IRON MAIDEN - 2 Minutes To Midnight 12" Vinyl Maxi-Single

- French Release from 1984

Birch didn’t just record noise; he organized aggression. By 1972, he was already wrangling the messy brilliance of Deep Purple’s Machine Head, turning Ian Gillan’s banshee wails into something that didn't just clip the tape but lived inside it. In 1980, he pulled off the ultimate renovation, giving Black Sabbath a much-needed shower and a new spine. Heaven and Hell shouldn't have worked, but Martin polished that Birmingham sludge into something operatic and gleaming. It was a pivot that felt like fate, mostly because he refused to let the mid-range get lazy.

Then came the long, obsessive stretch with Iron Maiden from 1981 to 1992. It was a twelve-year marriage to the fader. From the moment Killers (EMC 3357, for those who care) hit the shelves, the sound was physical. He knew how to let Steve Harris’s bass clatter like a machine gun without drowning out the melody—a sonic miracle that still feels fresh. You can almost smell the ozone and the dust on the Marshall stacks when the needle drops on The Number of the Beast. He stayed until Fear of the Dark, then simply walked away. No victory lap, no bloated memoir. He preferred the hum of the desk to the noise of the crowd, leaving us with nothing but the records and a slight sense of abandonment. But then, when you’ve already captured lightning on tape for twenty years, why bother hanging around for the rain?

Bruce Dickinson, Bruce Dickinson is the rare frontman who can sound like a human air-raid siren and still tell a story. Before the arenas, I track him in Samson (1979–1981) , where the voice sharpened into steel. He joined Iron Maiden in 1981 and powered their classic run through 1993, then returned in 1999 and has stayed ever since. Between the big chapters he kept moving: a solo career from 1990 onward, plus the short, sharp Skunkworks detour in 1996. On stage he’s theatrical without slipping into pantomime—commanding, precise, and oddly disciplined for heavy metal. Timeline: Samson ’79–’81; Maiden ’81–’93 and ’99–now; solo from ’90; Skunkworks ’96. And yeah, never boring.

George Marino is one of those behind-the-glass legends who made heavy music feel larger than the room it was playing in. Before the mastering console became his throne, he was a Bronx guitarist doing the NYC band grind in the 1960s with groups like The Chancellors and The New Sounds Ltd. Then he went pro for real: starting at Capitol Studios in New York (1967), and eventually becoming a long-running force at Sterling Sound (from 1973 onward). For a collector like me—living in that sweet spot where 1980s heavy metal, hard rock, and a dash of prog-minded ambition collide—Marino’s credits read like a stack of essential sleeves: Holy Diver (Dio), Tooth and Nail (Dokken), Stay Hard (Raven), Master of Puppets (Metallica), Somewhere in Time (Iron Maiden), Among the Living (Anthrax), Appetite for Destruction (Guns N’ Roses), Slippery When Wet (Bon Jovi), and Blow Up Your Video (AC/DC). That’s the kind of resume that doesn’t just “master” records—it weaponizes them, but with taste. George Marino Wiki