Five years on from the excellent The Final Frontier, Harry Guerin finds the metal icons are far from finished.
It was quite the weekend for memories - buying Piece of Mind on tape on Aston Quay aged 14; the VHS of 12 Wasted Years under the Christmas tree a few months later; the blue screen-printed Powerslave sweatshirt bought on holidays in the Canaries (that somehow still fits) and the never-ending kindness of an already put-upon mother who humoured that new Iron Maiden fan and somehow found the time to go into town and get their debut because, it was, if you pardon the inside joke, a matter of life and death.
All these, and a whole lot more, came back listening to The Book of Souls. But for all that nostalgia, there was plenty of good feeling about the present and the future too: we've all made it this far; there has to be more good stuff up ahead.
For generations of us, Iron Maiden long ago ceased to be 'just' a group; they became part of the family. Just like any family members they've wound you up and there may have been some falling outs over the years, but you always wanted the best for - and from - them. And in common with the elders in any clan, you wonder just how long they can resist time's ravages. Judging by the energy and hunger on this 92-minute double disc - the first in Maiden's history - they've plenty more in the tank.
The Book of Souls manages to be both poignant and celebratory simultaneously. While almost completed by the time frontman Bruce Dickinson was diagnosed with tongue and throat cancer, it's impossible not to experience the record, and his performance, through that prism. The singer's subsequent all-clear, just before The Book of Souls reached the shops, makes the experience all the more vivid. Everything is all about 'the journey' these days; this one truly lives up to that billing.
The record opens with a declaration of intent as strong as anything in Maiden's four-decade career. If Eternity Should Fail's intro features those noodley keyboards the legends have become so/too enamoured with, but they give way to a great groove and chorus, and best of all, a gallop that takes you right back to the early 80s. The fact that it and the other standout track were written solely by Dickinson proves that the man should get free rein on a Maiden project in the future. Now, that may never happen, but it's some feat when a group can still have you dreaming after you've been listening to them for so long.
The other classic here is Empire of the Clouds, an airship disaster ballad that is 18 minutes long, feels like eight and which tells the story brilliantly, even during its instrumental passages. To hear it with a full orchestra onstage would be awesome. In the meantime, ask yourself: how many outfits can say that they have two new shoo-ins for any future greatest hits package when the members are all in their fifties and sixties?
In between Empire and Eternity, The Book of Souls has more of the trademark derring-do, death and drama expected from a Maiden release, with a rough-around-the-edges, live-in-the-studio feel that could teach younger outfits a thing or three, as could the dynamism of drummer Nicko McBrain - aged 63. There are more epics (the title track, The Red and the Black), the grower of a single and a single-in-waiting (Dickinson and guitarist Adrian Smith combining to great effect on Speed of Light and Death or Glory respectively), a cheese-free exploration of fame written in the wake of Robin Williams' death (Tears of a Clown) and, on initial listens, two tracks that should have been kept for B-sides. But here's the thing: while The Great Unknown and The Man of Sorrow may not quite live up to the company they're in here, you could tell a kid that this is a really good place to start if they want to get into Iron Maiden without short-changing them in any way. Plenty will take the plunge, and that magic starts all over again.
So what happens next? Well, after challenging listeners for an hour-and-a-half, perhaps the gutsiest thing Maiden could do now is go right back to the start of their relationship with Dickinson and do a sub-40 minute album like Number of the Beast - and do it quick. Wishful thinking again, perhaps, but The Book of Souls' triumph is proving that Dickinson and co still have it all to play for.
Few things are worse musically than loving a band and feeling they're making a show of themselves. Both parties in this relationship can still hold their heads high.
4.5/5
