Newcastle gig review by Kerrang
Everything about Maiden reeks of Britishness, of pageantry and ritual, of glory and greatness. It's about that side of Britain - a myth, really - that still allows us to lift our silly skirts and have a bloody good knees-up. Thank God for Winston Churchill, the Spitfire and Iron fucking Maiden. Here they are again, on the last leg of their daunting 'Dance Of Death' world tour, and they're even more spectacular and bombastic than last time.Read the rest [url=http://forum.maidenfans.com/index.php?showtopic=3245]here[/url]
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03/12/2003 Newcastle gig review by Steve Beebee (Kerrang)
In a year that saw us suffocate our students through debt, get cosier than ever with Dubya and celebrate 100 years of flight by grounding Concorde, there were only 2 reasons to sing for Britain. One, if you were English, was when Jonny Wilkinson dispatched that drop goal to World Cup glory. The other, of course, is Iron Maiden.
Everything about Maiden reeks of Britishness, of pageantry and ritual, of glory and greatness. It's about that side of Britain - a myth, really - that still allows us to lift our silly skirts and have a bloody good knees-up. Thank God for Winston Churchill, the Spitfire and Iron fucking Maiden. Here they are again, on the last leg of their daunting 'Dance Of Death' world tour, and they're even more spectacular and bombastic than last time.
Funeral For A Friend's dynamic post-hardcore may have made them 2003's bright young things of choice, but their inculsion on this tour makes no sense. You need to dig hard to unpick the tunes from these soul-baring histrionics, and Maiden fans are used to more variety and stardust. Consequently, the support band are cast adrift on a sea of apathy tonight, and, in fairness, whoever booked them should have known better.
From the dimming of the lights and the him of the intro tape to the final crescendo of 'Run To The Hills', Iron Maiden's set is a majestic rock theatre of the most enjoyable kind. They open with 'Wildest Dreams', a rousing call-to-arms that stirs this sold-out arena into ceremonial chanting and fist-pumping. Enormo-hits 'Can I Play With Madness' and 'The Trooper' ram the point home - the band lined-up at stage front, peering down the necks of their guitars in a pose so legendary there really ought to be a statue of it in Trafalgar Square.
Orchestrating it all is singer Bruce Dickinson, whose outstanding vocal range and ability to connect with an audience continue to defy superlatives. His choice of trousers, meanwhile, continues to plummet all known depths of poor taste. Preceded by a reading from Wilfred Owen, Dickinson emerges in trench soldier's garb for war epic 'Paschendale', the centrepiece of the current album, and the pinnacle of tonight's set. As overblown and pomp-filled as the next eight minutes are, it's impossible not to feel both moved and exhilerated. During 'No More Lies', Dickinson claws the air, reaching for the high notes, finding them and dragging you, exhausted, with him.
There may not have been enough classics to satisfy all the old school, but who needs classics when you have a new album as good as 'Dance Of Death'? Iron Maiden invite you to raise the flag and salute.
KKKKK
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