Review by Shawn Perry
Photos by Joe Schaeffer
Like so many of their peers, Iron Maiden stayed off the road in 2020 and 2021 due to the worldwide pandemic. That didn’t stop them from recording and releasing the magnificent Senjutsu, their 17th studio album, in 2021. Their return to North America in 2022 for what’s being called The Legacy Of The Beast World Tour is not only an opportunity to reconnect with their massive legion of fans, it’s also the first time they get to share the new songs live.
So, it was no surprise that over the course of two sold-out shows at the Honda Center, they opened both nights with the first three songs from Senjutsu. The sea of mostly males in black Iron Maiden shirts on the floor was becoming tumultuous as the plodding tempos changed lanes and sped up at various turnabouts. Singer Bruce Dickinson, always the gracious master of ceremonies, even wrapped in a black cloak, dashed from here to there, carefully maneuvering fire, brimstone and mascot Eddie, who appeared in full-on samurai garb, braced for battle.
The gathering was game for anything at this point. Trivium, the opening band, had already permeated the air with their mix of melodic, guttural speed metal. The Grammy-nominated foursome from Florida punched some sizeable gaps into the attention spans of thousands still wandering into the arena. Singer Matt Heafy addressed the crowd with plenty of “My friends” and repeatedly urged the mass of humanity before him to make noise and show their appreciation. By the end of Trivium’s 45-minute set, the house was full with people from around the world, primed for Iron Maiden.
After a veiled tribute to UFO (their song “Doctor, Doctor” floated through the air as the band took their places) and the aforementioned run through Senjutsu, Dickinson called out Anaheim, adding “tonight will be a lot better than Disneyland,” and off they went, storming the catalog, rummaging for fan favorites and spicy must-haves — anything that aligns with the group’s sacred brand of swashbuckling metal, and keeps the faithful engaged. The band’s proggier, Celtic-flavored accents of late doesn’t seem like it’s alienated even the most basic balls-to-the-wall punter. Still, as Dickinson suggested, “Iron Maiden is better than court-ordered anger management,” and everyone’s internal frustrations and aggressions were given free passes and unleashed as the singer lead everyone through a rousing “Sign Of The Cross” right on to pieces like “Flight Of Icarus,” “Fear Of The Dark” and the fabled “The Number Of The Beast.”
For many, the thrill of an Iron Maiden show is production value, and tonight’s set held nothing back when it came to special effects, pyro, giant characterizations, and other theatrical devices. An eagle, demons, the British flag and Eddie all figure into the act. Every bit as much as the continuous flow of crowd surfers being passed up front to the pit area between the stage and the barricaded fan zone. As surfers were escorted out, most threw up fists of triumph, reveling in victory and proud of their deeds, hopefully without losing a wallet, keys, a limb or some other precious attachment during the ride. A mosh pit of sorts had also formed in the middle of the floor, where participants were frolicking in a primitive, gregarious manner of Irish step dancing that defied the usual jumping, bumping and slamming. Maybe the angle was misleading.
Watching the frontline is an event in itself. Guitarists Adrian Smith, Dave Murray, and Janick Gers each have their own way in how they present themselves. Whereas Smith and Murray are more understated, Gers is a little animated, doing his various jigs and bits of posturing — all while staying on course in an ever-growing, ever-expanding blend of guitars, steadily guided by Steve Harris’ omniscient bassline. Without this cohesiveness, plus the ongoing ticking-timebomb cadence of drummer Nicko McBrain, the soul and liveliness of Iron Maiden’s attack wouldn’t have the same kick.
When it comes right down to it, Dickinson is the main focal point. His various guises amidst any given backdrop provides structure to each song’s allegorical undertones. Whether he’s donning an ancient Venetian mask and a puffy shirt, draped in a Medieval cape, or waving the Union Jack gussied up as a redcoat renegade of Yeomanry, the singer commands the stage like a commander presiding over his troops, issuing a call and response in the line of duty.
For the extended first encore, Maiden cut loose and went for the juggler. For sheer thunder, it doesn’t get any better than “The Trooper.” Here was the guitar machinery of Iron Maiden at full throttle, galivanting at a break-neck pace that loosens the spine and straightens the smile. The floor of the Honda Center became a united swirl, a sweeping collective of flurry and disorientation for your viewing pleasure. The band had to be impressed. “Run To The Hills” had a similar effect.
For their second and final encore, Iron Maiden broke out the big guns with a replica of a Supermarine Spitfire fighter plane, suspended overhead, waging war as the band galloped through “Aces High.” Winston Churchill’s famous “We shall fight on the beaches” speech was still echoing in the gallows of the Honda Center long after the flock filed out. Two nights of mayhem, and it’s hard to say if Anaheim will ever be the same.
