Metallica Set Levi’s Stadium Ablaze with a High-Octane “Fuel” in Santa Clara 2025
Levi’s Stadium shimmered beneath the last streaks of a California sunset on June 20 2025, its 360-degree stage glowing crimson as nearly seventy-thousand hometown faithful waited for a single unmistakable sound: the revving-engine riff that signals “Fuel.” Night one of Metallica’s M72 takeover was about to detonate, and the promise of Bay Area firepower hung thick in the warm evening air.
Long before the band walked out, an AC/DC classic primed the crowd, and Morricone’s “Ecstasy of Gold” raised goosebumps, yet the true spark came mid-set. After the slow-burn drama of “The Day That Never Comes,” the lights snapped to black, a lone spotlight hit James Hetfield, and he barked the four words every pyro tech loves: “Gimme fuel, gimme fire!”
Columns of flame erupted skyward as Lars Ulrich’s snare rolled like a drag-strip starter pistol, each burst choreographed to the song’s staccato rhythm. Heat waves rippled clear to the upper deck, proving that Metallica’s 2025 production still rivals the arena infernos of their late-’90s prime while surrounding fans in a furnace of sight and sound.
“Fuel” has always been Hetfield’s gasoline-soaked manifesto—born on the 1997 Reload tour with real motorcycle engines rumbling backstage—yet this Santa Clara rendition felt turbocharged. At sixty, he prowled the catwalk like a street racer, slashing down-strokes that could still peel the lacquer from a Flying V, his voice rasping with seasoned menace.
Kirk Hammett answered the flames with a solo that raced across the fretboard, wah pedal howling like tires on hot asphalt. Mid-phrasing he slipped in a quick blues flourish that echoed the Stone on Broadway days when Bay Area insiders first crowned him “the Ripper,” fusing past swagger with present-day precision.
Rob Trujillo’s bass rumbled beneath the riff in piston-like grooves, his trademark spins whipping his strap outward like a flame-red ribbon. Between verses he saluted a banner reading “Cliff ’Em All Forever,” then punched an extra slide into the neck in homage to Burton’s fearless low-end improvisations from early club tours.
Lars, ever the ringmaster, throttled the tempo just enough to make each chorus feel like a quarter-mile launch. Cymbal chokes cracked in perfect sync with pyrotechnic geysers, sweat flying from his sticks. Decades of opening sets with “Fuel” paid dividends; even dropped into the middle, the song still detonated like a starter’s cannon.
Eight towering LED monoliths looped tachometer graphics and ember-red animations every time Hetfield snarled “burn.” The visual assault turned the entire floor into a giant piston chamber, pulling even nose-bleed spectators into the engine of the song while giving them IMAX-level detail of pick scrapes and clenched fists.
Generations collided under the flames: parents in cracked Reload tees hoisted kids wearing brand-new M72 hoodies, proving that a track once doubted by purists had evolved into a unifying anthem. When Hetfield roared “Turn on beyond the bone,” every age group screamed it back, forging a chorus that spanned four decades of fandom.
Videos hit social media before the smoke settled. A drone clip catching the stage mid-eruption racked up half-a-million views overnight, while Reddit threads buzzed about the Santa Clara crowd finishing an entire chorus after the band dropped out, creating a stadium-wide a cappella roar heard blocks beyond the venue.
Merch tents morphed into after-party bazaars the moment the final chord decayed. Limited “Fuel Levi’s Stadium” posters—flaming spark plug over a Bay Bridge silhouette—sold out in minutes. Fans lined up to pose with purchases, the still-warm paper smelling faintly of fresh ink and pyro smoke, all around them celebrating the shared blaze.
Veteran tape-traders quickly declared the Santa Clara take one of the fastest “Fuel” tempos since the legendary 1998 Madison Square Garden gig. Some even spliced fresh audio into comparison mixes, noting how Hetfield’s 2025 growl lands an octave lower yet somehow hits harder than his ’97 snarl from memory alone.
The song’s NASCAR-ready adrenaline surged through the closing moments, but local pride hung equally thick—after all, these were Bay Area kids who once hauled amps in rusted vans across the Golden Gate, now returning as conquering heroes wielding stadium-sized flamethrowers under the midnight Bay sky that night too.
When the last cannon of flame hissed out and lights dimmed for “Orion,” thousands still hummed the “Fuel” riff under their breath, as though the echo might keep the night burning just a little longer. Around concession stands, strangers high-fived, still feeling the rush ripple through their chests long afterward.
Looking back, “Fuel” wasn’t merely another track in the set; it served as the ignition key that turned Santa Clara into a roaring engine of nostalgia and fresh adrenaline. In a career packed with combustible moments, this one burned bright enough to leave a permanent scorch mark on the Levi’s Stadium turf.
