Mesuggah

Apr 21

Written By Luke

TAMPA, FL | YUENGLING CENTER | 04.19.2025

Stadium Sized Heavy Metal

Kicking off the carnage, Carcass swaggered onto the Yuengling Center stage like a team of gore‑fueled surgeons who’d misplaced their bedside manner. Between the backdrop of gleaming scalpels and Jeff Walker’s snarky grin, Tampa learned that “sterile environment” is a myth when riffs are flying at 200 BPM.

Confession time: I doubted death metal could survive in a basketball arena. Yet the venue’s mega‑watt PA turned skepticism into sonic Stockholm syndrome—like noise‑cancelling headphones, if the only thing being cancelled was your pulse. Every stomp, squeal, and pick‑slide felt medically invasive, and I’m pretty sure my fillings now detune to Drop B.

Then Cannibal Corpse lumbered in, mid‑tempo monsters with Corpsegrinder’s neck performing its nightly attempt to orbit the earth. When a stadium full of Floridians screamed “I Cum Blood,” I felt my civic pride swell—and possibly my sinuses.

Finally, Meshuggah switched the venue from abattoir to supercomputer. Eight‑string riffs clanged against retina‑scorching lasers, resolving into time signatures that would make Stephen Hawking request a whiteboard. I swear I saw Fibonacci weeping in the rafters. The pit moved in prime numbers, my FitBit threw a divide‑by‑zero error, and somewhere in the algorithmic fog I achieved enlightenment—or maybe tinnitus ver. 2.0.

Walking out, ears ringing like cathedral bells full of bees, I realized Tampa had hosted the loudest group therapy session in history. Diagnosis: terminal riff addiction. Prognosis: schedule another appointment, stat.