A couple of months ago, my son, who is now seven, told me he'd never been to a concert before. I told him I knew that, because I've spent 99 percent of his life with him, especially the evenings when most concerts take place.
I asked him if he'd like to go to one and he said, "Definitely."
In the last year or so he's begun discovering his own taste in music, which can be generally put into two groups: rock and jazz guys. You might be surprised to learn that Bruce Springsteen is a jazz guy. If you want to be a rock guy, it's gotta be pretty heavy. So when I asked him who he'd want to see, Metallica was on the short list.
I don't know if you noticed, but Metallica were in town this past weekend, and in some circles the arrival of their M72 World Tour was the biggest thing happening over Memorial Day weekend. The storied metal band, who have been touring since 1983, held multiple events, a pop-up shop on 23rd and Shunk with 300 people waiting to get in Saturday morning, and of course, the two stadium shows at the Linc that promised unique setlists for each night with no repeat songs.
Now back in the late '80s and throughout the '90s, a Metallica show or even most rock shows weren't exactly a place you wanted to take a kid. There was danger, there were skulls, there was terrible, wonderful, violent noise.
But something has changed over the years. The black leather exterior has softened and the bond in anger has been transformed into a civil camaraderie. As many touring bands enter their third, fourth, or even seventh decade of touring, these events have become multigenerational affairs where passing down a shared love of Kirk Hammett's riffs from Kill 'Em All is more akin to teaching your kids to fish, or sharing family recipes -- albeit very heavy family recipes.
So for his seventh birthday we got tickets and we found ourselves last Friday night in a taxi in the pouring rain, headed to see his first concert. His denim jacket had his new skull pin in it, and we'd chosen two options of ear protection -- but he was quiet on the ride. I asked if he was worried about the rain, and he said not really. I asked if he was nervous or excited or both. The answer was both, which I can understand: your first time going to a concert at a large stadium with no understanding of how loud it would be, who would be there, what would happen, not to mention he's only four feet tall.
In the 2000s, I worked at a heavy metal magazine as an art director and writer and I knew the world, but Metallica had always eluded me. I loved their music, but they were bigtime -- huge arena tours, intense fan base -- also they sent me a letter threatening to sue me when I was 19 as part of the Napster tirade they went on. In short, neither of us knew exactly what we were walking into that night.
Outside the front gate my son pulled me aside and asked me something: If he didn't like the concert or didn't want to stay until the end, could we leave early? I told him we could stay for as long or as little as he wanted. This reassured him, and as we walked up the steps the chaotic energy of a big show was palpable.
The rain subsided, and I heard the chuggy nu metal of Limp Bizkit pulsing into the concourse from the field. In some corners of Philadelphia, Fred Durst and company never went out of fashion and their fans punched the air and sang along to "Rollin'" and "Break Stuff," furiously punching the air.
We made our way to our seats and took in the black and electric yellow spectacle and scale of the M72 tour. Six huge black towers rose up from the center of the arena crowned with video screens, lights and speakers. Lying at the center was an elevated black ring-like stage, and as Limp Bizkit's set wound down, the rain passed and the sun began to set, we waited.
After a dramatic walkout to Ennio Morricone's The Ecstasy of Gold, the lights went down for an instant. I looked over and saw my son, enthralled, eyes wide, not sure what would come next. There wasn't much time to think about it -- the band launched into a blistering version of "Creeping Death." The crowd roared, my son, ear protection on, raised his hands to throw metal horns and banged his head, not quite able to believe that that was actually Metallica in front of us. It was so metal. It was perfect.
At one point James Hetfield, the grayed and growling lead singer and guitar player took an informal poll between songs. "With a show of hands, how many people here tonight are here for their very first Metallica experience?" We raised our hands as the audience started a low roar. "Welcome! Welcome to the family ... What took you so long?" Hetfield joked. "How many people here have seen Metallica once, twice, five times, maybe a hundred or more?" He continued as the crowd exploded, "You're all now officially in the Metallica family. And the only part to that is you can never leave ... You've got family for life here. And what you do need to know about the Metallica family is they like their music heavy!" And then they ripped into "Sad But True." As we were sonically pummeled and banged our heads along, we both felt like we did in fact belong here.