So if Wishbone Ash could prove astonishingly good, my expectations were high for Iron Maiden, at the time the figurehead of the New Wave of British Heavy Metal that had emerged as a sort of parallel to punk from the industrial towns of northern England. They were much-lauded by the press and with the release of their first album and singles had broken through to the charts.
The set list was probably:
The Ides of March
Sanctuary
Wrathchild
Prowler
Remember Tomorrow
Killers
Running Free
Another Life
Transylvania
Strange World
Charlotte the Harlot
Phantom of the Opera
Iron Maiden
Drifter
I've Got the Fire
Probably is the word, alas. As someone commented on the recent documentary on Iron Maiden on tour: great logistics, rubbish songs. It is significant that, unlike Wishbone Ash, I was left with no desire to go out and buy the records afterwards. The Gothick mythology conjured an air of evil that verged on self-parody (it is no coincidence that Spinal Tap used very similar stage sets); the unreality of the image was emphasised by the audience, a good half of which were 14-year-old girls wearing new Iron Maiden T shirts. There's nothing so likely to lead you to question your taste than the knowledge that it is shared by trendy tots.
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