Judas Priest

There were 9,000 people inside Roig Arena last night, and judging by the volume coming off the floor, approximately 8,997 of them had arrived with the sole intention of destroying whatever remained of their vocal cords. Judas Priest were in Valencia.

The leather was out. The denim was out. The horns were up. Somewhere in the building, several decades of accumulated bad decisions were being proudly celebrated. And then the lights went down. At this point, Judas Priest don't need an introduction. They need a warning label.

When Rob Halford appeared, dressed like the human embodiment of every heavy-metal cliché ever invented — except this time the cliché was actually the original — Roig Arena erupted. The opening blast of “You've Got Another Thing Comin'” hit the room with the force of a speeding truck, immediately followed by “Metal Gods” and “Breaking the Law”

Three songs in and Valencia had effectively become a giant, extremely loud support group for people who refuse to grow up. And thank God for that. Earlier, Udo Dirkschneider had kicked proceedings into gear with a 40th-anniversary celebration of Balls To The Wall, delivering the kind of old-school Teutonic metal that makes you want to punch a hole through a wall purely to see if it can be done.

Then came Airbourne, who approached the evening with the subtlety of a brick through a pub window.

The Australians are incapable of doing anything quietly. Why would they? Their entire musical philosophy appears to be based on the principle that guitars should be played as if somebody has just stolen your beer.

By the time Priest arrived, the audience was primed.

But Priest weren't interested in simply replaying the past. Yes, the classics were there — and yes, they remain enormous. “Turbo Lover” turned the arena into one giant eighties flashback, while “Panic Attack” proved that the newer material doesn't sit awkwardly beside the old armoury. It belongs there. Then Halford started singing. Jesus Christ! The man is 75 years old and still possesses a voice that sounds like somebody has installed a jet engine in his throat.

“Victim of Changes” was the serious business. The room changed. The drunken celebration briefly gave way to something approaching awe as Halford navigated those impossible vocal peaks with the authority of someone who has spent half a century making the laws of heavy metal and then refusing to obey any of them. And then came “Painkiller.” This is where things got stupid!

The opening riff detonated across the arena and suddenly 9,000 people were behaving like they'd been handed the keys to a particularly dangerous vehicle. Heads were banging. Fists were flying. Voices were shredded. Somewhere in the upper reaches of Roig Arena, a parent was probably explaining to a teenager why their ears were ringing.

The encore brought “Electric Eye”, followed by “Living After Midnight”, which turned the whole place into one gigantic, sweaty metal karaoke bar. And that's perhaps the great trick of Judas Priest. For more than fifty years, they've managed to make heavy metal feel simultaneously massive and personal. The riffs are enormous, the mythology is ridiculous, the clothes belong in a museum of magnificent excess — yet when thousands of people sing those songs together, it becomes strangely intimate. Last night, all of that history walked into Roig Arena wearing black leather and carrying a Flying V. Judas Priest didn't come to Valencia to celebrate their past. They came to remind everyone that their past is still alive, loud, dangerous and capable of shaking the fucking roof.