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 "DEVIL'S horn salutes were raised up from amid the sea of denim and black T-shirts, and there were occasional hoarse chants of "Maiden, Maiden"," writes Paul Taylor in his review of last nights gig in Machester - which got 4 out of 5 stars in the Manchester Evening News.
An inflated condom was batted, laddishly, hither and thither, and text messages from the fans flashed up on central screens, most betraying a blunt loathing for those sensitive souls they call "emos".
Welcome to Planet Bloke. These were the grizzled fellow travellers of Iron Maiden, awaiting the band which has come almost to define British heavy metal and is still its most successful practitioner.
But, hang on, something was different. There were kids in the crowd not even born until half way through Maiden's stolid quarter-century reign. This was, remarkably, one of the year's hottest tickets, and it was soon apparent why.
Maiden arrived with a new sense of purpose and one of their best ever albums, A Matter Of Life And Death. And for once that staple rock gig overture of Mars from the Planets Suite was not idly chosen.
Bravely
For this album - played, bravely, in its entirety and even in track order - is an apocalyptic vision of war, interwoven with big religious questions.
This was not the cliched conjuring of beasties in the dark which all too often makes heavy metal seem ridiculous.
This was real and relevant, and it remained so even while Maiden's string section - particularly guitarist Janick Gers - struck the kind of poses which would get you excluded from an air guitar contest for being too silly.
One reason why Maiden seem so surprisingly vital is the conviction with which this, their most coherent body of work, is delivered by the boundlessly energetic singer Bruce Dickinson.
The second reason is the band's enduringly entertaining sense of theatre. They emerged to a backdrop of a bombed cityscape, Nicko McBrain's drum riser nestling supposedly amid sandbags, with the "corpses" of dead soldiers lying on barbed wire and hanging from a parachute at each side of the stage.
Yes, the band's zombie-like "mascot" Eddie did his usual turn, emerging from the turret of a huge tank whose cannon swung round to point at the audience, and walking out, like one of those giant Mardi Gras figures, to give us the salute.
But, for once, even old Eddie was upstaged by the music.
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2006 World Tour 
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