Iron Maiden’s Top 10: Galloping, Epic, Eternal

A tolling bell, minor‑key arpeggios, and Harris’s expressive bass lines usher listeners into a condemned man’s final reflections. Over seven minutes the song ascends through tempo shifts, twin‑lead melodies, and a climactic solo trade‑off between Dave Murray and Adrian Smith. Nicko McBrain’s predecessor Clive Burr drives the crescendo with tumbling fills that heighten the drama. Lyrically, Bruce Dickinson narrates existential dread with Shakespearean flair: questions of fate, faith, and mortality swirl until the galloping outro feels like a soul breaking free. Often placed near the end of Maiden’s live sets, it turns arenas into communal chanting halls—proof that even metal’s heaviest moments can be spiritually elevating.

Smith’s and Murray’s harmonized intro mimics bugle calls before Harris’s bass unleashes a cavalry charge inspired by Tennyson’s “Charge of the Light Brigade.” McBrain’s double‑time snare patterns imitate thundering hooves, while Dickinson belts battlefield imagery with relentless urgency. At concerts Bruce brandishes a Union Jack and fence‑duels Eddie, cementing the song’s status as a visual and sonic centerpiece. Its tight structure—riff, chorus, solo, repeat—illustrates Maiden’s ability to condense historical drama into four minutes of pure adrenaline, making “The Trooper” a mandatory lesson in heavy‑metal riff craft.

One of Maiden’s rare mid‑tempo singles, “Flight of Icarus” pairs a chunky, descending riff with Dickinson’s retelling of Greek myth from Icarus’s rebellious viewpoint. Producer Martin Birch’s emphasis on soaring vocals and punchy drums created a radio‑friendly mix without dulling the band’s heft. Though Bruce jokes the band “played it too slow,” the deliberate pace lets the melody breathe, becoming a sing‑along staple. The song illustrates Maiden’s knack for transforming ancient lore into arena metal, inspiring generations of metal bands to mine mythology for riffs.

Opening with tribal tom‑toms that evoke Indigenous rhythms, the song pivots into a galloping major‑key riff—deceptively upbeat for a tale of colonial brutality. Verses switch perspectives between Native Americans and invading cavalry, showcasing early‑’80s metal tackling sociopolitical themes. Dickinson’s piercing high notes in the chorus deliver both anger and lament, while an extended middle‑eight solo captures the chaos of clashing worlds. “Run to the Hills” became Maiden’s first UK Top 10 single, broadening metal’s narrative possibilities and proving socially conscious lyrics could still shred.

Vincent Price‑style narration, eerie guitar squeals, and a lurching time‑signature fake‑out open this quintessential horror anthem. The riff’s sinister swing pairs with apocalyptic lyrics drawn from John’s Revelation and ’70s devil‑films, igniting moral panics that only boosted record sales. Musically, it’s a masterclass in dynamics: verses creep, choruses explode, and a dual‑solo siege leaves listeners breathless. For many fans “The Number of the Beast” marks the moment metal found its theatrical perfect storm—melody, menace, and myth.

An acoustic intro sets a moonlit mood before the full band erupts into a brisk, 7/8‑inflected gallop. Janick Gers’s wah‑drenched leads intertwine with Murray’s fluid lines, giving Maiden’s three‑guitar era early proof of concept. The lyrics tap primal childhood terrors, yet live crowds turn that fear into unity—thousands chanting the “whoa‑oh‑oh” refrain under festival floodlights. Its inclusion on every set list since ’92 shows the band’s ’90s work could stand shoulder to shoulder with their classic‑era canon.

Churchill’s “Their finest hour” speech crackles over PA systems before Murray and Harris launch into a strafing‑run riff matching the song’s Spitfire dog‑fight narrative. Dickinson’s rapid‑fire verses and sky‑high sustained notes embody a pilot staring death in the face yet reveling in speed. Live, the band often opens with “Aces High” as an adrenaline detonator; the airborne imagery meshes with Dickinson’s real‑life pilot exploits, blending art and persona. The track’s seamless tempo shifts showcase Maiden’s growing progressive ambitions without sacrificing bite.

A swaggering, palm‑muted riff and syncopated hi‑hat groove lay the foundation for Maiden’s cold‑war protest anthem. Smith’s co‑writing injects hard‑rock swing, while Harris counters with intricate chorus climbs, forging a perfect tension between accessibility and complexity. The Doomsday Clock metaphor and graphic imagery indict war profiteers, expanding Maiden’s lyrical palette. Its memorable chorus became a radio staple, proving political commentary could coexist with fist‑pumping hooks.

Adrian Smith’s shimmering, tape‑loop intro riff instantly evokes nostalgia—a fitting mood for lyrics about homesickness on tour. Unlike Harris’s historical epics, “Wasted Years” is introspective, urging listeners to cherish the present rather than pine for the past. Bright major‑key choruses and a melodic, tapping‑infused solo reveal Maiden’s ability to write uplifting anthems without losing metallic edge. The song’s continued live popularity underscores the universal pull of its reflective message.

Clocking in at seven minutes on their debut, this multi‑section opus hinted at the prog‑metal path Maiden would later dominate. Galloping verses segue into dramatic instrumental passages, with Harris’s bass functioning as a third guitar. Paul Di’Anno’s gritty vocal adds punk snarl to gothic storytelling. Its complexity—tempo changes, key shifts, extended solos—made it a blueprint for future Maiden epics. Modern set‑list revivals prove the song’s raw NWOBHM energy still thrills, bridging early and classic eras.