Well tens of thousands of fans showed up – but not all of them were necessarily fans of Metallica. Looking from the main stage out onto the vast lawn before them, I wonder if the band was used to seeing so much Day-glo and tie-dye. Several times throughout the show, as front man James Hetfield tried to stoke the crowd with some somewhat clever dialogue, his responses were flat and underwhelming. “Settle down,” he told the crowd just before playing “No Remorse” – but it was by rote; there weren’t actually any disruptive fans to settle.

Nevertheless, even if most were unable to sing along, the concertgoers knew they were in the presence of legends; they were here to pay homage.

Metallica seemed to understand the atmosphere, too. They had an attitude that came off as, “You guys and us guys aren’t exactly a match, but we’re happy to be here anyway.” Perhaps to facilitate an easier crossover, they played a hit-heavy set, drawing from older material – “Enter Sandman,” “The Unforgiven” – likely familiar to anyone who’s ever turned on a radio.

And they rocked. With two mammoth projection screens, strobe lighting, power guitaring, and Hetfield’s devil-eyeing, Metallica certainly held nothing back.

But still, at times, they seemed to be pandering. “So you want to hear some old stuff?” Hetfield asked. “How old?” This drew quizzical, obligatory cheers. A rock band of Metallica’s caliber – as famous for music as for being bad-ass – should never have to cater.