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18th May 2019
11:47am BST

An exhibition? In this economy?
There's also a 'Friends & Family' room with a fridge full of Metallica-branded pilsner (5.7%) and a jovial man by the name of Justin who really should be fronting his own new wave band, but is content in the role of bespoke backstage barman.
There's also a heavy emphasis on security.
'Losing My Religion' blasts over the speakers at the Stade de France before support acts Bokassa and Ghost do their thing. The sun catches a security patrol, strolling casually, with machine guns for company.
"There'll be an explosion here some day," volunteers a member of our travelling party, thankfully out of earshot of the aforementioned military police grunts.
On-site, if you stop to take a photo in the wrong place, you'll be moved along promptly.
As for the show itself, well, it's a Metallica gig, isn't it? Vintage numbers can't miss, newer material is so-so (they've picked the good ones, wisely), and there's a reliable comfort to proceedings, as far as big fuck-off metal concerts go.
In truth, they are a band that continue to occupy a curious position in 2019.
Over the years, you're likely to encounter as many metal fans who worship James Hetfield and company as those who roll their eyes at the mention of their name.
Metallica were big, brash, and mainstream-facing enough long before St. Anger nearly buried them entirely.
As the superb - seriously, watch it - accompanying documentary Some Kind of Monster so resolutely underlined, this is a band that teeters dangerously close to being the real life Spinal Tap.
The reason that film is so fascinating is because of vividly visible flaws and the clanking mechanics behind these men, alternatively troubled, egotistical, hopeful, immature, personable, and occasionally oddly serene.
A decade and a half on, Metallica is exceedingly more brand than band, and they seem comfortable enough with owning the distinction. Onstage, James Hetfield - very much in Sons of Anarchy wardrobe mode - talks lovingly of the "Metallica family" and how we're all in this together.
It's corny as hell, but you get the sense that he means it.
He's rarely been a poet, nor does he need to be. He guides 18 songs on a balmy Sunday night in Paris as well as he can, with bulldog zeal and indefatigable spirit.
His bandmates match him.
Lars Ulrich, often two perfectly acceptable substitute words for "fuck" and "off", is as giddy as ever, while silver-haired zen maestro Kirk Hammett and crab-walking enthusiast Rob Trujillo wield their weapons with glee.
The Snake Pit affords terrific sights, and muddy sound. Heading back to the masses is thrilling enough, sauntering in between two very different perspectives - a row of awestruck fans on your left pounding railings and throwing up devil horns, a small army of terrifying bouncers on the right, their faces etched with focus and apathy.
Back among the general populace as the really rather glorious 'Moth Into Flame' kicks into gear, a man approaches. He's got the t-shirt, the bag full of merchandise, and a fittingly disquiet disposition.
His name is Benoit, and he's now seen Metallica five times. We find ourselves in quick agreement that stadium affairs are undeniably impressive, but smaller spaces offer more heart and soul.
Benoit wants me to know that Hetfield's guitar features wood that he saved from Metallica's breakthrough rehearsal space in the mid-1980s. Old ghosts, new life.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pd9LfzWTaLQ
Clip via MetallicaTV
I thank my temporary friend for this information before exiting in search of the bar. We embrace. He kisses me on the cheek and draws back a little, apologetically.
"I kiss you!" he says. "I kiss girls, too," he adds, shrugging.
I love you, Benoit. I won't forget our time together.
As the sky blackens and this writer fails to find the exit of the VIP bar he's stumbled into, the video screens pay tribute to Johnny Hallyday, the man who brought rock and roll to France.
A communal vibe fills the air, evident in the majority of the 76,000 people that the eye can realistically make out. Overall, those gathered are pleased if polite, leaving you with the sense that Slane will handily outdo them for noise.
Amongst the band, further joy.
Before his solo in 'Master of Puppets', Hammett takes a split-second to fix Hetfield's wavering mic stand. He didn't need to. A stage hand would scramble on, surely, but no, they've weathered storms together and now stand united as friends, brothers, family.
And that's Metallica 2019 - the commitment to still wanting to do this, to still believing that they're the best and biggest band on the planet, to still entertaining and enforcing the idea of a tribe, even if the membership fees ain't cheap.
The sheen is overpowering, and damaging in certain respects, but the smiles are real.
They've earned that, and then some.
Featured image via Brett Murray
Metallica headline Slane Castle on Saturday 8 June.
Tickets from €89.50 including booking fee are available via Ticketmaster.Explore more on these topics: