‘The Number of the Beast’: the controversial Iron Maiden album that was written by the devil
One night, after he had just finished watching Damien: Omen II, Steve Harris had a nightmare. Iron Maiden weren’t exactly the poster for squeaky-clean, religious America the moment they set foot in the metal arena, and their ominous, thunderous riffs seemed to echo through Steve’s dreamscape like a foreboding prophecy.
Cursed albums aren’t an unusual thing, especially the ones that were created during the height of societal paranoia or unrest, like the period of the Satanic Panic. However, while many in the metal space subtly injected these themes, Iron Maiden took a more direct and unflinching approach, embracing the macabre and the occult with a boldness that shocked and fascinated their audience.
The second America caught wind of Iron Maiden releasing an album called The Number of the Beast, it was clear that controversy was afoot. The title alone, with its ominous Biblical reference, was enough to stir the fears of a nation already on edge from the ongoing Satanic Panic. Parents, religious leaders, and moral watchdogs quickly pounced on the album, accusing it of promoting devil worship and corrupting the youth.
To add an extra layer of mystery, the entire recording process was plagued with inexplicable occurrences. Aside from various technical difficulties and production mishaps, there were reports of lights turning on and off at different moments and the recording gear choosing the most inconvenient times to break or shut down.
The strangest part came when the album’s producer, Martin Birch, became involved in a crash when his car collided with a van while attempting to get home from the studio. If that wasn’t enough of a sign that something about this entire project was amiss, when Birch peered over into the van, he saw a group of nuns. The driver then emerged from the front seat, dropped to his knees, and started to pray to thank god for sparing their lives.
However you look at the unfortunate accident, it does dredge up strange thoughts about the odd occurrence and whether it was, in fact, the work of something beyond our comprehension. But the peculiarities don’t stop there—when Birch took his Range Rover in for a repairs service a couple of days later, the invoice at the bottom of the page stated the ominous figure: £666. Understandably, Birch asked for the figure to be changed, even if it meant the price increasing.
As a result of these events, the media used them as fodder to further fuel the fires of the ongoing Satanist discourse—Iron Maiden was directly working with the devil to create music, or so they said. Worse, they were doing so of their own accord, summoning demons of the most uncouth kind to make something that would indoctrinate their fans more than they already had.
However, despite—or perhaps because of—the backlash, the album became an unsuspecting cultural touchstone, which amplified the band’s notoriety while cementing their role as provocateurs in the rock world. The very controversy that aimed to bury them instead propelled them into the limelight, demonstrating the paradoxical power of scandal to both challenge and elevate artistic expression.
