On the Road Again
Live Reviews:

Metallica
November 17, 1998
The Warehouse, Toronto, ON

Fist banging mania. Throw the goats and say hello to Satan, Metallica have come to party garage-style. This was the first of a five night tour, where Metallica only play cover songs. Even more cunning is the addition of Battery (also known as Disaster Area), a Metallica tribute band. They are along to warm up the beer drinkers and pot smokers with the cream of the Metallicrop (how strange that they didn't play one post-And Justice For All... song).

Possibly the largest audience they have encountered, Battery showed few signs of shitting their pants, as they were most likely doing. Crowd response was strong, but it was hard to decipher whether they were wailing over the band, or the songs themselves. Amusing and entertaining.

And then there was Metallica, who were simply there. It seems that their time as stadium pigs has interfered with their ability to associate with fans on a personal level, as interaction never truly broke into the intimate setting the band so readily desired. Not that the fans let it matter, with boobs and hair a flailin' all night long. Nice though, was the opportunity to hear Metallica pay tribute to the bands that influenced them (basically the New Wave Of British Heavy Metal).

Tunes by Motorhead, the Misfits, Mercyful Fate, Black Sabbath and many lesser-known acts spewed forth, as the ceiling quite literally fell down (chunks of the foam sound baffles tumbled throughout the cacophany). Alas, while they did play as well as could be expected, their general disinterest in connecting with the crowd past rehashed lines (minus Kirk, who had to sit through the show due to recent surgery) made the night seem more like duty than choice. But at least they did it, 'cause we'll have to wait at least another 10 years to see them in a place this small.

A Photographer's rebuttal:

Were we even at the same show? Metallica were not "simply there." Their music was omnipresent, visceral, exciting and ridiculously fucking loud. They brought the same amount of gear they used for their last Amphitheatre show and the entire room shook from James Hetfield's guttural roaring. This was not some type of passive performance by a group of disenchanted stadium pigs, but rather a cutting performance by a bunch of brilliant, condescending musicians who let their audience into their oversized, acoustically miserable garage.

Metallica have always been one of my favorite bands. I've attended 9 shows over the years and "connecting" with the band on a personal level has never happened. I don't go to connect. I go to feel the music and watch the interaction on stage. These guys are amazing players on their own and its always magical witnessing the way their egos come together as a band. They don't entertain the audience or rip out a cheesy Depeche Mode-esque "Hellooooo Torontoooohhh!" They're there to play their music and they are letting you watch! If you were looking for personal interaction, you should have walked a couple miles up Jarvis St.

While the show was excrutiatingly loud (am I getting too old or was the venue looking for a lawsuit?), the thick bass tones convulsed bodies as though live cables had fallen from the ceiling. It was a horror movie and a love-in for all the kids with Ozzy shirts hanging out in high school smoking sections in the 80's.

Playing most of these songs for the first time live, the electricity was right in-your-face. Feeding like ravenous monsters off the crowd's energy, Metallica thrashed through favourites that many metalheads remembered from ages long-gone. They dated themselves with their influences, buy nobody cared. Black Sabbath, Thin Lizzy, Queen and Motorhead were back! And the crowd sang along.

As appreciation, Hetfield repeatedly spat large greenish-white loogies on the stage.