Bruce Dickinson, as is well known, is a qualified pilot – and there is something of the captain preparing for take-off in his interactions with the crowd. “In a moment,” he instructs Glasgow, “we will commence furious jumping.” Then, as the riff to Dark Side of Aquarius kicks in: “Furious jumping commence!”
His ability to hype a room has been honed over decades of what he calls the “day job” – being frontman with Iron Maiden. Next year will be the band’s 50th anniversary, and no doubt there will be much hoopla, so this solo tour is Dickinson’s chance for some me-time.
That means no Maiden songs, which is understandable, even admirable, but the downside is a lack of bangers. The set has an Iron deficiency. However, Dickinson’s own material, at its best, combines melody and force almost as effectively as his celebrated band. Afterglow of Ragnarok has the most heavy metal title of any song ever written, and manages to live up to it. Even better is the power ballad Tears of the Dragon, a showcase for Dickinson’s voice – which is still, at 65, a thrilling and propulsive holler.
His backing group, the so-called House Band of Hell, are virtuosic – and sometimes feel a need to prove it. We could do without the drum solo. And the keytar solo. And the umpteen other keytar solos. Thank goodness for Tanya O’Callaghan: the dreadlocked bassist keeps things grounded and provides a good deal of wallop and oomph.
In leather jacket and trousers and wool beanie, Dickinson appears unruffled by the heatwave that has made the venue an oven. He is a man beyond sweat. He is also an extraordinarily charismatic performer, but not really a rock god. Rather, he seems part of an older tradition: music hall. He is not above hammy demonic laughter. He yanks a cover from a theremin like a magician doing the tablecloth trick. He declares, “It’s bongo time!” and then plays the blessed things. When the gig is over and the lights go up, George Formby is heard over the PA, which feels apt. Dickinson in concert has similar goofball charm.
