Metallica Turns Munich Into a Storm-Fueled Spectacle Fans Will Never Forget

On May 24, 2024, Metallica launched the European leg of their M72 World Tour at Munich’s Olympiastadion, and the weather instantly decided to become part of the spectacle. As soon as the crushing first notes of “Master of Puppets” roared through the arena, a torrential downpour came crashing down, drenching the band and the tens of thousands of fans who refused to move an inch. The scene felt like something carved straight out of rock folklore—rain, fury, and pure voltage.

The timing was unreal. Right as James Hetfield struck into that legendary opening riff, a bolt of lightning ripped across the sky overhead, illuminating the entire stadium. The audience gasped, caught between awe and disbelief. It was the sort of cosmic coincidence that no production could stage, the kind of moment you survive in real time and later tell stories about. Metallica didn’t just roll with it—they embraced it.

What most people didn’t know was that Hetfield wasn’t holding a typical touring guitar. In his hands was “Carl,” an Explorer crafted from the salvaged wood of the original El Cerrito garage where Metallica’s earliest anthems were born. That same space saw the birth of “Ride the Lightning,” “Master of Puppets,” and the entire foundation of the band’s sound. It’s not just a guitar—it’s a relic.

The rain poured as if the sky had split open, but “Carl” kept cutting through the storm with complete authority. Even as Hetfield stood soaked to the bone, he never hesitated. The instrument, carved from the beams of the garage at 3132 Carlson Boulevard, seemed almost symbolic in that moment—its sound echoing across decades, combining history with raw, modern force.

Fans looked on in disbelief. Many couldn’t believe that Hetfield brought such a treasured, historically loaded guitar into a raging storm. Water streamed across its unfinished wood, the pickups glistened with rain, and the strings dripped under the stadium lights. Everything about the moment announced that this was not just another night on tour. It was a line carved in Metallica legend.

Online, the reaction was explosive. Fans flooded comment sections with praise: “That was metal as hell,” “This goes in the history books,” and even jokes like, “Lightning? That’s Cliff Burton saying hello.” The chaos didn’t diminish the performance—it crowned it. People weren’t just impressed by the music, but by the sheer defiance of the moment.

From a technical standpoint, the scene was astonishing. “Carl” survived the deluge thanks to sealed electronics and the famously resilient EMG pickups. Building a guitar from sentimental garage timber is one challenge—getting it to withstand a stadium-wide monsoon without flinching is another. Yet the tone stayed razor sharp, a testament to both craftsmanship and heritage.

Lars Ulrich later remarked that the band saw the weather shifting but never once considered stopping. The circular stage layout and the sheer intensity of the Munich crowd left no room for hesitation. Once the storm hit, Metallica simply dug in deeper, turning nature’s ambush into part of the show’s pulse.

The setlist itself was already stacked with fan favorites, but the soaked, furious rendition of “Master of Puppets” quickly became the defining moment of the night. The imagery of lightning, pounding rain, and Hetfield’s drenched silhouette clenching “Carl” became the most circulated visual from the entire tour—one snapshot that summed up the energy of an unforgettable show.

One TikTok clip alone soared past 800,000 likes within days, showing Hetfield snarling into the mic as water streamed from his hair and jacket, “Carl” slung low and roaring. Nothing about it felt staged—this was instinct, grit, and a lifetime of metal colliding with the elements. It was chaos molded into something mythic.

Critics and fans agreed that it stood among Metallica’s most memorable modern performances. It wasn’t just about flawless playing—it was about attitude, fearlessness, and refusing to back down. No theatrics. No retreat. Just the same four musicians who’ve weathered every kind of storm, rising to meet a literal one.

People in the crowd described the show like a battlefield tale. “I was there,” one fan wrote. “It felt like witnessing history. The storm, the riffs, the energy—everything aligned.” Among a lifetime of monumental concerts, Munich earned its own place near the top purely through its intensity.

And at the center of it all stood “Carl.” What once supported the ceiling of a dusty California garage now sang in a stadium drowned in rain and thunder. The same wood that vibrated during early rehearsals now carried those songs to tens of thousands, bridging Metallica’s origins with its unstoppable present.

That night, Hetfield didn’t just perform “Master of Puppets”—he invoked every ghost tied to its creation. With rain pouring, lightning striking, and “Carl” screaming beneath the Munich sky, the moment became something beyond a concert. It became a chapter in the band’s mythology.

For everyone lucky enough to stand in that storm, the Munich show became more than an entry on a tour poster. It was a reminder of why Metallica still reigns after all these decades—because when chaos hits, they don’t run. They turn it into legend.