Bands: Iron Maiden / Airbourne
Venue: Nottingham Ice Arena
Date: July 27th 2011
By: Chris Davison
"I've been into heavy metal now for a very, very long time, and to my shame, I had until this night never seen Iron Maiden live. The “why” and the “how” this state of affairs came to pass are both long, boring and labyrinth, and all the more surprising when one considers the long hours put in as an impressionable youth poring over the minute pictures of lycra-clad Maiden, their flight cases and in-concert theatrics being performed as detailed in the inner folds of Live After Death. Such is the massive appeal and reverberant chutzpah of the venerable outfit that several clumps of rock fans at my normal place of work had also said they were in attendance – a motley collection of villains that number both metal fans and more mainstream rock followers among their ranks.
The crowds were snaking around the block on our arrival. The Ice Arena can be a tricky beast to tame, sonically. Metallica managed to best the echoey acoustics, with virtually no sacrifices made to the cavernous interior or the creaky PA system. It is an issue that tonight's openers, the broadly inoffensive Australian act, Airbourne, seem to suffer slightly from. It takes a couple of numbers for the balance between AC/DC guitar riffs and vocals to finally settle, and when it does, I am reminded why I look forward to their songs being present in play lists, but virtually never playing an entire album of theirs. The reason? They give the audience what sounds to these ears like a succession of AC/DC opening tracks. To be frank, while the band high-kicks and pretends to enjoy itself in a way too self conscious display of rock clichés, I am left cold and waiting for Iron Maiden to come on stage. I want to hear “The Trooper;” not an efficient pub band suddenly thrust onto the world stage by good fortune and the fading fortunes of Angus and chums.
I expected theatre, sagging waistlines and bloated songs. Iron Maiden delivered much more than I had hoped. With a set that cleverly had everything – and more – that the boyhood Davison had daydreamed of seeing, it's clear that Maiden aren't about to give up on old fashioned entertainment any time soon. The stage set, complete with ramps for Bruce to run about on, around, and one suspects hide behind to drink the odd bottle of water during expansive instrumental wig-outs, hearkened to classic science fiction in the vein of the venerable “Lost In Space.” Behind them, a rolling system of painted backdrops changed song by song to provide artwork appropriate to the song being played. Lights were lit, video screens illuminated. You want a 50-foot Eddie head to rise out of the stage and jaw drop open, gurning artlessly at the audience? You got it. Pneumatic Satan to rise and point laser-eyed gazes at you while you clap along to “Number Of The Beast?” Done. Janick Gers to run between the legs of a lumbering space creature? No problem.
Of course, the most important things are the band themselves and the songs they play. Dickinson is a (pardon the pun) revelation. Seemingly full of energy, he bounded between stage left and right, never missing a beat, belting out the spine chilling hits with that voice intact. Steve Harris, of course, bombs along with the bass and sings the words to all his own songs. Even the crappy ones. The three axe-men all approach things in their own inimitable style; Smith is workmanlike, Murray affable and Gers like some strangely out of time Elf. Behind the kit, McBrain plays flawlessly, except when the impish Dickinson grabs hold of his cymbals.
The band opens with “The Final Frontier,” “El Dorado,” and the massive “2 Minutes To Midnight.” Maddeningly, they insist on playing “The Talisman,” “Coming Home,” and “Dance Of Death” back to back, a set faux pas that means that an eternity of meandering progressive nonsense drifts past my ears as I shamefully try to stifle my yawns. My main complaint with modern Maiden is that they have forgotten the value of a good chorus. “The Trooper,” “The Wickerman,” and “Blood Brothers” prove that the crowd prefers...erm...the crowd pleasers, too. From that point the energy level was back...and Iron Maiden played for two non-stop hours, providing top quality as well as value for the money.
Apologies to readers – no camera shots due to forgetting to take either my phone or camera, and no swag, given that even their most modestly priced T-shirt was £30 (roughly $50)..."
Thanks, Chris! As for me, I'm finally about to drag my ass to three shows over the next 10 days or so, after spending most of July asleep on my surfboard at El Porto.
Clearing out some debris. Recent Dave's Underground Laboratory columns here and here.
Avichi The Devil's Fractal
Stuff to drink.
Bear Republic Peter Brown Tribute Ale
AleSmith Speedway Stout
Karl Strauss Whistler Imperial Pils and Tower 10 IPA
Imminent...
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