This band has enjoyed many adventures, but arguably none have compared to this.

Antarctica. The end of the world, the final continent, the greatest mass of continental land with the least inhabitants. Free of ownership and borders, Antarctica is a place where those who are lucky enough to go can still dream of being pioneers, of being a Columbus or even a Hemingway, of being Scott, of being Amundsen.

James and his son Castor had discussed how cool it would be for Metallica to enter the Guinness Book of Records as the first band to play all seven continents in one year, and their intrigue about Antarctica helped that vision inflate. Q Prime’s Tony DiCioccio received an opportunity for such a crazy, bizarre and random thing to happen… and it did: a show in Antarctica, sponsored by Coke Zero, for a handful of competition-winning fans. As you will see (and learn) this is nowhere near as easy as you already think it isn’t. Thanks to Tony’s hard work, the hard work of

Bruce Moran, Morgan McGrath and Phil Guiliano at Live Nation, as well as Coke Zero, Plataforma and the immense efforts of Dan Braun and the Metallica crew (everyone’s name is rightfully at the end of this printed dreamscape), we had the opportunity to see THIS every hour for a few days. Morning, noon, night all bled into each other as the light never dipped below dusk and the sheer imperial majesty of THIS dominated everything.

It was a rolling ball of emotions, and I think one thing everyone who went will confirm is that this felt like nothing else, like nowhere else, ever. It reverberated with space, cleanliness, wilderness and openness. You stood atop a glacier and peered at the next horizon, wondering legitimately whether another human had ever been there… anyway, I’m drifting lyrical again, so let’s start at the beginning.


Photo Credit: Ross Halfin

For the moment, Antarctica belongs to the wild and we are still tenuous visitors and observant occupants.

The crew did it by sea, boarding the ship Ortelius (part of the Oceanwide Expeditions fleet) in Ushuaia, Tierra del Fuego, Argentina and crossing the Drake Passage during two days of 50-foot waves, unstable cabin-lock-down brown bag time. I’ve seen photos, and never knew people could look green. Brave? Put it this way – I’d not be surprised if they got matching tatts, because it certainly sounded like two days in a washing machine on spin cycle.

We made our way to Punta Arenas in Chile, where we boarded Antarctic Airlines for our flight to the Frei base in Antarctica, where the Ortelius would be waiting. It was a long journey before we got to Punta Arenas, something like 20 hours, but there came a surge of energy when we saw the logo and realized we were not (metaphorically) far from the “frontier.” It’s fair to say everyone got a second wind as we tried to anticipate exactly what we would land on, in or at.

We landed on what felt like the dirt-gravel road you’d trundle to your local dump on. This was the runway. It never serves well to think too much at such moments, although I did ponder that the plane tires must have been a little flat in order to stay on the “runway.” It was basic, and no, there was no terminal building. But there was a large welcoming committee, with local scientists and other assorted Frei base workers out in force to enjoy a once-in-a-lifetime encounter with Metallica. Frei is the most important base Chile has in Antarctica, and as I was soon to learn, several countries have established “territories” and “bases” as “theirs,” doubtless for that moment when things do start to get proprietorial. But for the moment Antarctica belongs to the wild and we are still tenuous visitors and observant occupants. I had tried to figure out what time zone we were going to be in, and was informed on landing that several time zones meet in Antarctica, meaning that you could be a mile away from a 13-hour time difference. Insanity. We observed a +4-hour one. Amundsen-Scott, aka the mainland/South Pole, was +20 hours.

It was crisply chilly at Frei but not to the point where I felt frostbite was imminent, but that light… that light… it was beautiful. Crisp, sharp and devoid of any particular debris (as in particles). I don’t know if it was my imagination, but the atmosphere seemed curiously unfettered and delightfully “clear” in general. A breath in Frei must’ve contained at least 50% more pure oxygen; that’s what my lungs told me.


Photo Credit: Ross Halfin

We took a couple of snow cats from the plane to the shore at Frei. The snow cats reminded me of ***The Shining*** — you know, that moment when the cook is returning to the Overlook so he can try to save the day. Compact little snow tanks, more like, and we all had to cram into (literally) whichever space was available (plus luggage). Once at the shore, we saw our ship, the Ortelius; however, it was in the middle of the bay. Thus our first zodiac ride was sooner than I’d expected… in we clambered to these steel-floored thick rubber speed taxis, and before we knew it, we were crossing Antarctic waters and spying our first iceberg (mini!) during the seven-minute ride. As we pulled up to the Ortelius, I paid very close attention to how we were supposed to disembark. There was a certain grip you had to exchange with the man standing on the tiny podium at the bottom of the rickety steel staircase; I made sure not to get the grip wrong. The water looked unfathomably inhospitable. Yet beautiful. And as we made our way to our cabins, the sense of adventure summer camp brought as a child suddenly flooded my whole being.

We all spoke, at one time or another, about what it might be like to fall into that water. I was told you could perhaps survive for an hour in the sort of clothing we had on, but were you to, say, be wandering around in your PJs and hurtle off the deck, seven minutes would be about the longest you’d make it. Ray Masterson (James’ PA) had spoken of his desire to do a “polar plunge” from the mini-podium at the base of the stairs, and both Rob and Kirk were waxing lyrical about possibly trying to surf (surfers, you find, generally try to imagine a moment to surf wherever they are), but all parties ended up settling for zodiac rides and some hikes. A wise decision, I believe, although both the wardrobe ladies, Foster and Sarah, took very quick dips off the shore right by the gig. “Was it freezing, freezing cold?” your intrepid reporter asked with the depth and dimension of a book page. Yes. Yes, it was cold. But they were still there, doubled up and working hard.

THE ICE… IT WAS BREATHTAKING.

And what’s more, we got the chance to see it a few times from the zodiacs, which might seem exactly how it should’ve been, but really, it’s rarely like that, owing to weather. If the wind picks up too hard then those waters aren’t the safest place for zodiacs full of gawp-eyed tourists to be rolling around, so with virtually no winds for a couple of days, we got out on the water and saw as much as the Carlini Bay had to show us (plus a couple of other inlets). Our guides were always on radio with each other from zodiac to zodiac, trading off on what they were seeing, making sure they knew that even another 200-foot advance was going to suddenly get disastrous if something turned quickly weather-wise. And our guides knew every inch of feather and blubber and beak of Antarctica’s residents; they all loved their work, loved their hosts out there in the ice and snow, and knew enough to really respect the laws of Antarctic nature and make sure we knew them too without ever making us feel stupid or suppressed.


Photo Credit: Jeff Yeager

There is a blue hue to Antarctic icebergs and (indeed) ice cliffs and glaciers that I cannot say I have ever seen anywhere or else, nor do I feel I ever will. This, we were told, was because of the oxygen bubbles trapped deep in these “sculptures,” which have sat for hundreds of years in some cases, conducting the light as they remain. We all found ourselves mesmerized by the sheer weight of time trapped in those brilliant blues.

We’d hear distant, thunderous roars, rumbles and cracks out in those zodiacs, and our guides would stop and strain their eyes, peering toward various horizons. This was because pieces of the enormous glacier surrounding the bay would break off and plunge into the ocean, and they wanted to make sure the piece wasn’t big enough to send a surge of wave activity that could render us potential capsize victims. We saw one piece crack off, about 200 feet away, and such are our cultural reference points, when met with first-time instances of such enormousness, that it looked like a giant movie effect. And then you’d sit and think, “This is real, this is nature, this is happening, I am here.” Another example of the surreal.

At one point during our first day out zodiacing, we spotted a humpback whale. Then another. Then another. Three of them came to visit us in our little rubber boat, and it was mesmerizing. Our guide (Delphine) dangled her boot in the water, something she said was to make sure they knew not to come any closer, as one of them might be a youngun and not know. Each whale was around 20-30 feet by my eye, and they were swimming and circling around 20 feet from us, having fun, playing if you will. I pondered loudly what would happen if one of their flippers flicked our zodiac, and Delphine looked at me as if to say, “What you think would happen would happen.” Such size, majesty and power, yet so aware and peaceful. If you didn’t believe in the energy of nature, of animals, then this would’ve made a believer of even your crusty soul. I got caught in a flurry of trying to take great photos before remembering that I was there. That this moment was mine to enjoy as it was happening. And that my mind’s camera would suffice. So I put the camera down and watched. And thought. And looked around the zodiacs. At Lars, at James, at Rob, at Kirk. Yes, the biggest rock band in the world, but right there, right then, four more guys whose eyes were as wide as mine, soaking up the purest of energies from a scenario so much bigger than anything else any of us could conceive. Those whales could’ve flipped us in a second, but they didn’t. This was their world, their domain, and we were interlopers of the highest order. But they don’t operate in the negative. Instead, they gave us all a wonderful experience filled with grace — the sight of them slowly arcing up and through the waters immediately around us will never ever diminish.

The penguins, elephant seals and skuas (large, brown birds somewhere between eagles, seagulls and terriers) rule the land. You don’t go to them (by agreement and order of the Carlini Base residents), but they will come to you if you’re patient. Chinstrap and Gentoo penguins mill around, not quite in their hundreds, more like their dozens (the large colonies, 1000+, are around the corner in other bays), but despite their lesser numbers and lesser stature, it is clear that they know they’re in charge. On our glacier hike, which took place in mild weather of some 50 degrees under blazing sun, our guide James pointed out the remains of a Gentoo penguin. It was turned inside out and its insides devoured clean, like a shell being prepared for taxidermy. I touched a penguin wing and was amazed to find it thick, hard and with oily, stiff and inflexible, almost “barbed” feathers. Like little boat oars with some coverage.


Photo Credit: Ross Halfin

We trudged up the glacier, looking at the plain, unfettered snow all around us. No other footsteps. No other people. Just us. And the potential of a crevice if we didn’t walk carefully and pay attention to the steps our guides were taking. In Antarctica, beauty gives way to desolate horror with no regard for warnings. Once the upward path had been plotted, the return journey was easy enough, and the Hetfields had particular fun running and sliding back down the glacier to the shore. James had a meeting with one of the local gentoos not far from the zodiac, and they discussed all matters, from fishing to whether there was space for a few extras at the show later that day… ah, yes… a gig… it had been a gig day but none of us could fathom “conventional” stuff such as “gig day” or “day off.” It was all simply Antarctica. Watches were in fact an inconvenience in some ways, because time, insofar as our daily use of it, had little to do with what was going on down here. Nature, as you’ve doubtless gathered by now, was the true clock. Put it this way: If the waves had kicked up, and the zodiacs been unable to get the staff and gear to and from the dome at Carlini’s helicopter pad/show site, then we would be sitting and waiting. Because in Antarctica, clocks don’t argue with weather, as it will always be a battle lost.

THE ORTELIUS WAS LIKE HIGH SCHOOL and camp all rolled into one glorious ball. We had our own quarters/private areas, but there was a communal bar and the dining room was split into two separate areas, united at the end by the hot bar, which contained breakfasts, lunches and dinners. Hearty food for hearty conditions; my personal delight at seeing baked beans, eggs and bacon for our first breakfast was immense… ah breakfast… a cacophonous clarion call through the crackling P.A. from Ortelius hotel manager Michael Frauendorfer every morning, ramming our sleepy ears with, *“GOOD MORNING, EVERYBODY, BREAKFAST IS SERVED, BREAKFAST IS GOOD FOR YOU”* and he wasn’t lying… It was like a school chow hall with tablecloths, and the atmosphere was similar. We’d make sure to get these meals in because between the iciness, then the warmer hiking, then the iciness again, then show, there was a lot going on all the time, and energy was essential. The cooks knew what they were doing, too. Tasty, home-style meals for fortification.

As for the bar, that was where the 19 competition winners and band would find themselves mingling, even beyond the arranged meet ’n’ greet. Said M&G was the first union of all, and with that wonderfully balanced mixture of bristling excitement and respect, the winners met the guys in what is one of the more intimate events of its kind I’ve seen. Put it this way: ’Tis the only M&G I know where everyone was sharing the same boat for a few days, and thus would likely end up seeing each other again in the evening.

I learned that the competition to get to Antarctica had been for fans from Argentina, Chile, Colombia, Costa Rica and Mexico to share, via the Coke Zero Twitter page, what they would be willing to do to join this once-in-a-lifetime expedition. The most interesting entries, obviously, were the winners.


Photo Credit: Jeff Yeager

Nature aside for a moment (and only a moment), Coke Zero in Latin America was the entire reason we were here. This was their baby, their project, their idea, and having got in touch with Q Prime’s Tony DiCioccio, their baby became a toddler, then a teenager, then a man in very quick succession. And this baby cost some serious dough. Besides bringing ALL the gear down there, besides the wireless portion of the event, besides the insane “wireless network broadcast” to be produced and besides the cost of the promotion itself, Coke Zero had to strike a deal with Carlini to build these geo-dome structures and then leave them there. The figure I heard floating around was a Hollywood Hills mansion, and Metallica themselves broke even when all was said and done, as they wanted to make sure that several people previously not on a list to fly down (your humble Editor being one of those) got to experience this unique episode in their history. No, a lot of people made a lot happen to get this show produced and played. It still blows my mind as I write that every amp, cord and guitar pick was brought from the Ortelius to the shore via zodiacs by a crew that continues to defy logic and exhaustion in order to get the job done. I was reliably informed that IF the weather had been in any way choppy, if the waters had been rough, the show would've had to wait, because it just wouldn't be safe to zodiac gear from ship to shore in such conditions. Just for the record, a ship-to-shore trip took approximately seven minutes, and there was a relay of zodiacs carrying every single piece of equipment for hours and hours. In fact, on reflection, it was crazy-town stuff… but what were the options? Antarctica isn't exactly sitting in preparation for international rock shows to take place. No, you take it as you find it as you can get it done… and with the weather gods smiling down, the crew got it done. As they always do.

It was around 10:30 at night when the word came from Delphine that we could maybe get a spectacular shot of the band if we wanted to go for it. I say “at night” when I really mean “at a lesser point of daylight,” because the night sky never ever arrived. So those who were in the bar were commandeered and those who were elsewhere were un-elsewhered, and everyone got their waterproofs and snow coats on, and we all piled into a pair of zodiacs and took off for a small rock formation about 50 feet from the base of the largest and most spectacular part of the glacier cliff. The thinking was simple: clear skies, no water ripples and a window to use this wonderful backdrop for photos. Of course, the hope was that a giant lump of ice wouldn’t crack off, fall in and cause a small wall of waves; you know, the sort that would be thick enough to knock us all off the rocks and flood out the zodiacs. The guides watched like hawks as Halfin did his thing, and after 25 minutes, we were ushered back into the zodiacs as the guides finally realized that actually, this was not an amazing idea and we had overstayed our luck. As it proved… later that night, a large sheet of ice cracked off and into the bay, speckling the waters with lumps of ice and leaving one mini-iceberg not more than 20 feet from the Ortelius. This small island was also set to become the center point of a bizarre incident that wouldn’t be out of place in a Ripley’s Believe It or Not, but you can read about that in the roundtable.


Photo Credit: Ross Halfin

THE SHOW… OH MAN, THE SHOW. “Freeze ’Em All” live at the Carlini Dome, King George Island, Antarctica, which is hilarious, because the word “dome” in a venue context suggests something like the Tokyo Dome or a giant structure technically holding thousands of winners, and as you will see and read, it was not that!

I wonder if there’s been a more challenging prospect for the band. Look, there wasn’t even a power outlet on the actual site; everything had to brought in. Large solar generators, other external power sources, one large geo-dome and four other smaller ones, all were brought and all were built. Only the geo-domes would remain, Carlini Base being able to use the structures for storage/future scientific projects… and that main dome, the gig dome, the thunderdome of Antarctica was pretty damn cool. For a start you could see through it, allowing the single greatest gig production imaginable to unfold all around you. But perhaps the weirdest (and coolest) things were those wireless headsets that everyone had to wear, as Carlini would not allow any amplified sound. Such things aren’t good for the real inhabitants, and by that they mean the wildlife. So the competition winners, the staff members, the production people, all of us, wore wireless headphones so as we could hear the show. Without them? Hilarious. Lars’ drums hammering away, all alone save bursts of unprocessed vocals. It sounded like my shower stall (if my shower stall contained a drum kit and if I had a voice, but you know what I mean), but what a unique experience. Admittedly, all those of us who went for the experiment reverted back to the wireless headphones within minutes, where the sound was dialed in impeccably. In fact, it sounded very much like one of those classic “live off the floor” BBC radio performances, live in the studio with John Peel (legendary UK DJ in the ’70s/’80s), or even like the Jools Holland show, carrying the same crisp, anything-can-happen electric excitement. I love this type of live sound and vibe, and add that to what will be the most breathtaking scenery for a gig I have (and will) ever experienced and I was approaching a bit of a sensory overload. From being atop a glacier before lunchtime to watching Metallica sound-check “The Wait” with Antarctica stretching around them, and me being able to walk wherever I wanted without the sound changing ONE TINY BIT, was, well, pretty goddamn mind-blowing.


Photo Credit: Ross Halfin

I took every opportunity possible to zip around in a zodiac; thus when the band took off for the Ortelius to prepare for the gig, I walked ahead and met them at the shore, passing some sea lions and a few penguins en route, as you do.

The dressing room, AKA orange dome #1, was saturated in sunlight, and as such bled a quite striking and beautiful yellow-orange light over the four simple chairs laid out for the band. No fancy tables, no fancy anything. Functional. Form and function. These had all been built to withstand furious elements, yet here we were enjoying a quite huge stroke of weather fortune, which meant that we could wander and witness from wherever.

By the time we zipped back, the audience had already been zodiacked over themselves, and for such an intimate gathering, the noise and atmosphere was intense. There was barely any room for the band to move and play, so tight around them were the crowd jammed, but what energy! After “Bellz” the music and performance began to render the surroundings secondary, until I wandered outside for the beginning of “Sanitarium” and, a little later, “One,” when I realized that the vastness made for one hell of a stage set. Don’t ask me if people dropped notes or fans bumped them or they got put off, because I can only comment on the human side, and all the people involved delivered such intensity, such emotion and such instant amazement and joy at being able to play (and see) such a special show in such a unique place that the whole fucking thing seemed like maybe the greatest feat of technical excellence you could imagine! It felt as once-in-a-lifetime as it was. Because it was, right?


Photo Credit: Kazuyo Hoire

AS I STOOD ON THE DECK the night we were scheduled to leave, having seen glaciers, icebergs, seals, penguins, humpback whales, skies so beautiful I shed tears and seen one of the most unique gigs in music history, not to mention a superb performance, I tried desperately to slow down my thought process… to soak it all in… to savor every last cubic inch of the flavor. And as I watched yet another heart-warmingly spectacular sunset shed its warm light off the hard brilliant ice, I realized that this would hit my memory as if it were a dream… and so it still feels. A dream. Which came true…




Platforma: Diego Álvarez, Sebastián Vinelli, Aldo Ballesteros, Luciano Porri, Gastón Alfonso Etchechoury, Vicente Manuel Solís, Diego Bliffeld, Charly Vazquez, Agustín Gutiérrez Salmerón, Julia Santamaría, Oriana Lanao Pacheco, Florencia García, Emilia Díaz, Inés Varela, Matías Halfon, Mariano Mazzeo, Lucas Donantueno, Alejandro Candioti

**Human:** Peta Rivero y Hornos, Karina Hänle, Carla Rossi, Melisa Juncal, Natalia Copercido, Gonzalo Benoit, Alejandro Marchesi, Néstor Martignone

**Urban Press:** Marcos Servente, Raquel Martín, Geraldine Sanchez, Eugenia Parrilla Branda

**Coca-Cola Argentina:** Diego Luís, Juan Pablo Santos, Silvina Blanco, Gustavo Muñoz, Xavi Roca, Emilio Lopez

**Coca-Cola Mexico:** Ulises Ramírez, Guillermo Giménez, Fabiola Jamaica, Jaime Morán, Mónica Álvarez de la Mora

**Camera:** Ricardo Villareal, Matías Nicolás, Gui Conti, Pedro Barbieri Gorski, Lucas Timerman, Miguel Caram, Francisco Galetti, Nelson Bartolomé Stratta, Ricardo Lampugnani, Matías Halfon, Mariano Mazzeo, Oriol Gisbert, Pablo Grillone, Pablo Orzesko

**DNA:** Dr. Mariano Mémolli, Lic. Fernanda Rebull, Lic. Diego Gómez Izquierdo, Dr. Gabriel Esteban Perlini, Arq. Raúl Rodriguez, Carlos Gutierrez, Leandro Halperin, Cap. Fernando Gallardo, Patricia Ortuzar, Hernán Mazón, Lucas Manuel Martinez Alvarez, Lucas Adolfo Mauro Ruberto, Miguel Ramírez

**Graphics:** Axel Bunge, Leandro Spatz, Lala Zuckerman, Laura Huberman

**Live Nation:** Bruce Moran, Morgan McGrath, Philip Guiliano, Shanti Ifill

**Burton:** Nick Sargent, Tracy Cummings

**CIE:** Alex Mizrahi, Mariana Gonzalez

**Sound:** Eugenio Torres, Norberto “Vasco” Hegoburu

**Technical:** Andrés Mooney, Ignacio Lemme, Facundo Chisari

**Electrical:** Martín Febre, Marcelo Fabián Mitolo, Hernán Trabatto, Gustavo Leguizamón

**Transmission & Satellite:** Tania Buendía, Mauricio Franco, Roberto Miguel Miranda, Gabriel Borello

**Master & Officers:** Sergei Nesterov, captain; Artur Yakolev, first officer; Anika Albrecht, second officer; Janke Jitske Kingma, third officer.

**Crew:** Patricio Necochea Mewes, Artur Bulak, Edvinas Loginovas, Nicu Ursache, Indrek Tammeveski, Ilya Gres, Fedir Kazarin, Vasilii Smirnov, Geasar Loseo, Lauren Malatag, Andy Mangilit, Volodymyr Semeniuk, Andrejs Graudins, Vitalijs Maksimovs, Janusz Szkolut, Ruslan Koziura

**The Expedition Team:** Delphine Aurès, expedition leader; Saskia Travert, assistant expedition leader; Anjali Pande, guide/lecturer; Brent Houston, guide/lecturer; Victoria Salem, guide/lecturer; James Cresswell, guide/lecturer.

**The Hotel Team:** Michael Frauendorfer, hotel manager; Dejan Nikolic, assistant hotel manager; Christian Gossak, head chef; Khabir Maraes, sous chef.

**Additional hotel personnel:** Lusiyanna Setra, Rolando Gotera, Roger Obillo, Rosie Avillon, Ian Recto Ilao, Charlie Manabat, Marjorie Nierra, Rachael Queri, Joel Narciso, Marvin Tesoro, Noelle Lerin, Mary Jane Ongcoy, Maricel Reyes, Tootchie Alpiz, Alfred Villanueva.

**Ship’s Physician:** Rutker Stellke.

Dan Braun, Dick Adams, Brie Greenberg, Jeff Bass, Ray Masterson, Misty Roberts, Kara Paulus, Adam Correia, Robert Cowan, Justin Crew, Mike Gillies, Zach Harmon, Heather Kjollesdal, Sarah Lang, Aron Michalski, James Nelson, Chip Walker, Mike Washer, Mike Wozniak, Jeff Yeager, Chad Zaemisch, Flemming Larsen, Jonathan Day, Greg Galbreath and Q Prime’s Marc Reiter.

...AND, OF COURSE, TONY DICIOCCIO – THANK YOU!







The Live Recording
In case you missed the premiere on Maximum Metallica in December 2025, you can stream or download Freeze 'Em All - Live in Antarctica, remixed by Metallica HQ’s Audio Team, in the nugs app or at nugs.net and LiveMetallica.com.
LISTEN TO THE SHOW






The Full Video
Wanna experience the sights and sounds? Watch the full concert (featuring the original, preserved on ice, Live Metallica mix) on our YouTube channel.
WATCH THE FULL CONCERT






The MetOnTour Video
Got more time to chill? Check out exclusive, behind-the-scenes footage, including soundchecking a song not included in the setlist (and it wasn’t “Trapped Under Ice”) and “Creeping Death” through the Arctic headphones courtesy of MetOnTour himself, Jeff Yeager.
WATCH THE METONTOUR VIDEO






The Documentary
Friend, filmmaker, and all-around cool guy Adam Dubin peels back the icy curtain for a 20-minute feature detailing this once-in-a-lifetime excursion.
WATCH THE DOCUMENTARY






The Photo Album
Revisit unforgettable moments frozen in time from the South Shetland Islands through the lens of Jeff Yeager, Ross Halfin, and Kazuyo Horie.
CHECK OUT THE PHOTOS






The Magazine
[Ice] Fishing for more content? (Sorry… that one was a bit of a stretch.) We’ve defrosted the definitive written record of the experience, otherwise known as So What! Volume 21, Issue 1, and it’s now available in digital form for the first time.

DOWNLOAD SO WHAT! 21.1