Residente is a man of his people. A bonafide show-runner and quite the character. Whether the man has you gently waving your arms side-to-side to “Vuleta Al Mundo,” head-bobbing to his new material, or boogieing to classic “Atrevete-te-te,” Residente is a real deal virtuoso. An artist that works his crowd with several aces up his sleeve — and we are just happy to be there when he uses them.

Generally speaking, this was an evening of hip-hop bangers, crazy shenanigans, guest appearances, and a joint or two -- or hundreds and hundreds of them.

Mr. Jordan Terrell Carter had the crowd sweaty, hyped, and in beast-mode mentality. Be a showman's showman is the Carti mantra. The baby-faced rapper's pageantry is insane, loud, fun, and fucking full of blazin' beats and dope lyrics. Die lit, of course. Die fucking lit, indeed.

Bottom line is Godsmack has delivered seven albums to date and haul around over 20 years in the biz; nonetheless, on that stage, the boys play their hearts out and do it with the joy of a kid at a candy store. And that's pretty fucking special.

The Steel Panther lads take their craft seriously; even if the act is of a jocular flair. It's rather impressive how this spoof outfit molded a niche within the industry and redefined how success in music is measured.

Showmen like no others, the gang of Five Finger Death Punch rolled into Atlanta to kick ass and take names -- musically that is. Performing to a packed Verizon Amphitheatre, Ivan Moody and his mates came, saw, and conquered the thousands on hand. A spectacle of humongous proportions, the night was lit up with raging tunes, a gigantic laser-beaming skull, dynamic strobes, and, of course, fucking fire.

Slayer has always been more than just music. Slayer is an inspiration, Slayer is an identity. The boys may have moved on from the live setting, but their tunes will keep heads banging for generations to come. And that's quite a fucking legacy.