Metallica Detonated “One” and “Enter Sandman” in a Back-to-Back Finale That Left Suncorp Shaking at Brisbane 2025

By the time the house lights dropped at Suncorp Stadium on 12 November 2025, Brisbane already felt like it had been living inside a Metallica bubble for days. The record-breaking M72 World Tour had finally rolled into town, bringing a two-hour barrage of classics and new material to more than 50,000 fans, many of whom had been waiting twelve years for the band’s return to Australia. For a lot of people in those stands, this was their very first Metallica show, and you could feel that “bucket list” electricity every time someone mentioned “One” or “Enter Sandman” – the two songs everyone knew were coming to close the night.

The build-up started long before the first riff. In the days leading up to the concert, fans queued around the block at a pop-up merch shop in Fortitude Valley, hunting down Brisbane-exclusive shirts, posters, and limited vinyl. One die-hard reportedly dropped more than $1600 on gear after lining up from the crack of dawn, a pretty solid indicator of how starved Queensland was for a Metallica fix. The queue snaked so far down McLachlan Street it basically turned into a pre-party, with strangers comparing favourite albums and swapping stories about missed tours and 2013 Soundwave memories.

On show day, that restless energy migrated across the river to Suncorp. Outside the stadium, the streets were a messy patchwork of tour shirts from every era: classic “Justice” hammers, faded “Black Album” snakes, Hardwired skulls, and the fresh neon-yellow 72 Seasons designs. Parents brought kids in pint-sized band tees, grown-up kids brought their parents who had worn out cassette copies in the eighties, and everyone compared seats and debated which deep cuts might sneak into the set. Food trucks did roaring trade, local pubs spilled bodies onto the footpath, and every second sentence seemed to end with, “I just want to hear One live at least once in my life.”

Inside, the evening kicked off with a double hit of old-school attitude. Suicidal Tendencies brought their thrash-skate mayhem to the early arrivals, turning pockets of the stands into mini circle pits, while Evanescence followed with a grand, gothic sweep that fit surprisingly well in a sun-baked rugby cathedral. Amy Lee’s voice climbed up into the rafters, and even fans who had arrived strictly for the Bay Area legends found themselves belting out choruses they hadn’t heard since the mid-2000s. By the time changeover crews cleared the last flight case, the crowd had already been singing for hours and was more than ready to cross the final bridge into Metallica territory.

Then the speakers took over. First came AC/DC’s “It’s a Long Way to the Top (If You Wanna Rock ’n’ Roll),” a pointed nod to the country that gave the world both Bon Scott and lane-way tributes to heavy music. As the last bagpipes faded, Ennio Morricone’s “The Ecstasy of Gold” rolled in like a cinematic wave, and 50,000 voices roared along to a song that doesn’t technically have any lyrics. When the band finally strode out and detonated “Creeping Death” into the Brisbane night, it felt less like the start of a set and more like a stadium-wide exhale that had been held for twelve long years.

From there, they barely lifted their boot off the accelerator. “For Whom the Bell Tolls” came lumbering in with that ironclad bass intro, the extended outro stretching into a stadium-wide chant as the crowd bellowed the main riff back at the band. “Fuel” hit like a dragster launch, flames licking at the edge of the stage as Hetfield barked the chorus, while “Ride the Lightning” gave old-school fans the kind of headbang moment they used to dream about in their bedrooms. When “The Unforgiven” and “Wherever I May Roam” followed, the mood shifted from pure aggression to that big, cinematic sweep Metallica does better than almost anyone, with the big screens turning Suncorp into a sea of faces and raised phones.

@kurdtcobainstan video i took. one – metallica #brisbane #metallica #concert #fyp #jameshetfield @metallica ♬ original sound – gracie ⋆˚꩜｡

Then came the moment that officially branded this show as Brisbane’s own. As James stepped away from the mic, Kirk Hammett and Robert Trujillo moved to the front of the stage for their now-traditional “doodle” spot. Instead of a random jam, they launched into The Chats’ cult classic “Smoko,” turning the world’s biggest metal band into the world’s loudest suburban Aussie punk cover act for three gloriously shambolic minutes. Trujillo took lead vocals with a grin, Hammett hammered through the three-chord riff, and 50,000 Queenslanders yelled “leave me alone” back at them like it was a second national anthem. It was chaotic, funny, weirdly sweet – and completely unforgettable.

The mid-set stretch dug a little deeper into the catalog and showed just how dialed-in this M72 production really is. “The Day That Never Comes” unfolded with a long, moody intro before exploding into its galloping back half, aided by lighting that moved from stark white searchlights to blood-red sweeps as the song stepped up through the gears. “Moth Into Flame” kept the tempo high, its jagged riffs matching strobing lights that made every leap in the crowd look like stop-motion film. “Sad But True” landed with the subtlety of a wrecking ball, the down-tuned groove rattling the concrete underfoot and giving everyone a chance to stomp in time.

Every Metallica show needs its big heart-punch, and in Brisbane that moment arrived with an extended “Nothing Else Matters.” The intro stretched out just long enough for the stadium to settle into a collective hush, phones raised not for clout but simply to capture a song that has backed weddings, breakups, and solo late-night drives for three decades. Hetfield’s voice carried a little extra grit, the kind that comes from having sung the same words thousands of times and still finding new weight in them. When the full band kicked in, the crowd’s sing-along threatened to drown out the PA, and by the final chorus you could spot plenty of people wiping at their eyes and pretending it was just sweat.

Of course, for every ballad there must be a riot, and “Seek & Destroy” filled that quota with interest. Stretched into a longer, more free-form workout with a partial reprise, it turned Suncorp into a thrash metal rally. The band stalked the edges of the giant stage, throwing riffs to different sides of the stadium while pockets of fans broke into old-school circle pits on the floor. It felt like a link back to their club-show days, only now the “club” was a rugby fortress echoing with 50,000 voices barking “Searching… seek and destroy!” on command.

As the night tilted toward its home stretch, the production went from “big” to “absurdly huge.” “Lux Æterna” brought a blast of new-era speed, with Lars Ulrich hammering away from his B-kit as the stage spun its focus from one bank of stands to another, giving different sections their own close-up moments. “Master of Puppets” followed like a summoned storm, its jagged riffs synchronized with screens that endlessly multiplied the band’s silhouettes. For many in the crowd, this alone would have been a highlight, a chance to scream a Stranger Things-boosted anthem with the people who wrote it. But Brisbane still had two titans waiting in the wings.

Then the lights dropped lower than they had all night, and the opening sounds of “One” began to crawl out of the PA. The war-zone soundscape – distant explosions, machine-gun fire, the relentless thud of artillery – rolled across the stadium while strobing lights mimicked tracer fire. When the clean guitar intro finally cut through, thousands of fans instinctively raised their phones, not so much to record as to create that glowing field of tiny stars that now seems to follow the song wherever it goes. In those opening minutes, Suncorp felt less like a sports arena and more like a shared nightmare being played out in real time.

As “One” moved into its heavier sections, the band locked into a level of tightness that only comes from living inside these songs for decades. Hetfield’s bark grew more desperate with each verse, Kirk’s solo wove between mournful and feral, and Robert’s bass rumbled underneath like approaching tanks. Lars pushed the song into overdrive during the famous machine-gun double-kick passage, perfectly synced with strobes that made the entire stadium look like it was flickering in and out of existence. By the climactic final run, people were screaming the riff as loudly as they were screaming the lyrics, united in that weird mix of horror and catharsis that only this particular song can summon.

There was barely a heartbeat’s gap before the atmosphere shifted from apocalyptic to anthemic. A familiar clean riff floated out, the “Now I lay me down to sleep…” pre-tape whispered across the PA, and Suncorp instantly turned feral. “Enter Sandman” is the song that made countless fans in that crowd pick up guitars, buy black T-shirts, or annoy their parents by cranking MTV to ear-splitting levels. Hearing it thunder out over a Brisbane night sky, with pyro shooting high and the stands literally bouncing in time, felt like seeing a piece of shared rock mythology come to life. Even knowing it would close the set didn’t blunt the impact when that first massive chorus hit.

By the final “We’re off to never-never land,” the show had tipped fully into joyous chaos. On the floor, people who had arrived as strangers had arms around each other’s shoulders, bellowing the last lines like some unlikely, leather-jacketed football choir. High up in the stands, parents filmed their kids jumping around to the same song they themselves had blasted on Walkmans and Discmen. When the band lined up at the edge of the stage, tossing picks and drumsticks into the crowd before taking their bows, the cheers felt less like simple applause and more like a communal thank-you for finally bringing this tour to Brisbane. Clips of that final stretch quickly lit up social media as fans relived the moment online.

What made this particular stop stand out in an already massive world tour was how deeply it tied Metallica into the fabric of Australian rock culture for one night. From the AC/DC walk-on music to James Hetfield’s earlier pilgrimage to AC/DC Lane and a new Cliff Burton mural in Melbourne, to the local “Smoko” tribute in Brisbane, the band treated each city as more than just another dot on a routing map. Here, those gestures landed especially hard: a metal institution acknowledging the country that raised many of the bands its members grew up loving, and a city that waited more than a decade responding by singing, shouting, and moshing as if the show might never come again.

As the last fans drifted out into the Brisbane night, ears ringing and voices shredded, there was a clear sense that this wasn’t just another tour date to tick off. For some, it was a long-delayed payoff after cancellations, false starts, and years of wondering whether the band would ever make it back. For others, it was their very first plunge into Metallica’s live universe. What everyone shared was the memory of that final one-two punch – the harrowing drama of “One,” the explosive release of “Enter Sandman” – echoing in the back of their minds as they compared favourite moments on trains, in Ubers, and in late-night takeaway queues. Brisbane finally got its night with the “lords of metal,” and they made sure it was one that will be talked about for many seasons to come.