The X Factor (1995)

The X Factor (1995)

Wait, what? The X Factor, the album that kicked off the dismal Blaze Bayley years and send Iron Maiden spiraling downward, is not only just the fourth worst album in the entire catalog, but is ranked higher than two Bruce Dickinson albums?

With all confidence, yes. But granted, it’s like choosing the best method of torture; it’s the best of a very, very sorry quartet of albums. Left to pick up the pieces after Dickinson’s departure in 1993, Harris hired Blaze Bayley, a singer best known for fronting a likable band called Wolfsbane, whose debut album of no-frills barroom heavy metal was produced by none other than Rick Rubin. It was an impossible situation; Dickinson left a void so huge that there was no way the band could possibly rebound successfully. But Maiden was and still is Harris’ baby, and whether he was out to stubbornly keep the brand alive or just show up Dickinson — a little of both most likely — he had something to prove.

Not only was Dickinson gone, but legendary producer and longtime collaborator Martin Birch decided to retire, and Harris decided to team up with Nigel Green as co-producer. Compounded by his own personal problems at the time — divorce and the death of his father — the songs on The X Factor were very dark in theme, which was reflected in the overall tone of the record. In addition, Hugh Syme’s disturbing digital illustration of a mutilated Eddie on the cover served notice that not only would this be a very grim album, but also fans would have to get used to this new, reinvented version of Iron Maiden.

Songwriting-wise, The X Factor is very much on the same level of Fear Of The Dark, driven by a self-plagiarizing Harris, the low register of Bayley’s voice adding to the murky mood. “Fortunes Of War” and “The Edge Of Darkness,” while following that now-familiar Harris template — slow build-up to a climactic gallop — are nevertheless good, surprisingly brooding exercises in Maiden predictability. “Lord Of The Flies,” one of the band’s most spirited songs of the 1990s and one of Gers’ best songwriting efforts, is reminiscent of the lively material the band came up with a decade earlier (Dickinson would breathe life into the track on 2005’s Death On The Road live album). Inspired by the film Falling Down, “Man On The Edge” is a terrific speedster that would have served as a good opening track for the album, but Harris had other, crazier ideas.

It takes a lot of hubris for a popular band to kick off its most controversial album with an 11-minute song, and in retrospect it was the wrong move, as Harris was daring fans to accept the changes in the band to the point of alienating them. But nearly 20 years after its release, “Sign Of The Cross” is a tragically underrated Maiden classic. Compared to the amateurishness of the godawful yet popular “Fear Of The Dark,” “Sign Of The Cross,” inspired by Umberto Eco’s The Name Of The Rose, has Harris sounding his most daring since the Powerslave days, creating a complex yet memorable and theatrical epic. Moody and murky, and featuring challenging tempos anchored by the ever-reliable drummer Nicko McBrain, Bayley turns in a good vocal performance as the song ebbs and flows, building to a tremendous bridge and solo break.

Like Virtual XI’s “The Clansman,” “Sign Of The Cross” would prove its worth with Dickinson at the helm on Rock In Rio. Of course, while Bayley merely put in workmanlike performances on those tracks, Dickinson would come along and completely own them, and therein lies the problem with not only the two Blaze albums, but with No Prayer For The Dying and Fear Of The Dark as well: Dickinson’s charisma is every bit as important to Iron Maiden as his vocal skill, and on those four records, it went missing, which is why there is a veritable gulf separating Maiden’s four worst and 11 best albums.