Music review: Bruce Dickinson, Barrowland, Glasgow

Despite the technical gremlins that undermined the early part of his show, Iron Maiden’s Bruce Dickinson still came up with a second half full of out-there highlights, writes Paul Whitelaw

Bruce Dickinson, Barrowland, Glasgow ***

Even mighty rock gods can be vanquished by Gremlins. The first half of Bruce Dickinson’s Barrowland set was unfortunately marred by an atrocious sound mix, the band’s heavy metal thunder reduced to an indeterminate thud, Dickinson’s famously operatic voice lost in the wind tunnel murk.

Momentum was restored when the sound crew eventually got it together, but you still couldn’t make out what the legendary Iron Maiden frontman was saying between songs. He sounded like Basil Brush jabbering over a cheap fairground PA system. You could at least tell he was trying to be funny from his vocal cadences and facial expressions. Perhaps he was spinning hilarious comedy gold up there. We’ll just never know.

Bruce Dickinson

Still, the rest of the show was pretty good fun. Dickinson can still sing, and he’s an absolute pro, a seasoned entertainer who scampered around the stage for almost two hours in PVC leathers and a knitted beanie.

We were also treated to a sparkly cowboy-hatted guitarist playing an honest to goodness keytar, plus an enjoyably extended “workout” on the Edgar Winter instrumental Frankenstein, during which Dickinson whacked a mini stand-up drum kit and attacked a Theremin with gusto.

Other highlights included sing-a-longa anthem The Alchemist plus two songs from Dickinson’s latest album The Mandrake Project: Resurrection Men, which sounds like Tony Iommi jamming with Duane Eddy (RIP) in a crypt, and Rain on the Graves, a humungously heavy juggernaut inspired by Dickinson’s love of old Gothic horror movies (his other passions include fencing, flying and Brexit).

Dickinson is a master of knowingly ludicrous metal. To criticise this music for being overblown is to miss the point entirely. Dickinson knows what he’s doing and so do his fans. It’s a deadly serious cartoon, a benign pact with the Devil. It’s showbiz.