Album Review: Iron Maiden - 'Senjutsu'

Ahh, Iron Maiden; a band hard-baked into the very fabric of the heavy metal zeitgeist since first forming on Christmas Day back in 1975. 

Adored by their legions of fans, notorious for their galloping sonic ways and undeniably one of the most important bands to have graced and shredded this earth, the group have frequently bent the laws of heavy metal to their whims, infusing punk, prog and an insatiable array of iconic influences into their oft-theatrical but rarely gratuitous trademark sound (with mascot Eddie never far to bring his menacing presence into proceedings). 

For any band, approaching seventeenth album territory is in itself a rare feat, while also inevitably providing a potential trigger for fans to lament a detraction from sonic roots or a stray from the usual path. But for Iron Maiden's seventeenth full-length outing Senjutsu, completed in 2019 adjacent to their Legacy Of The Beast tour but hidden away for two years while the world crumbled around it, the loose translation of 'tactics and strategy' comes to bold fruition. The sudden announcement of Senjutsu's existence may have caught fans by surprise a few short months ago, and the resulting diversity on the album itself may also catch some off guard. But for a band who have retained god-like status, Senjutsu gifts a plethora of treasures for new and old fans alike: imaginative progression, Bruce Dickinson bouncing back after recovering from a cancerous tumour at the back of his tongue and a samurai Eddie.

Opening with their titular track, Senjutsu prowls out with chunk and drama before convulsing into textbook gallop (Stratego), unexpected epics soaked in blues (The Writing On The Wall) and flutter of Eastern tinges (The Time Machine) along the way.

As with their previous release, 2015's The Book Of Souls, Senjutsu is split as a double album, and part two kicks off with seagulls, waves and a slight pumping of the sonic brakes with Darkest Hour before the sextet pour themselves into folk-laced stompers (Death Of The Celts), riff-tastic romps (The Parchment) and more straight-forward fare masking some brooding thematics (closing track Hell On Earth). 

For Iron Maiden purists, the occasional jolt into uncharted musical waters may genuinely shock more than their demonic cover art has done to non-fans in the past. But between the bombastic moments, brisk melodics and loping swagger, there are significant and familiar whiffs of every iteration of Iron Maiden that has come to pass, and the moments of stylistic divergence serves as a reminder that this is a band not afraid of change: but also one extremely aware and in control of what has cemented their legendary status as heavy metal overlords. If that ain't a brilliant display of tactics and strategy, I don't know what is. All hail Iron Maiden.

Pic by John McMurtrie