Up the Irons

Douglas Wolk wrote an outstanding book on the explosive James Brown performance captured on the Live at the Apollo record. As I read Wolk's book, his depiction of hardest working man in show-business and the Famous Flames tearing up the Apollo at the height of the Cuban Missile Crisis made me wonder if that 1962 show in Harlem had been as exciting as the Iron Maiden show I saw that week.


Iron Maiden's performances are legendarily awesome, but none of the DVDs or live albums that I've amassed could prepare me for such a spectacle. At the sounds of Winston Churchill's 'We Shall Fight on the Beaches' speech that kicks off the 1985 live album Live After Death, five Englishmen far older than their energy suggested raced out onto all sides of the Izod Center's gigantic stage. They wasted nary a second as the opening chords of 'Aces High' spilled out over the PA, and metal's own Winston Churchill, Bruce Dickinson, dramatically wailed out the ode to British fighter pilots. Guitar hero Adrian Smith, leading original member Dave Murray and relative (early '90s) newbie Janick Gers, ended 'Aces High' by segueing into the anthemic '2 Minutes to Midnight' with even greater precision and seamlessness than he did on Live After Death or Powerslave. I had already received more than my money's worth.

On paper, it would be easy to label Maiden a nostalgia act, a band that relies on their older material to bring in an audience while releasing more or less irrelevant music over the past several years. Their 2008 tour is subtitled 'Somewhere Back in Time' (after their '80s release Somewhere in Time), and the band advertised this tour as featuring only prime material from the 1980s (perhaps in reaction to their ill-received last tour, in which they played their newest album front-to-back). Anyone who's seen KISS in concert lately knows that nostalgia acts can put on an awesome show, but I'm hesitant to use the term to describe Maiden. I really can't believe that they were as sensational in their prime songwriting years as they were when I saw them--with copious great songs to cherry pick from, decades of performing experience behind them, and expert-level proficiency that's only improved in every band member, it's a safe bet that Iron Maiden are as astoundingly incredible as they've ever been onstage.

Bruce Dickinson possesses some of the greatest vocals in rock music history, belting out 'Run to the Hills' and 'Wasted Years' with range and vigor that even his younger self lacked. He also indulged his tremendous ego with enough costume changes to rival Freddie Mercury, although never enough to distract from the show's high-paced intensity. Dickinson's most memorable garb was probably a feathered, wooden mask that he donned for 'Powerslave' which covered a great deal of his frame and somehow didn't muffle any of his vocals. Bounding around effortlessly and never missing a chance to engage the Jersey crowd ("Meadowlaaaaands!!"), he made a great case for being the most gifted metal frontman ever.


The considerable stage props, whether the massive Powerslave-era backdrop, a waving Union Jack flag, or the monster-sized "Eddie" that graced the stage during 'Iron Maiden,' were all second fiddle to Maiden's music, with only the best of their top-notch tunes represented in the setlist. Not that there weren't surprises--the band unleashed '90s standout 'Fear of the Dark' late in the set, and the lesser-known 'Heaven Can Wait' was one of the night's best screamalongs, concluding with a stage-full of extremely lucky Maiden fans (where did you sign up??) taking the stage for the final chorus. But the greatest surprise came when Dickinson introduced a song about "a bird." I wondered if we were in for 'Where Eagles Dare,' but Maiden then dusted off their magnificent, 14-minute retelling of Rime of the Ancient Mariner and taught a lesson in slaying albatrosses that would have awed Samuel Taylor Coleridge. High school literature teachers should be so compelling.

Of course, there was the parade of rock classics that are burned into any metalhead's consciousness--the intentionally uproarious 'Can I Play with Madness' and the thrashing 'The Trooper' received the over-the-top guitar solos and drum fills that they deserved, and the nearly-definitive 'The Number of the Beast' brought on a sea of pyrotechnics during its matchless "6...6-6!" chorus. The latter's infamous high-pitched scream has probably wrecked more metal voices than any note in history, but not only can Dickinson hit it like the unholy spawn of Freddie Mercury and Roger Daltrey, he can make the earth erupt with flame geysers whenever he sings it.



Closing with the chilling gallows pole tale 'Hallowed be thy Name,' the mighty forces of Iron Maiden took their bows and promised to be back in the New York City area in June. I don't think I could wait any longer.