Iron Maiden

Iron Maiden—Even if you’ve never actively listened to metal, the name echoes.

And Fear of the Dark? That riff lives rent-free in everyone’s head—even mine, before I had the faintest idea what NWOBHM even stood for.

They were one of the first bands I dug into properly as I started exploring the genre, and what a rabbit hole it turned out to be.

Iron Maiden were formed in 1975 in Leyton, East London, by bassist and chief songwriter Steve Harris.

They were part of the New Wave of British Heavy Metal (NWOBHM)—a scrappy, DIY explosion of speed, leather, and loudness that crawled out of the late ’70s and elbowed aside the dying embers of blues rock and hippie psychedelia.

While a lot of bands came and went, Iron Maiden didn’t just survive.

They endured.

Seventeen studio albums. Thirteen live albums. Dozens of tours. Hundreds of shows. Thousands of patches ironed onto denim vests worldwide.

And since 1999, they’ve played with three guitarists: Dave Murray, Adrian Smith, and Janick Gers. It’s chaotic. It’s excessive. It’s delightful.

The band’s early years featured vocalist Paul Di’Anno—raw, punk-edged, full of grit.

But in 1982, with the release of The Number of the Beast, Bruce Dickinson took over vocal duties and turned the band into a global force.

Bruce’s voice? Operatic. Theatrical. Towering.

He doesn’t just sing; he declares war on silence.

It’s no wonder his arrival marked a shift in their sound—and their success.

Also, minor detail: he’s a licensed pilot and flew their tour plane, Ed Force One, across the globe. Because obviously.

Before I properly dove into their discography, I did my homework.

I watched The History of Iron Maiden Parts 1–3. I watched Flight 666. I watched The Early Days, mostly for the outfits (and I stand by that decision).

And something happened that I absolutely wasn’t prepared for:

I fell for the first album.

Yep. The 1980 self-titled debut with Paul Di’Anno on vocals.

And honestly? I still think it’s my favourite.

Controversial opinion incoming:

As much as Bruce Dickinson’s vocals are iconic—and they are—Di’Anno does it more for me. There’s something raw, urgent, slightly dangerous in his delivery that hooks me more than the polished theatricality that came after.

And Prowler?

That song rips. Easily one of my favourites in the entire Maiden catalogue.

It’s messy and feral and absolutely struts.

You can’t talk about Iron Maiden without talking about Eddie the Head.

He started as a papier-mâché mask spitting fake blood at early gigs.

Now? He’s a full-blown metal deity.

Eddie appears on every album cover. Every shirt. Every stage show.

He’s been a mummy, a cyborg, a soldier, a samurai, and probably a tax nightmare. He even has a video game (Ed Hunter), his own award (Metal Hammer’s Icon Award, 2008), and an airplane named after him. (Ed Force One—flown by Bruce himself, naturally.)

More than a mascot—Eddie is Maiden’s fourth wall. The myth. The madness. The marketing genius.

Iron Maiden never relied on radio play or polished TV features.

They earned their audience—on the road.

Over 2,000 shows in 59 countries. If there’s a stage, they’ve probably set it on fire.

The live show is part theatre, part military operation. Giant inflatables. Moving backdrops. Fire. Smoke. Sword fights. And Bruce Dickinson running laps across the stage like he’s fronting a metal-themed Olympic event.

There’s a reason their fans follow them religiously—it’s a spectacle.

As someone still early in their metal journey, Maiden felt like a pretty safe place to start.

Catchy riffs. Strong melodies. Vocals you can actually sing along to. (Eventually.)

I listened to the early albums (Iron Maiden, Killers, The Number of the Beast, Powerslave, Fear of the Dark), plus Brave New World (2000) and their most recent album, Senjutsu (2021).

And Senjutsu surprised me. Slower. Moodier. Less immediate—but more layered. It’s aged Maiden, and honestly? I kind of love that.

It’s not trying to be young. It’s just good.

And yes—Fear of the Dark got lodged in my brain like a splinter. I’m still humming it.

Iron Maiden didn’t just outlast a movement.

They became their own mythos.

Big riffs. Bigger theatrics. A zombie mascot. A plane. A pilot. A legacy.

But also? Prowler still slaps.