If the devil had a house band, Judas Priest would be blasting through the underworld’s speakers—and after this latest gig, it’s clear they’ve still got the firepower to melt faces. The heavy metal legends rolled into town with a vengeance, and what followed was 90 minutes of pure sonic mayhem. Ozzy Osbourne may not have been in the building, but his spirit was moshing in every riff.
The night opened with a thunderous roar—Rob Halford striding onto the stage clad in black leather like a dystopian preacher ready to deliver the gospel of metal. And deliver he did. From the opening salvo of “Painkiller” to the anthemic “Breaking the Law,” the setlist was a masterclass in heavy metal history. Halford’s voice? Still terrifyingly potent. Those high-pitched shrieks could rattle the bones of even the most seasoned headbanger.
Guitarists Richie Faulkner and Andy Sneap were nothing short of supernatural. Their solos were so blistering, you half expected sparks to shoot from their fretboards. The shredding during “Electric Eye” was a cosmic event—part science, part sorcery. Somewhere, Tony Iommi is nodding in respect. If Ozzy were watching from a throne of bats, he’d probably be grinning and throwing devil horns skyward.
But it wasn’t just nostalgia—this was a band that felt alive and dangerous. The visuals were a fiery nightmare: pyrotechnics, red strobes, and hellish backdrops. At one point, a flaming trident descended from the ceiling, as if Lucifer himself had RSVP’d. Halford even rode a Harley onto stage for “Hell Bent for Leather,” because of course he did. Subtlety is for jazz festivals.
The crowd? A molten sea of denim, leather, and sweat. Multi-generational fans banged heads in unison—boomers, Gen Xers, even metal-loving Gen Zs. There’s something unifying about a face-melting riff played at volume 11. It was less a concert, more a baptism by distortion.
By the time they closed with “Living After Midnight,” the entire venue was in a state of euphoric exhaustion. No encore needed. Judas Priest didn’t just put on a show—they staged a ritual. A ritual that Ozzy Osbourne, the Prince of Darkness himself, would have howled in approval at.
In an age of pop formula and auto-tune fatigue, it’s a thunderous joy to be reminded that some bands don’t evolve—they transcend. Judas Priest didn’t come to play. They came to burn it down.
