“If the band is doing really well with its first and second albums, and doesn’t do a great third album, there’s a kind of profound sense of disappointment that very often may mean the beginning of the end. But a really great third album can kick everything into gear, and in our case it was a great record. That really set the scene for the albums that followed … But of course, albums are not just about music, they’re also a product of their times. And Number Of The Beast, because it occupied a space and achieved such a legendary status by virtue of its position in the career of the band … it would be very hard to dislodge that.”

(Bruce Dickinson to Martin Popoff, The Top 500 Heavy Metal Albums of All Time, ECW Press, 1994)

“I remember saying to them when it was finished, ‘You know, this is going to be a big, big album. This is going to transform your career.'”

(Martin Birch to Mick Wall, Run to the Hills, MPG Books, 1998)

“[During] the recording, I had a bizarre incident. I was driving up to London, and a car pulled out of a side turning and hit me. It turned out this bloke was a black guy, he was going to a church to pick some nuns up. He started, there in the middle of the road, saying prayers. I was going, ‘Well, this is really odd.’ To cut a long story short, the bill that I got for the damage of my car was £666 exactly. When I picked the car up, I refused to pay the bill, I said, ‘You either make it 668 or 670, I’m not paying that figure.'”

(Martin Birch, 12 Wasted Years, 1987)

By the end of 1981 it was clear to Iron Maiden and its management that if they wanted to take the next big step in their career, a serious change would have to be made. Not only was the offstage behavior of Paul Di’Anno becoming an increasing distraction, but his gritty singing style, while terrific on the 1980 debut, lacked the potency and range that suited where Steve Harris wanted to take the music next. Immediately after the band’s performance at the 1981 Reading Festival, their last show in support of the Killers album, manager Rod Smallwood approached Samson singer Bruce Dickinson about possibly joining the biggest band in the NWOBHM scene. After auditioning that September, Dickinson was hired, and the rest is history.

Iron Maiden was on the cusp of a major commercial breakthrough, but they had plenty of work to do. For the first time the band had to come up with new songs from scratch, and were given three months in which to come up with the most important album of their lives. And all the band did was knock it clear out of the park on The Number Of The Beast.

Looking back at The Number Of The Beast, what’s most extraordinary is not only the anthemic quality of so many tracks, but the sheer stylistic variety of them all. Each track stands vividly alone, distinct and instantly memorable. Harris comes into his prime as a songwriter on this record, contributing five classic songs specifically created to flaunt Dickinson’s staggering voice. Always an unforgiving songwriter, Harris’s material constantly demanded seemingly inhuman vocal range and an ability to clearly enunciate verses with twice as many words as they needed, but in Dickinson he had the perfect frontman, one who could sing the hell out anything he was handed, no matter how difficult, no matter how breathless the verses. Just look at some of the lines on this album:

Call to arms defend yourselves get ready to stand and fight for your lives

Judgment day has come around so be prepared don’t run stand your ground

As the guards march me out to the courtyard

Somebody calls from a cell “God be with you”

If there’s a God then why has he let me go?

Dickinson’s status as a heavy metal singing legend is undeniable, but it was his incomparable performance on The Number Of The Beast that cemented it. He might not have been able to make concrete contributions to the songwriting — ongoing legal hassles with Samson prevented him from earning songwriting credit — but he carries the entire album on his back. He bursts onto the scene on the rampaging Viking tale “Invaders,” displays operatic flamboyance on “Children Of The Damned” — a cousin of Iron Maiden’s “Remember Tomorrow” but leagues better — and brings audiences into the cold cell of a condemned man on the stirring epic “Hallowed Be Thy Name.” The power and command with which he delivers the line, “The sands of time for me are running low,” is awe-inspiring, a reflection of how Iron Maiden’s scope finally got out of the clubs and into the stadiums. As great as Iron Maiden and Killers were, and still are, The Number Of The Beast is next level.

The album also marked the first time Adrian Smith contributed to the songwriting as well, and he makes an immediate impact. An homage to the classic cult TV series of the same name, “The Prisoner” displays a remarkable knack for melody, groove, and simplicity, which would become a Smith hallmark. “22 Acacia Avenue,” meanwhile, was a holdover from his days in Urchin and Evil Ways, and is fleshed out with the help of Harris, transformed into a multihued and surprisingly compassionate sequel to the leering “Charlotte The Harlot.”

And of course, there are the two most ubiquitous, notorious — and popular — songs on the album. Featuring one of the most distinct intros in heavy metal history and propelled by a brilliant drumming performance by Clive Burr — who shines on the entire album for that matter — “Run To The Hills” is Maiden at its most bracing, its brisk tempo echoing the gallops depicted in Harris’ portrait of First Nations oppression, perfectly suited for the live setting, something that immediately engages audiences. The title track, though, is a masterstroke. A perfect embodiment of heavy metal’s most crucial tenets — flamboyance, melody, theater, escapism, menace, provocation, power — Harris’ surreal fever dream is fiery and uncharacteristically grim, highlighted by a sensational solo duel between Murray and Smith and again delivered with theatrical flair by the indomitable Dickinson. Watch an audience erupt in reaction to this song in an arena, and you’ll understand the unique, deceptively simple power of this song. It is heavy metal incarnate.

The Number Of The Beast might be Iron Maiden’s best album, but it’s not a perfect album. Featuring Burr’s only songwriting contribution to the band’s discography, “Gangland” is an unfortunate misstep. While it’s memorable enough, it fails to measure up to the very high quality of the other seven songs. During the rush to complete the album, the band had to choose between the speedy “Gangland” and the darker, mid-paced “Total Eclipse” for inclusion on the album, with the other serving as the B-side on the “Run To The Hills” single, and Harris readily admits he wishes he’d chosen the far superior “Total Eclipse.” The song was subsequently included on the 1998 reissue of the album, and while “Gangland” still sticks out, “Total Eclipse” significantly strengthens the latter half.

Upon its release, adorned with Derek Riggs’ imposing yet witty artwork — the Devil manipulating Eddie with puppet strings, but with Eddie above the Devil doing the exact same thing — reaction to the album was immediate, from both ends of the spectrum. “Run To The Hills” became the band’s first UK top ten single, the reception in the metal press was overwhelmingly positive, and most hilariously, it was singled out by the American Religious Right as being Satanic. In the early ’80s, there was no better publicity for a heavy metal band than some good old Satanic panic, and while trying to fend off the patently false accusations was an enormous hassle, the notoriety played a large role in breaking Iron Maiden into the difficult American market.

With The Number Of The Beast, the band was set. As Dickinson has often stated, it marked the roller coaster car reaching the top of that crucial first climb. The pace of the subsequent ten years would be insane, bringing the band unprecedented success and eventually taking a serious toll on everyone involved. This album was the catalyst, and in retrospect, the artistic pinnacle of a legendary and multifaceted career that shows no signs of stopping after nearly 40 years.