12. Iron Maiden

THE O2 ARENA

5 AUGUST 2011

I'm on handbag duty for the night, dragged along to an Iron Maiden gig but we were making a night of it, all cosplaying with band t-shirts and fake tattoo sleeves that you fit on like a pair of arm-tights, making your arm a bit sweaty.  This was all for a mate of mine who was raised on a steady diet of British metal in the suburban wilds of Canberra, he had been worshipping these leather-clad legends since he was a lad. Iron Maiden was a holy grail; I was just here for moral support.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I understand the whole teenage tribe thing, the camaraderie, the power chords that apparently bind you for life. But in my sixth form of a hundred kids, I think we had precisely two Maiden devotees, one of whom rocked a battle jacket and rode a bright red Yamaha 125. He was nice guy who I used to bum fags off and in return provided me with treatises on the virtues of Quo, but other than that, I had completely missed the metal memo.

Fast forward to this gig, and I am utterly outnumbered, floundering in a sea of Eddie back patches and leather jackets. I try to go with it, I really do. But then the set unfolds, and honestly, it looks like Sesame Street took a hard turn into a post-apocalyptic dystopia. Just when I think I’ve seen it all, out lumbers a twelve-foot animatronic skeleton, waving its bony arms with all the grace of a malfunctioning theme park attraction.

The whole thing was, to me, veering into Spinal Tap territory. Any minute, I expected a mini-Stonehenge to descend from the ceiling. But look, I get it: this is a “me” problem. The band’s giving it their all, belting out anthems for a crowd of mostly grown men who are absolutely loving it, air-guitaring with the enthusiasm of teenagers. It’s just that the whole thing felt a bit ridiculous to me. But that’s Maiden for you, serving up the full metal pantomime, and their fans wouldn’t have it any other way. It just really isn’t my cup of tea.