Preface 666: I fucking love Iron Maiden. This band is the living, breathing, triple guitar-playing embodiment of heavy metal. Bruce Dickinson is indestructible. Janick Gers likes putting his leg on things. These are facts.
'The Book Of Souls' has been hailed as a staggering magnum opus and the band's greatest since 'Brave New World'. There's some truth in these statements; albeit, this truth peppers corners of the album rather than coursing through its entirety.
The Red And The Black boasts sweeping, multi-faceted guitar harmonies, commonplace in post-millennial Maiden, adding a Dickinson “Woah-oh-oh” that's trumped only by The Wicker Man; synth slides underneath Steve Harris' galloping bass and makes for a triumphant, undeniably epic soundscape reminiscent of 2003's Montségur.
Speed Of Light's wondrous cowbell and NWOBHM trappings are reminiscent of 'The Number Of The Beast', while Dickinson's throaty scream harks back to Be Quick Or Be Dead. Oh, and while we're on the subject of Dickinson's genius: he penned album closer Empire Of The Clouds. Eighteen minutes long and basking in piano and luscious string sections, it's the most ambitious, daring piece of music Iron Maiden have ever put their name to. Paul Di'Anno will hate it.
Half of this album is brilliant. It's vintage Maiden basking in the forward-thinking, progressive splendour they've finally got a handle on since Dickinson's return. But, clocking in at 92 minutes, 'The Book Of Souls' does not posses the hooks (in you, hoooooks in me!) nor memorable nuggets to warrant said play-time.
Good Iron Maiden makes you feel like you've teabagged a landmine. The usual slap in the face of choruses is strangely absent on 'The Book Of Souls', with Tears Of A Clown, Death Or Glory and The Man Of Sorrows just feeling a bit lax and – typed with trepidation – pedestrian. They're not bad. They just don't evoke that primal, urgent exuberance usually associated with Maiden.
Iron Maiden are still the best heavy metal band on the planet. They are still the best musicians to claw from Britain's sphincter since The Beatles. This does not give them a free pass. Metallica were savaged for 'St. Anger' – yes, it was dog, but at least you could remember which bits you hated. 'The Book Of Souls' suffers for, well, being 45 minutes too long. Had this been sliced in half, it would have been a classic. Regardless: Up The Irons.
NOTE FROM THE EDITOR
We don't run any advertising! Our editorial content is solely funded by lovely people like yourself using Stereoboard's listings when buying tickets for live events. To keep supporting us, next time you're looking for concert, festival, sport or theatre tickets, please search for "Stereoboard". It costs you nothing, you may find a better price than the usual outlets, and save yourself from waiting in an endless queue on Friday mornings as we list ALL available sellers!
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
