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Now that Ozzy’s become something of a beloved father figure—a babbling, black-clad anti-Ward Cleaver embraced by MTV brats and conservative politicos alike—it’s difficult to recall an era when the man was something else entirely: a suicide-in-the-making feeding a coke habit so epic, its maintenance likely presented Pablo Escobar with a genuine supply-side dilemma. Broke, fucked up, and dismissed from his own group following the train wreck that was 1978’s Never Say Die!, he retreated to a dark corner to die. That he was shortly thereafter discovered by, and taken under the wing of, a young Sharon Arden, daughter of former Black Sabbath manager Don Arden, is the stuff of happy endings—and endless TV bedtime stories.
For hardcore Sabbath heads, it’s an important era, as it marked the demise of “the original Black Sabbath” —for most, the only Black Sabbath. Sure, Iommi, Butler, and Ward did their best in the aftermath, bringing aboard Ronnie James Dio, then ex-Deep Purple wailsman Ian Gillan, and, later, onetime Trapeze artist Glenn Hughes . . . but, really, how could they ever replace Ozzy? If anything, his replacements’ presence (or lack thereof) only reaffirmed what we knew all along—Sabbath’s original lineup was one of the greatest rock ’n’ roll groups of all time.
Which is why, a mere two years after receiving the deluxe treatment in the form of a two-disc best-of, Symptom Of The Universe: The Original Black Sabbath (1970-1978), the only Black Sabbath that matters is getting the royal treatment: an eight-CD box set containing all of the original outfit’s albums, from 1970’s self-titled debut to Never Say Die!. Seeing as few groups boasted a sound so utterly original—neither psychedelic nor acid rock, theirs was a dreadful, brutal sludge looming somewhere beyond heavy—and how even fewer have had such a profound and lasting effect—including Zeppelin, who, while they might have invented the metal, never so perfectly personified it—a complete collection is well in order.
The results are mixed. Don’t get us wrong; the box is worth the $100 price of admission. The group’s first four albums—Black Sabbath, Paranoid, Master Of Reality, and Black Sabbath Vol. 4—each gussied up in its own Digipak, are towering landmarks of the genre, and their sound quality has never been better. Still, once Ozzy & Co. began experimenting with acoustic flourishes and synthesizer swirls, beginning with 1973’s Sabbath Bloody Sabbath and continuing with 1975’s Sabotage and 1976’s Technical Ecstasy, they’d lost their essential black magic, and their resultant output was uneven at best. Still, what we have here is a staggering chronicle of a band whose uncompromising vision would continue steering the course of rock some 25 years after its demise. Complete with a 78-page book of liner notes and rare photos, plus a bonus DVD containing classic footage from German TV’s Beat Club, that chronicle stands as a mighty testament to the power of the Sabbath.
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| —Steven Chean |
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