spirals, a hometown boast finally put to the test when the Snake Pit began to quiver. Empower Field has seen everyone from Van Halen to Beyoncé, yet seasoned ushers whispered that no previous act stirred the concrete quite like a Metallica down-pick—especially when the house lights disappear in total darkness.

As AC/DC’s “It’s a Long Way to the Top” gave way to Morricone’s “The Ecstasy of Gold,” a single white beam cut through the fog and froze on James Hetfield’s grin. He raised a black-gauntleted fist, barked a four-count, and “Creeping Death” detonated like artillery. Kirk Hammett’s wah-drenched gallop ricocheted off steel risers, instantly turning the lower bowl into a churning ocean of fists and devil-horns, while the stadium’s upper rings shook like aftershocks from a distant quake.

The song’s Exodus-inspired, biblical narrative took on new heft in Colorado’s arid night air. Thousands thundered the “DIE!” refrain with such precision it felt less like entertainment and more like communal ritual, mirroring the ferocity first heard on 1984’s Ride the Lightning. Four decades later the chorus still lands like a liberation hammer, proving that time has sharpened, not dulled, the blade of Metallica’s most fearsome warhorse.

A fresh 4K fan clip already circulating online shows Hetfield prowling the circular stage, teasing front-row diehards with sudden palm-muted silences before unleashing a feral roar that defies his sixty-plus years. His white Snakebyte cut through the mile-high mix with surgical clarity, slicing the thin night air even into the stadium’s distant nosebleeds. Security guards, unable to resist, nodded in time while scanning the stands.

Hammett responded with a scorching, partly improvised solo that initially mirrored his 1984 phrasing, then veered into modern pentatonic fireworks. Backstage, he later joked that Denver’s thin atmosphere makes whole-step bends feel like half-steps, lending every trill extra sting. Long-time tapers claim his vibrato always sounds wilder whenever the tour bus climbs above a mile, and tonight’s evidence seemed to prove their theory.

Mid-set, Robert Trujillo and Hammett claimed their customary “doodle” slot, weaving a chunk of “Suicide & Redemption” into a loping, bass-heavy jam that cheekily quoted John Denver’s “Rocky Mountain High.” The wink to local heritage earned a knowing roar from Coloradans who recognized the brief melody. Trujillo’s crab-walks drew laughs, while Hammett punctuated the bit with a lightning-fast bluegrass run, underlining just how wide the band’s musical vocabulary has become.

Lars Ulrich, now framed by towering pillars of magnesium-white pyro, drove “Creeping Death’s” outro with double-kick bursts reminiscent of his 1986 prime yet perfectly synced to the stadium-wide click track guiding the show’s immersive video screens. Each kick drum thumped through the venue’s metal flooring—a renovation the Broncos commissioned precisely to retain Mile High’s famous seismic feel. Fans could feel the vibration in their sternums as sparks rained overhead.

The audience itself skewed proudly multigenerational. Parents who caught the Damaged Justice tour at McNichols Arena in ’88 now hoisted teenagers born after Hardwired… onto shoulders. Between songs, Hetfield thanked “three generations of Denver family,” a heartfelt nod to a longevity that places Metallica alongside The Rolling Stones among the highest-grossing touring acts ever. Gray-bearded bikers slapped hands with blue-haired TikTokers, united beneath a single riff.

M72’s “No-Repeat Weekend” concept loomed large over every chant. Fans understood that Sunday’s set list would share zero overlap, making Friday the lone chance to hear “Creeping Death,” “King Nothing,” and “Orion” in one glorious sweep. Bootleggers scrambled to label recordings “Night 1,” while collectors in the merch line debated which of the bespoke Denver posters would skyrocket on eBay before sunrise.

New material landed with unexpected muscle. The lurching brutality of “72 Seasons,” the hypnotic mid-tempo churn of “If Darkness Had a Son,” and the snarling title cut “Lux Æterna” nestled seamlessly between “Battery” and “Master of Puppets.” Hetfield’s long-stated mission to keep Metallica a forward-moving organism rather than a nostalgia act felt fully realized as younger fans screamed new lyrics with the same fervor older heads saved for classic chants.

Choosing to lead with “Creeping Death” was anything but random. Since reinstating the track as a curtain-raiser in 2023, Metallica has wielded its tale of plagues, defiance, and liberation like a metal manifesto, announcing each night’s intent in burning capital letters. Under Denver’s clear mountain sky, that intent manifested in sweat, steam, and a communal roar that echoed all the way to nearby Colfax Avenue.

Even the support lineup underscored the evening’s controlled chaos. Limp Bizkit’s Fred Durst stomped around in a bright orange Broncos jersey, mock-threatening to cover “Enter Sandman” before wisely demurring. Ice Nine Kills leaned into theatrical blood-spatter horror, echoing the contrast Queensrÿche once provided on 1989’s Damaged Justice leg. Their sharp differences only magnified Metallica’s sheer gravitational pull when the headliners finally took the stage.

Altitude proved the night’s lone adversary. Between songs, ushers offered cups of water while EMTs reminded fans to breathe deeply. Yet when the “DIE!” chant returned for the final chorus reprise, every lung in the stadium found fresh oxygen. The synchronized foot-stomps generated a literal Mile High rumble that stadium engineers later compared to a moderate tremor on seismographs installed beneath the south stands.

At 10:55 p.m. the serrated closing riff of “Master of Puppets” echoed into the rafters while golden sparks sailed skyward, mingling with a cooling mountain breeze that already smelled faintly of late-night street tacos. Hetfield grinned, declared, “We’ll be back in forty-eight hours with a brand-new set—tell your friends,” and tossed his final pick into the Snake Pit. Judging by the ecstatic faces streaming onto Federal Boulevard, Denver will be talking about the night Creeping Death conquered the clouds for years to come.