"Keep yer bloody comments to yourself, ya feckin' wanker! Me fist in yer face, ya prat!"

Sorry, Mr. Osbourne. I didn't mean to offend.

Anyway, after Mudvayne, came Iron Maiden.

What can I say?

Iron Maiden absolutely slayed. I didn't know all that much about Maiden, besides a familiarity with a handful of songs, but I came away with a newfound appreciation for those guys that night. Bruce Dickinson, the singer, bounded up and down and all over the stage, capering about like a little, foul-mouthed British monkey. He definitely knows how to work the audience, and we all ate it up and begged for more. There was a great deal of showmanship, and a positely aural onslaught of kick-ass tunes. So moved by the experience, Louie and I did an impromptu dance performance for "Run to the Hills." That song is so effin' great! The finale featured a man in a giant zombie costume on stilts. As "Eddie," Iron Maiden's undead mascot, he lumbered across the stage, red eyes blazing, tousling with one of the guitarists (they have three!) who was swinging his guitar like a mace. It ended with me wanting more.