For a band who are the most reluctant rock stars on the planet, Iron Maiden certainly know how to lay on a celebration of epic proportions. Metaltalk are here in Malahide Castle for the mammoth Run For Your Lives World Tour, which sees the East Londoners mark 50 years of leading Heavy Metal’s frontline with grace, honesty and sheer force. And at the pace and power at which they have done it, it really is an outstanding achievement.
Iron Maiden
Malahide Castle, Dublin – 25 June 2025
Words: Brian Boyle
Photography: Steve Ritchie
There are notable changes on this tour. Gone are the famous drapes that exquisitely represented each song. In their place is a massive video screen with swish digital imagery.
But the most glaring difference is the absence of the explosive presence of the great Nicko McBrain. Last year in Sau Paulo, after 43 years of loyal service, the great man bid an emotional farewell to road life.
But the memories the percussive wrecking ball has left us with are set in stone and will never be forgotten. In his place is Steve Harris British Lion bandmate Simon Dawson, who can now boast of having the biggest pair of kahunas in Heavy Metal in taking on this iconic role.
With twelve shows already done in their usual environments of arenas, stadiums and festivals, tonight’s venue is a little bit more special.
Having a back catalogue with a large chunk of historical themes, playing in the grounds of a castle that dates back to the 12th century should be right up their strasse.
As is the majority of the tour, tonight is a sell-out, with 20,000 Maiden disciples making the pilgrimage to Malahide in North County Dublin. The coastal village is awash with Eddie-laden shirts and road-weary battle jackets.
Inside, the atmosphere is simmering nicely. There are aromas of sea air, bubblegum vape, low grade burger meat and the odd waft of something green.
And as is the case with every Maiden gathering, there is goodwill aplenty. There are friends reuniting from far and wide, the beer tents are banter central, and grown men can comfortably get barbecue sauce down their shirts without fear of an almighty bollocking.
At 8.25 pm, Michael Schenker gives us the call with the hallowed tones of UFO’s Doctor Doctor circling the Dublin sky and tribal screams of “MAIDEN, MAIDEN” reverberate around the castle.
No matter how many times you hear this intro, the feeling of intense excitement never leaves you.
Accompanied by 1981’s The Ides Of March, a video takes us back to the streets and alleyways of East London, taking in Maiden’s old haunts like The Blind Beggar, The Ruskin Arms, and, of course, the world-famous Cart & Horses.
Then, with a puff of smoke and a stunning Paris backdrop, they are out of the traps with purpose, immediately taking the castle over with a blood-curdling Murders In The Rue Morgue.
The returning Wrathchild swiftly follows and is welcomed back into the fold with 20,000 Maiden-ites demanding to be heard.
A denim and leather-clad Eddie wielding an axe in precarious fashion then makes his first appearance of the night and turns the eternally young-sounding Killers into pure tongue-in-cheek Heavy Metal theatre.
And the four bar faux pas at the end just added to the entertainment.
Just three songs in and Maiden are absolutely smokin’. The jet fuelled Bruce Dickinson just does not know the meaning of conserving energy as the amount of ground covered in the first fifteen minutes would test the stamina of a supreme athlete.
But he did draw breath to welcome new boy Simon Dawson into the pack. And the warm and sincere reception he received was repaid with a thunderous two-hour shift of power and precision.
With the formalities over, a virtual curtain unveils an old staircase that tee’s up the thunderous freight train of The Phantom Of The Opera, which hits the Dublin Irons square between the eyes.
A casual attendee might only remember this tune as being the music to an old Lucozade ad featuring British athlete Daley Thompson. But to the stalwarts, it represents something completely different. It is an anthem of their youth, and tonight’s rendition will have knocked years off them.
Although the setlist was probably settled upon long before the sad passing of former frontman Paul Di’Anno, the first four tracks still felt like a tip of the hat to the mercurial talent.
Never a band for prioritising the big guns for later in a set, The Number Of The Beast lit up and was a pyro extravaganza, with eyebrows probably singed from afar.
And for a nice touch of nostalgia, what a delight it was to see Adrian Smith bring out his Ibanez Destroyer to spark off memories of the song’s accompanying video.
As the flames quelled, they fired up prog-er The Clairvoyant, which was just sheer bliss but a tester on ageing kneecaps. 
With a massive image of Egyptian Eddie adorning the screen, it was time for Dickinson to mask up and theatrically take us on a journey to the land of the pharaohs with Powerslave. His rallying “scream for me, Dublin” hit the spot all night, but when he is doing it in the classic feathered mask, it is a different experience altogether.
Strapping on The Hooligan, Adrian Smith then cranked out the timeless riff to 2 Minutes To Midnight, and a sea of gold and blue wristbands raised their fists and yelled out that iconic chorus, which probably rattled the castle’s windows.
At this point, the pace is relentless, and the energy levels just keep rising. Watching Steve Harris charge around with his West Ham-laden bass is still a sight to behold, and to his left, the always engaging Janick Gers is throwing fifty shapes a second while still not dropping a note. So blasting into a pulsing Rime Of The Ancient Mariner did not knock a feather out of them.
Probably one of the most famous Clive Burr moments in Iron Maiden, the intro to Run To The Hills was a cue for a headbanging convention. For some, this is the song that started their love affair with the band, and you could tell. The passion for this tune has never dwindled.
Nor has it for The Trooper, and when you see messrs Murray, Smith, Gers and Harris front and centre and taking aim, it never ceases to raise the hairs.
But this was no ordinary run through. Watching Bruce Dickinson waving an Irish tricolour with a digital image of a Union Jack behind him is not something that would have been advised in times not too long ago. Thankfully, things have changed a bit, and this moment will live long in the memory.
How do you top that? You leather out Hallowed Be Thy Name, of course. With Dave Murray, who was in breathtaking form all night, taking a well-deserved seat for the intro, one of the band’s best-loved songs was taken to the next level with clever use of AI trickery.
But more impressive was Dickinson maintaining top performance while singing most of it from a cage.
The inevitable Iron Maiden closed out the main set, and they made full use of the massive screen for the customary Eddie appearance to frighten the living shite out of some infant fans. And maybe a few older ones.
Naturally, they return, and Winston Churchill leads them into a soaring Aces High. Once again, the screen is maximised to allow Eddie’s spitfire to fly in all directions, which collaborates brilliantly with the breakneck tempo. This was another fine display from new boy Dawson and hopefully shut a few nitpickers up.
As soon as the Biggles goggles were off, Dickinson was into a black coat and top hat for the always epic Fear Of The Dark. Yet again, the age-defying workhorse Steve Harris was a ball of energy, bouncing up and down like a sugar-crazed teenager. 
The speculation surrounding a new Iron Maiden setlist is always off the scale. And many weren’t expecting Wasted Years to make the team so soon after The Future Past Tour. But in it went, and it was performed with its usual melodic gusto.
Murray and Gers, of course, were up to their usual shenanigans, but this tune, in the live arena, is all about Adrian Smith’s solo. Always different and always a banger, and tonight was no different.
It was an honour and a pleasure to be able to witness this remarkable bunch of humans at the top of their game tonight.
Still the best and simply untouchable.
RIP Steve Göldby.
