Where exactly do Iron Maiden fit in 2002’s world of Nu-Metal, of cheap punks, of the NME’s ‘New Rock RevolutiomTM’, of the polished magnificence of Metallica…Moreover where have they ever fitted in? The nineties were just a backwater, lost under the extremes of speed and death metal. Blaze Bailey? No one, not no one, can question the eight legged metal genius of Wolfsbane but having him sing in Maiden? They really should just have waited until Bruce saw the light and came back. And what, even of the eighties? Not the sex-rock of Whitesnake, the glam hair of Motley Crue, the virtuoso noodlings of the virtuoso noodlers. Even at the time of their formation in the seventies no one really knew what Maiden were about. Forming at the height of punk these Eastenders shunned punk’s rebellion but were too late for the Sabbath/Purple etc. heavy metal of the early seventies, and that wasn’t their gig anyway.
And look at the band; with the exception of (fairly) early casualty original vocalist Paul Di’anno, these boys liked nothing more than a few pints of real ale. No coke fuelled excess for them. Lately they’ve kind of half admitted things were a bit wilder than they’ve previously made out, but not much.
Think of Iron Maiden and what comes to mind? Eight minute galloping tales of swords n’ sorcery, dual guitar gymnastics, psuedo-intellectual historically questionable (frankly) gibber, cod-pieces, spandex trews, ‘warbling’ Bruce Dickinson and Steve Harris’ bass guitar going chnddl-chnddl-chnddl- chnddl- chnddl- chnddl- chnddl- chnddl- chnddl- chnddl- chnddl- chnddl- chnddl- chnddl?
Well yes that’s them really isn’t it?
But listen to Number of the Beast. The group’s third studio album is still regarded by most as their finest hour. The eponymous first album’s punky under production worked well and it’s still a fine record. The second, ‘Killers’, stank of second album. The songs, rather than growing of years of gigging like those on the debut, were written for the album and it shows, as does Di’anno’s increasing lack of commitment.
So in April 1996, with a newly recruited Dickinson, Number of the Beast was unleashed (as it were).
Der-der-der-der………der-DERRR (dum-dum-dum-dum-dum-dum-dum), Der-der-der-der………der-DERRR!!!!!
So begins Viking tale ‘Invaders’. The thing with Iron Maiden is not to take them seriously, they never have. In 3.22mins ‘Invaders’ sets the rocking scene and then BAM, but it’s not. ‘Children of the Damned’ predates Metallica’s ‘Unforgiven’ by a decade, doing quiet-loud, like only Maiden can. And then in the middle comes the ‘galloping bass’ led middle eight and you just want to make devil signs and headbang, no really. And when Bruce starts going ‘oooooo-oooooooo’ over military presicion drum rolls you’re just waiting for the explosions. BOOM!
‘The Prisoner’ is about erm…the sixties TV show and features one of guitarist Adrian Smith’s ‘melodic chorus’s’; you just got to love it.
Skip past the ‘22 Acacia Avenue’ the sequel to the first album’s ‘Charlotte the Harlot’ it’s well meaning but a bit erm..crap.
But now the fun really starts. ‘Woe to you, Oh Earth and Sea…’ thus begins the album’s title track with the spooky Revelations quote soon to be scribbled on a thousand school bags. Apparently about a dream Harris had this is the song that gained Maiden a rather silly notoriety. Like the Sabbath before them Maiden were immediately accused of devil worship, corrupting the youth and all sorts of other daftness, didn’t hurt sales though. The song itself is magnificent. You really can’t beat standing in the throng, punching the air and screaming ‘6 6 6, the number of the beast, Hell and fire was spawned to be released!’ whilst pyrotechnics explode and various Maidens charge around the stage occasionally coming to rest, foot on monitor, machine gunning the crowd with guitars. It’s pantomime, but it’s wonderful pantomime.
Track six is the one we’ve all being waiting for though. If you can hold your hand up and say that you’ve never mimed the drums rolls in the chorus of ‘Run to the Hills’ you truly haven’t lived. The only Maiden track more famous is ‘Bring Your Daughter to the Slaughter’ and that was just cos the cynical old men released it on FIVE formats simultaneously ALL WITH THE SAME TRACKS ON to secure the New Year number one (they couldn’t guarantee the Xmas No.1 if they released a week earlier).
But from the moment those drums start going dum-dum-dum-dum-chhh then those guitars start up their wah-wah-wah riff you know what’s coming. Here’s a thing, put ‘Run to the Hills’ on the Jukebox of any pub with a reasonable quotient of ‘alternative’ types and watch people’s reactions. It speaks more than I can write about Maiden’s finest hour. And there’s a moral story about them horrible westerners killing Native Americans, which is always a bonus.
Number of the Beast is sorely let down by ‘Gangland’ and ‘Total Eclipse’ which just don’t seem to do anything but then the album closes with lighters aloft to high precision synchronised headbanging epic ‘Hallowed be Thy Name’. A wonderful instrumental middle eight, Bruce’s longest note on the record and a straight-to-the-point, don’t‑mess-about rock ending finish Iron Maiden’s great album.
So why bother with Iron Maiden, why admit to liking them? After ‘NOTB’ it did all go up it’s own ass and rather over pompous but that record, my word. Respected American rock musicians will happily wax lyrical about Kiss so why not ourselves over Maiden. In the end the pantomime is what made both groups famous if not what made them great. I have no shame in saying that Number of the Beast is one of my favourite albums of all time.
I haven’t heard any new Iron Maiden material since the odd track with Blaze Bailey on so I have no idea if their alleged ‘return to form’ is a reality but I’m not really bothered. I’d love to see them again live, especially now they’re playing with Bruce back and THREE lead guitarists. Hopefully they’d play the old stuff, even the later stuff worked well live, but when time comes lads give up. In fact no, don’t keep on going till you drop. You see I think that’s part of the spirit of Iron Maiden, workmanlike hard graft, a duty to entertain and erm…spandex tights.