Black Sabbath were responsible for many things: they were malevolent devil worshippers; they were evil incarnate; they turned generations of morbid teenagers into ghastly vampires; they practised black magic and got quite good at it. Or maybe not. The truth is, the Sabs began in Aston, Birmingham at the tail-end of the 1960s as a band called Polka Tulk (after a local Indian clothing emporium). By early ’69 they had wisely changed their name to Earth. Some commentators say they were originally a blues band; others claim they were a jazz-fusion outfit. What is for sure is that their Zapata-moustachioed six-stringer once played in Jethro Tull for three weeks or so.
How the four band members – singer John Michael Osbourne, guitarist Anthony Frank Iommi, bassist Terence Michael Butler and drummer William Thomas Ward – stumbled on to the unique, doom-laden, bludgeoning sound of Black Sabbath has, in my view, never been satisfactorily explained. Jim Simpson, who ran a Midlands club called Henry’s Blues House and became Sabbath’s manager, once claimed the group were influenced by Kansas City swingers the Count Basie Orchestra.
It seemed as likely a clarification as any. The Sabs were also responsible for introducing me to heavy metal. I remember it vividly. I was visiting my aunt and uncle in Maidstone, Kent and went shopping one late summer’s afternoon in 1971. Gazing into a record-shop window, a rather prosaic purple-and-black-coloured album sleeve with swirly writing on it caught my attention.
I don’t know why, but it seemed to beckon me like the twisted fingers of a wicked witch’s hand. It turned out to be a record called Master Of Reality – and for whatever reason, I knew I had to purchase it. Immediately, instantly and without further delay.
I wasn’t at all familiar with Sabbath’s music; I didn’t even know Master… was the band’s third album. As I handed over my precious shillings-and-pence to the store proprietor, little did I realise that a never-ending spiral down into the murky depths of metaldom had begun. I was just 16 years old. Oh no, please God help me. There was no turning back.
Essential - Classic Albums
Superior - The ones that helped cement their reputation
Good - Albums worth exploring
The best and worst from the rest...
It would be too simplistic to just recommend the Black Sabbath albums with Ozzy Osbourne and Ronnie James Dio singing on them, and advise you to steer well clear of the rest. As far as Ozzy is concerned, Sabbath Bloody Sabbath (73) and Sabotage (75) are admittedly superb but he also made some relative duffers: Technical Ecstasy (76) and Never Say Die! (78). Dio’s reunion with the Sabs produced the decidedly dodgy Dehumanizer album in 92. But Mob Rules (81), from Ronnie’s first stint with the band, is nearly as good as its predecessor, Heaven And Hell.
There’s little evidence of how vocalists such as Ray Gillen, Dave Walker and Rob Halford, even, fared… and let’s be grateful that the preposterous David Donato was never on any official recordings. As a rough guide, the majority of the Sabs’ 90s albums are forgettable – although the 98 live album, Reunion, with Ozzy back in the fold, is quite a nostalgia-fest. Oh, and let’s not forget that Bill Ward sang lead vocals on one track: It’s Alright on Technical Ecstasy. He sounds a bit like Paul McCartney.
Avoid - the runt of the litter
The album we'd like to see released
Black Sabbath - The Ballads
Surprisingly, the Sabs have enjoyed a fair number of mellow moments down the years. Classic Rock’s projected album would feature both versions of the first-ever power ballad, Changes (the original on Vol. 4, plus Ozzy and Kelly’s rendition), together with efforts such as No Stranger To Love (from Seventh Star), Am I Going Insane? (from Sabotage) and Planet Caravan (once covered by Pantera).
Add to the mix the various reflective instrumentals the band have recorded (Orchid, Laguna Sunrise, Fluff et al) and you’ve got an absolute bloody winner.
- The best classic rock vinyl you need to own
