Metallica Reignited Thrash Majesty with a Blistering “Blackened” in Tampa 2025

A newly released Blu-ray-quality cut captures Metallica tearing through “Blackened” at Tampa’s Raymond James Stadium on June 6, 2025, preserving every flame burst, pick scrape, and roar of 60,000 fans in razor-sharp detail. The footage has already rocketed to hundreds of thousands of views, drawing both longtime devotees and curious newcomers who want proof that the world’s most famous thrash band still swings the same sledgehammer it wielded in 1989.

The Tampa stop on the M72 World Tour packed the NFL venue from bleachers to barricades, turning its circular 360-degree stage into a living gyroscope of denim, leather, and glowing wristbands. Concession tents hawked Blackened whiskey, while merch trucks sold limited “Tampa ’25” jerseys that disappeared before sunset. Even seasoned road crew members admitted the preshow buzz rivaled the band’s early-Nineties heyday.

“Blackened” carries unique gravity in the Metallica mythos: it opened 1988’s …And Justice for All, marked Jason Newsted’s first songwriting credit after Cliff Burton’s death, and served as battle cry for the band’s bold pivot to socially charged epics. Hearing it roar back to life decades later felt like an electric bridge linking the ragged Damaged Justice era to a present still hungry for speed and fury.

Technology turbocharged that time-warp effect. The Blu-ray’s 4K cameras swooped from automated cranes over Lars Ulrich’s rotating drum riser, while drones hovered above circle pits, turning moshing bodies into a kaleidoscope of swirling lights. Ultra-slow-motion replays froze Kirk Hammett’s whammy-bar dives at their apex, capturing beads of sweat arcing from the headstock before the next downbeat detonated through the PA.

Hours before gates opened, Metallica launched a pop-up shop in Tampa’s Ybor City, selling M72 vinyl variants beside hot-stamped whiskey bottles. Fans queued around the block, then spilled into the stadium wearing flashing LED lanyards that later synced with the intro tape of AC/DC’s “It’s a Long Way to the Top,” bathing the stands in pulsing red waves as anticipation reached a boiling point.

The night’s setlist combined deep cuts and fresh tracks: “Creeping Death,” “Leper Messiah,” and “Harvester of Sorrow” rubbed shoulders with the new-school muscle of “72 Seasons.” “Blackened” landed mid-first half like a thunderbolt, its opening triplet riff jacking pits from simmer to roiling boil in seconds, proving old songs still hit with unmuted velocity.

James Hetfield, now sixty-one, barked the line “Blackened is the end” with a gravelly resonance that blended 1989’s feral bite with the richer baritone he’s honed through sobriety and vocal coaching. Each staccato “Fire!” felt like a gauntlet thrown toward the skyboxes, punctuated by timed pyrotechnics that punched heat waves all the way to the upper deck.

Kirk Hammett stretched his solo beyond studio length, knotting rapid harmonic squeals with bluesy bends reminiscent of the Black Album era. High-definition close-ups revealed near-telepathic right-hand precision as his fingers fluttered like a hummingbird. Meanwhile, green lasers stitched patterns around him, turning the guitarist into a silhouette in a neon spider-web of his own invention.

Robert Trujillo’s galloping bass—finally audible compared with the ghosted original album mix—locked tight to Ulrich’s double-time hi-hat, nudging the tempo just hair-trigger faster than the studio cut. The quartet rode the ragged edge of control without spilling into chaos, demonstrating a discipline born from forty years of walking that exact tightrope.

Social media lit up in real time. A nosebleed-level phone clip hit a million views overnight, its poster declaring the song “heavier than gravity.” Memes placed 1989 and 2025 Hetfield side by side—same stance, same down-picking fury—while the hashtag #Blackened2025 trended globally, reminding current generations that thrash DNA never really ages, it only mutates.

The choice of Tampa carried poetic symmetry. The city closed the U.S. leg of the Damaged Justice Tour in 1989, and the Blu-ray booklet reprints that original set list alongside 2025’s, underscoring the band’s knack for turning history into an ever-spinning wheel rather than a museum exhibit. To Metallica, the past remains a live circuit sparking fresh voltage.

Earlier in the evening, Ice Nine Kills primed the stadium with theatrical horror metal, leaving fake blood splatters onstage that crew frantically wiped before Metallica’s screens descended. Hetfield later thanked them with a grin, quipping, “Nice of the kids to leave us a mess,” before launching into the next barrage of riffs.

Stage design innovations mattered, too. Ulrich’s rotating kit allowed him to face each quadrant during different verses, while a snake-pit walkway wrapped the inner bowl, letting lucky fans witness solos from an arm’s length away. One teenager caught a toss-pick from Hetfield, later framing it beside his father’s faded 1989 ticket stub—living proof of cross-generational heavy-metal inheritance.

After the show, Metallica announced an upcoming two-CD digital release of the Tampa concert, crashing their online store within hours. Audiophiles rejoiced at the promise of a pristine soundboard mix, while collectors scrambled to secure limited-edition vinyl variants, further illustrating how a band’s living legacy can also be a freight train of demand.

When the final chorus of “Blackened” slammed home, thirty-foot flame pillars shot skyward and black confetti rained over the stands. Even as house lights rose to Morricone’s “Ecstasy of Gold,” thousands kept chanting the triplet riff—duh-duh duh-duh—well into the concourse. Ushers smiled knowingly; some fires burn too hot to extinguish quickly.

For all the drones, lasers, and viral metrics, the night’s truth was stark and simple: thirty-six years after …And Justice for All, the opening riff of “Blackened” still ripples through stadiums like a seismic wave. Few bands can keep such an ember alive across decades; Metallica poured fresh gasoline on it in Tampa—and captured the explosion in crystal-clear high definition for all to witness.