By Jon Wilde Last updated at 3:34 PM on 06th June 2008
There aren't that many rock stars you'd trust to fly you to France or Egypt in an airliner.
But Bruce Dickinson isn't your typical rock star.
He might be most renowned as the lead singer of Iron Maiden, a band who have sold over 70 million albums since their inception, but causing heavy-metal mayhem is far from the only string to Dickinson's bow.
'Fully qualified pilot' is just one of the many entries you'll find on the CV of this modern-day Renaissance man.
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The son of an Army mechanic, Dickinson was born in 1958 in Worksop, and brought up in Sheffield.
At 13, he enrolled at Oundle boarding school, from which he was later expelled.
Following a spell in the Territorial Army, he won a place at London's Queen Mary College, where he studied history.
After singing in numerous hard and heavy bands, he joined Iron Maiden in time for the band's third album, 1982's The Number Of The Beast. It went on to achieve huge sales worldwide, and established the band as metal superstars.
For the next ten years, Iron Maiden enjoyed an uninterrupted run of success with platinum-selling albums such as Powerslave and Seventh Son Of A Seventh Son, along with hit singles such as Bring Your Daughter… To The Slaughter.
During this time, Dickinson continued to indulge his passion for fencing, which he'd first taken up at 14.
He competed on the domestic circuit and in internationals, and in 1989 was ranked seventh-best fencer in the UK. At one point he was invited to join the UK Olympic team, but declined the offer because of touring commitments.
In 1993, he quit Iron Maiden to pursue a solo career, with mixed success. An aviation enthusiast from an early age, he then decided to take up flight training.
By the time he rejoined Iron Maiden in 1999, he'd attained a private pilot's licence and was able to fly the band around the world in a Cessna 421 twin-engined aircraft. Soon afterwards, he acquired a commercial pilot's licence, and he is now regularly employed as a captain for Astraeus Airlines, flying passengers to destinations in Europe and the Middle East on Boeing 757s.
Dickinson's CV is further expanded by a successful stint as a novelist. His debut work The Adventures Of Lord Iffy Boatrace was published in 1990.
He currently presents the Bruce Dickinson Rock Show every Friday night on 6 Music, and he also co-wrote the new movie Chemical Wedding. Dickinson continues to record and perform with Iron Maiden.
This summer, their enduring popularity is underlined with a tour of the world's stadiums, which includes a night at Twickenham in July.
This year alone, Iron Maiden will perform to more than 1.5 million people.
Life is an orange that's there to be squeezed.
That's pretty much my philosophy. My dad always told me, 'I don't care what you do. Just aim to be the best at it. Even if it's the world's best window cleaner.' From an early age I knew that my life wasn't a rehearsal, and that if I wanted something I had to get it while I could. Maybe that's why I've experienced so much. I have an insatiable curiosity about the world around us, and I think the best way to find out about something is to try to do it to the max. A lot of people take up a hobby or sport and then find an excuse not to carry on with it. Once I start something, I won't stop until I'm as good at it as I'll ever be.
I've been bonkers about aviation as far back as I can remember.My godfather was in the RAF and used to take me to all the local air shows. One of my first memories is of being at one show and I was so little that all I could see ahead were the hems of people's coats and a vast sea of knees. Then I looked up to see a Vulcan bomber in the sky. It was the most awesome thing I'd ever seen. That was it; I was off building my own Airfix models. Nobody could ever understand why I'd bought three of the same kit. But one wasn't enough for me. I had to have the whole squadron. I don't do things by halves.
If I'd become a pilot at 16 there would have been no Iron Maiden.
In my teenage years I was put off the idea of a career in flying, because I'd convinced myself that you had to be a boffin with degrees in maths and physics, which were my weakest subjects. I only came round to the idea after I left Iron Maiden in the Nineties and my solo career was faltering. Basically, I told myself that I needed to find a job, and I thought, 'I could always train to be a pilot.' Everyone thought I'd gone mad and there was no guarantee that it would work out. But as soon as I started flying, I wholly believed this was something I could do for the rest of my life. Now I get as much of a buzz from flying as I do performing in front of half a million people.
The biggest sacrifice I had to make when becoming a pilot was chopping off my long hair.
When I took the tests for my first licence in America, I still had hair down to my waist. The examiner gave me a seven-hour quizzing session before we went flying. Then I had a three-hour flight-check ride which started off at sunset and finished in the dark. It must have been the most gruelling test on record. It was obvious that he didn't like me because I had long hair. Then I'd look at photos of me with other pilots. They looked like the real deal, whereas I still looked like a rock star pretending to be a pilot. As soon as I got my hair cut, people were much friendlier towards me in general. In the past I'd go to the checkout in a supermarket and they looked as if they were about to call 999. Like, I've got long hair so I must be a shoplifter, right? As soon as I got my hair cut, they called me sir and smiled at me a lot.
The biggest downside to fame is being recognised, but being a pilot gives me the perfect disguise.
The first time I ever flew a 757 was fromBruce Dickinson on stage at Ozzfest with Iron MaidenHeathrow to Munich. I got off at the other end and was waiting for a bus to take me to the terminal. Out of the corner of my eye I see this Iron Maiden fan wandering around. He's got the T-shirt, the scarf, the works. Suddenly, he makes a beeline for me and I'm thinking, 'Right, here we go. Time to put my rock-star hat on.' All he wanted to ask was directions for the bus. He didn't recognise me from Adam. I realised that I could be completely anonymous in my pilot's uniform. Even today, surprisingly few people make the connection. When it's announced over the tannoy, 'Today your pilot has been Bruce Dickinson', hardly anyone stops to wonder if it's the same bloke who sings in Iron Maiden. Which is just as well. The last thing I want when I'm flying is someone pushing an album cover under the door and asking me for an autograph.
'Iron Maiden attended the premiere of Spinal Tap and walked out in disgust, convinced we were the models for the film.'
It's a good story that's often told. But it's completely untrue. What made that movie so funny is that it centred on a rock band who took themselves completely seriously and had no idea how ridiculous they were. Iron Maiden were never like that. We've always had an acute awareness of our own absurdity and we've always been able to laugh at ourselves. Having said that, all the members of Iron Maiden have had their Spinal Tap moments. Like when our bassist Steve Harris got builders to make a replica of the Queen Vic pub in the garden of his mansion. I think it was his way of staying close to his East End roots.
Walk into my house and the first thing you'll see is a life-sized Dalek.
It's one that actually featured on Doctor Who in the early Seventies. I came across it in a second-hand magazine:'Genuine Dalek for sale.' I knew I had to have it, so I went out and bought it that same day. I remember driving home with it and all these people staring at the car and thinking, 'He's got a bloody Dalek in the back.' I've never told anyone how much it cost. If people knew, they'd think I was a very sad individual. But I love it. I'm too tall to be able to get inside it, but my kids used to be able to. My son would walk around in it saying, 'Exterminate all teachers.'
One big lesson I've learned is that you cross Sharon Osbourne at your peril.
I once made some disparaging remarks about reality-TV shows that she took personally. When we played Ozzfest in 2005, she organised a group of people near the stage who pelted us with bottle tops, lighters and eggs. Our revenge was to simply carry on regardless and play the best show of the day. So her plan badly misfired. I haven't changed my views about reality TV either. I think it's a complete disgrace – freak-show television, the lowest of the low.
One thing I'll never understand is why so many rock stars take up golf.
Every other musician I meet claims that golf saved their life. I'm of the Mark Twain school of thought that believes golf is a good walk spoiled. I'm actually thinking of getting an implant to prevent me from taking it up, in the same way that ex-smokers use nicotine patches.
Apart from death and taxes, the one thing that's certain in this life is that I'll never be a fashion icon.
My terrible taste in trousers is a thing of legend. The worst pair I ever wore was on stage in Spain. Someone had stolen my own pair from the dressing room, so we raced around town desperately trying to find something that would look OK on stage. We found a women's-clothing store that had some patent-looking PVC trousers, the kind of thing you'd wear to a cheesy Saturday-night disco. I barely squeezed into them, they were that tight. Then I managed to split them halfway through the gig, leaving my, ahem, equipment hanging out. It's only since I became a pilot that I've started wearing grown-up trousers.
I'm young enough for rock 'n' roll but I'm too old for fencing.
It's been one of my main passions since I was 14. At boarding school my metalwork teacher happened to be an amateur fencing coach, and he started teaching me. I soon realised that I had the determination to be pretty good at it. In competitions I used to be down 9–2 and end up winning 12–11. It was like tapping into a form of controlled road rage. I found it particularly useful when touring with Maiden. I'd set up targets in the dressing room before a show and fence to key myself up. Then I got into my thirties and I started getting injuries. I had to accept that, physically, I wasn't up to fencing competitively any more. It's something I really miss. If I had the time and the opportunity I would teach it. But I've got enough going on in my life. There's no room for anything new.
If you really want to annoy me, ask me when I'm going to retire from rock 'n' roll.
I get asked that quite often. As though, because I'm turning 50 this year, I'm ready to stop performing and get the pipe and slippers ready. Why would I want to quit when Iron Maiden are more popular than ever? We're selling twice as many tickets for shows now than at any point in our career. The reason we can keep going is that we've never lost that youthful enthusiasm that kicked us off in the first place, and it's never felt like a job to us. We've all got families and grown-up responsibilities, but Maiden allows us the freedom to run around like lunatics and entertain people with our music. How lucky is that?
Iron Maiden play Twickenham Stadium on July 5. The film 'Chemical Wedding' and the album 'Somewhere Back In Time: The Best Of 1980–1989' are out now
SOURCE
But Bruce Dickinson isn't your typical rock star.
He might be most renowned as the lead singer of Iron Maiden, a band who have sold over 70 million albums since their inception, but causing heavy-metal mayhem is far from the only string to Dickinson's bow.
'Fully qualified pilot' is just one of the many entries you'll find on the CV of this modern-day Renaissance man.
From rocker to pilot: Bruce Dickinson flies in Cannes, France
At 13, he enrolled at Oundle boarding school, from which he was later expelled.
Following a spell in the Territorial Army, he won a place at London's Queen Mary College, where he studied history.
After singing in numerous hard and heavy bands, he joined Iron Maiden in time for the band's third album, 1982's The Number Of The Beast. It went on to achieve huge sales worldwide, and established the band as metal superstars.
For the next ten years, Iron Maiden enjoyed an uninterrupted run of success with platinum-selling albums such as Powerslave and Seventh Son Of A Seventh Son, along with hit singles such as Bring Your Daughter… To The Slaughter.
During this time, Dickinson continued to indulge his passion for fencing, which he'd first taken up at 14.
He competed on the domestic circuit and in internationals, and in 1989 was ranked seventh-best fencer in the UK. At one point he was invited to join the UK Olympic team, but declined the offer because of touring commitments.
In 1993, he quit Iron Maiden to pursue a solo career, with mixed success. An aviation enthusiast from an early age, he then decided to take up flight training.
By the time he rejoined Iron Maiden in 1999, he'd attained a private pilot's licence and was able to fly the band around the world in a Cessna 421 twin-engined aircraft. Soon afterwards, he acquired a commercial pilot's licence, and he is now regularly employed as a captain for Astraeus Airlines, flying passengers to destinations in Europe and the Middle East on Boeing 757s.
Dickinson's CV is further expanded by a successful stint as a novelist. His debut work The Adventures Of Lord Iffy Boatrace was published in 1990.
He currently presents the Bruce Dickinson Rock Show every Friday night on 6 Music, and he also co-wrote the new movie Chemical Wedding. Dickinson continues to record and perform with Iron Maiden.
This summer, their enduring popularity is underlined with a tour of the world's stadiums, which includes a night at Twickenham in July.
This year alone, Iron Maiden will perform to more than 1.5 million people.
Bruce Dickinson on stage at Ozzfest with Iron Maiden
That's pretty much my philosophy. My dad always told me, 'I don't care what you do. Just aim to be the best at it. Even if it's the world's best window cleaner.' From an early age I knew that my life wasn't a rehearsal, and that if I wanted something I had to get it while I could. Maybe that's why I've experienced so much. I have an insatiable curiosity about the world around us, and I think the best way to find out about something is to try to do it to the max. A lot of people take up a hobby or sport and then find an excuse not to carry on with it. Once I start something, I won't stop until I'm as good at it as I'll ever be.
I've been bonkers about aviation as far back as I can remember.My godfather was in the RAF and used to take me to all the local air shows. One of my first memories is of being at one show and I was so little that all I could see ahead were the hems of people's coats and a vast sea of knees. Then I looked up to see a Vulcan bomber in the sky. It was the most awesome thing I'd ever seen. That was it; I was off building my own Airfix models. Nobody could ever understand why I'd bought three of the same kit. But one wasn't enough for me. I had to have the whole squadron. I don't do things by halves.
If I'd become a pilot at 16 there would have been no Iron Maiden.
In my teenage years I was put off the idea of a career in flying, because I'd convinced myself that you had to be a boffin with degrees in maths and physics, which were my weakest subjects. I only came round to the idea after I left Iron Maiden in the Nineties and my solo career was faltering. Basically, I told myself that I needed to find a job, and I thought, 'I could always train to be a pilot.' Everyone thought I'd gone mad and there was no guarantee that it would work out. But as soon as I started flying, I wholly believed this was something I could do for the rest of my life. Now I get as much of a buzz from flying as I do performing in front of half a million people.
The biggest sacrifice I had to make when becoming a pilot was chopping off my long hair.
When I took the tests for my first licence in America, I still had hair down to my waist. The examiner gave me a seven-hour quizzing session before we went flying. Then I had a three-hour flight-check ride which started off at sunset and finished in the dark. It must have been the most gruelling test on record. It was obvious that he didn't like me because I had long hair. Then I'd look at photos of me with other pilots. They looked like the real deal, whereas I still looked like a rock star pretending to be a pilot. As soon as I got my hair cut, people were much friendlier towards me in general. In the past I'd go to the checkout in a supermarket and they looked as if they were about to call 999. Like, I've got long hair so I must be a shoplifter, right? As soon as I got my hair cut, they called me sir and smiled at me a lot.
The biggest downside to fame is being recognised, but being a pilot gives me the perfect disguise.
The first time I ever flew a 757 was fromBruce Dickinson on stage at Ozzfest with Iron MaidenHeathrow to Munich. I got off at the other end and was waiting for a bus to take me to the terminal. Out of the corner of my eye I see this Iron Maiden fan wandering around. He's got the T-shirt, the scarf, the works. Suddenly, he makes a beeline for me and I'm thinking, 'Right, here we go. Time to put my rock-star hat on.' All he wanted to ask was directions for the bus. He didn't recognise me from Adam. I realised that I could be completely anonymous in my pilot's uniform. Even today, surprisingly few people make the connection. When it's announced over the tannoy, 'Today your pilot has been Bruce Dickinson', hardly anyone stops to wonder if it's the same bloke who sings in Iron Maiden. Which is just as well. The last thing I want when I'm flying is someone pushing an album cover under the door and asking me for an autograph.
Bruce Dickinson with a vintage biplane at White Waltham airfield in Berkshire
'Iron Maiden attended the premiere of Spinal Tap and walked out in disgust, convinced we were the models for the film.'
It's a good story that's often told. But it's completely untrue. What made that movie so funny is that it centred on a rock band who took themselves completely seriously and had no idea how ridiculous they were. Iron Maiden were never like that. We've always had an acute awareness of our own absurdity and we've always been able to laugh at ourselves. Having said that, all the members of Iron Maiden have had their Spinal Tap moments. Like when our bassist Steve Harris got builders to make a replica of the Queen Vic pub in the garden of his mansion. I think it was his way of staying close to his East End roots.
Walk into my house and the first thing you'll see is a life-sized Dalek.
It's one that actually featured on Doctor Who in the early Seventies. I came across it in a second-hand magazine:'Genuine Dalek for sale.' I knew I had to have it, so I went out and bought it that same day. I remember driving home with it and all these people staring at the car and thinking, 'He's got a bloody Dalek in the back.' I've never told anyone how much it cost. If people knew, they'd think I was a very sad individual. But I love it. I'm too tall to be able to get inside it, but my kids used to be able to. My son would walk around in it saying, 'Exterminate all teachers.'
One big lesson I've learned is that you cross Sharon Osbourne at your peril.
I once made some disparaging remarks about reality-TV shows that she took personally. When we played Ozzfest in 2005, she organised a group of people near the stage who pelted us with bottle tops, lighters and eggs. Our revenge was to simply carry on regardless and play the best show of the day. So her plan badly misfired. I haven't changed my views about reality TV either. I think it's a complete disgrace – freak-show television, the lowest of the low.
One thing I'll never understand is why so many rock stars take up golf.
Every other musician I meet claims that golf saved their life. I'm of the Mark Twain school of thought that believes golf is a good walk spoiled. I'm actually thinking of getting an implant to prevent me from taking it up, in the same way that ex-smokers use nicotine patches.
Apart from death and taxes, the one thing that's certain in this life is that I'll never be a fashion icon.
My terrible taste in trousers is a thing of legend. The worst pair I ever wore was on stage in Spain. Someone had stolen my own pair from the dressing room, so we raced around town desperately trying to find something that would look OK on stage. We found a women's-clothing store that had some patent-looking PVC trousers, the kind of thing you'd wear to a cheesy Saturday-night disco. I barely squeezed into them, they were that tight. Then I managed to split them halfway through the gig, leaving my, ahem, equipment hanging out. It's only since I became a pilot that I've started wearing grown-up trousers.
It's been one of my main passions since I was 14. At boarding school my metalwork teacher happened to be an amateur fencing coach, and he started teaching me. I soon realised that I had the determination to be pretty good at it. In competitions I used to be down 9–2 and end up winning 12–11. It was like tapping into a form of controlled road rage. I found it particularly useful when touring with Maiden. I'd set up targets in the dressing room before a show and fence to key myself up. Then I got into my thirties and I started getting injuries. I had to accept that, physically, I wasn't up to fencing competitively any more. It's something I really miss. If I had the time and the opportunity I would teach it. But I've got enough going on in my life. There's no room for anything new.
If you really want to annoy me, ask me when I'm going to retire from rock 'n' roll.
I get asked that quite often. As though, because I'm turning 50 this year, I'm ready to stop performing and get the pipe and slippers ready. Why would I want to quit when Iron Maiden are more popular than ever? We're selling twice as many tickets for shows now than at any point in our career. The reason we can keep going is that we've never lost that youthful enthusiasm that kicked us off in the first place, and it's never felt like a job to us. We've all got families and grown-up responsibilities, but Maiden allows us the freedom to run around like lunatics and entertain people with our music. How lucky is that?
Iron Maiden play Twickenham Stadium on July 5. The film 'Chemical Wedding' and the album 'Somewhere Back In Time: The Best Of 1980–1989' are out now
SOURCE
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