They have a reputation for big sets, even bigger guitar solos and some of the biggest metal songs in history. Tonight, at the Brisbane Entertainment Centre, expectations were pretty much sky-high as British metal legends Iron Maiden toured Australia for the first time since 1992 in a fashion that recalled the heady days of their legendary 1984/85 World Slavery Tour. They did not disappoint.
I don’t envy Behind Crimson Eyes. They have the toughest job going in Brisbane tonight – lead support for one of the most famous metal acts in history. I have to admire their balls, though, as they tackle the task with gusto in the face of some very partisan Iron Maiden fans whose attitude wavers between indifference and outright hostility. Early on, a cover of Motorhead’s Ace of Spades never quite cuts the mustard, but as they finish strongly with Shake Out and a new tune called Hellbound, this reviewer feels they’ve acquitted themselves with honour. Lesser acts would have wilted.
A giant black curtain veils the massive Iron Maiden set from view during switchover. Roadies swarm, one pausing to egg the frontmost of the crowd into chanting “Maiden, Maiden”. From another quarter a few jokers retaliate with “Eddie, Eddie”, a reference to Edward T Head, the ghoulish, much-loved (and invariably gruesome-looking) Iron Maiden mascot.
Two false alarms – one caused by the house tape playing Maiden’s cover of the UFO classic Doctor, Doctor – illustrate the anticipation thrumming through the venue. But the roar that rises when Winston Churchill’s famous words “We shall go on to the end…” crackle out over the PA is just something else.
The black drapes drop, and so do jaws as the band appears out of nowhere in the centre of a stunning tomb-like set heavily influenced by Maiden’s Powerslave era.
Mummy coffins with red, glowing eyes line hieroglyph-’carved’, faux-sandstone walls that curve round to the very front of stage. There’s even a niche in the rear wall for Nicko McBrain’s sigil-encrusted drumkit – a kit so massive that he’s hidden from the view of those in the general admission area.
Behind everything rears a five-storey banner bearing three classic renditions of Eddie. On the left, the Somewhere In Time cyborg version lurks with a laser pistol. On the right, a Seventh Son Of A Seventh Son-inspired mystic stares out with disturbing intensity. And, taking precedence in the middle, looms the classic Powerslave-era Eddie enthroned like a Sphinx and crowned in the manner of an Egyptian Pharaoh.
Grainy black-and-white video on twin screens mounted either side of the stage shows Spitfires and Messerschmitts chasing each other across the sky during the Battle of Britain as the band launches into directly into Aces High.
The guitars of Adrian Smith, Janick Gers and Dave Murray scream like engines, the bass of Steve Harris throbs like a machine gun, while McBrain’s drumbeats explode with the ferocity of heavy ordnance. Over it all, the wailing multi-octave voice of Bruce Dickinson soars and dives through the killer riffs as he criss-crosses the huge stage, revving the crowd. Not that the audience needs need it, some 14,000 throats are screaming every word, waving fists in the air and headbanging in a collective frenzy.
Spine-tingling, and it’s only the first song.
As the main set unfolds, it becomes clear that we are indeed going Somewhere Back In Time – the song list heavily weighted with classics such as the apocalyptic politicism of 2 Minutes To Midnight, the occult slow-burn and heavy grooves of Revelations, and the galloping madness of Run To The Hills.
And it’s all delivered with effortless panache and a sense for the grandiose that’s been finely tuned by 30-plus years of performing.
Thus, as the band launches into The Trooper, Dickinson, indulging in a quick costume change, transforms into a Redcoat and bears a tattered British flag as Smith, Gers and Murray toss some of the most melodic solos you will ever hear back and forth with ridiculous ease.
As if that’s not dramatic enough, during signature tune The Number Of The Beast, flames roar heavenwards in time with the beat. The heat is palpable at the front. Later, magnum opus Rime Of The Ancient Mariner sees Dickinson posing like some ragged prophet in a black, tattered cloak before a backdrop of a ruined sailing ship while the music swirls hauntingly around him. As heretical as it might sound, the feeling is as awe-inspiring as reading Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s original epic.
A few post-Powerslave tunes are scattered throughout: Heaven Can Wait and Wasted Years from Somewhere In Time are both received with delight, as is a blisteringly fast version of Seventh Son’s Can I Play With Madness. But nothing more recent than 1992 single and stadium-favourite Fear Of The Dark features tonight.
All too soon, the evening concludes. And, fittingly, as they blast out their anthem – the Iron Maiden – the always-silent yet ever-present seventh member of Maiden emerges to join the fun. Fully 12-feet tall and mechanised, Edward T Head as cyborg threatens the crowd with a laser pistol before indulging in some shredding of his own on Gers’ guitar. Dickinson triumphantly shadow-boxes half a dozen upper cuts on the final thudding beats and pandemonium reigns on the floor and in the stands.
An encore is demanded, and duly provided. The band returns with a pair of tunes from Seventh Son, and it’s wondrous to hear three guitars harmonising a single solo on The Clairvoyant. Yet Iron Maiden has saved the best for last, closing with a brilliant rendition of Hallowed Be Thy Name that builds all the way from its evocative and eerie start to its electrifying apotheosis.
