Reviewed on Saturday April 23 (photo by Ross Halfin)
It was a fitting Friday the 13th of February, 1970, when first we sighted these four beasts. And we heard a voice in the midst of them, and we looked and beheld: a pale horse. And his name that sat on him was Ozzy Osbourne, the Prince of Fucking Darkness. And Hell followed with him.
As did Rival Sons, a classic rock band in the vein of Mötley Crüe for whom this was clearly the first time playing not just to Australians, but to an arena full of them. While singer Jay Buchanan has impressive vocal chops that, at their best, evoke Robert Plant, it was otherwise hard to tell why this group is so beloved by the likes of Sabbath. Rival Sons showed little originality save for the cutting and pasting of their ’70s influences, and were entirely lacking in presence on the massive stage of the Qudos Bank Arena.
The fact that Ozzy could outshine a frontman half his age from aura alone was clear from the moment he lurched out and lifted his arms to the unholy mass before him. After a hilariously shoddy CGI intro featuring a fire-breathing demon raining chaos on the world, it was Black Sabbath’s turn to rain down chaos on our unworthy ears for the last time.
They announced themselves with the titular track that heralded their arrival 46 years ago, and followed with a set that never once drifted into the Dio years or their later releases. The older crowd got exactly what it came for – every one of Sabbath’s anthems, and Paranoid nearly in entirety.
Our fears for Ozzy’s capabilities were not baseless, but certainly overwrought – yes, this drug-fucked, wizened elder may have been reading from an autocue and moving a tad slowly, but as a video flashback to the band’s glory days proved, little has changed in his stagecraft or the power of his voice. “God bless you all,” he said after every track, grinning like a child, falling to his knees and worshipping us along with the dark lords to whom the band supposedly owes its gifts.
Ozzy should have turned to Tony Iommi, the man to whom he truly owes it all. Truly, we witnessed a god in full flight, a musician whose potency remains at peak. Geezer Butler’s fingers flew across the bass, laying out psychedelic riff after riff, and an inhuman drum solo from 36-year-old Tommy Clufetos showed us that the company Sabbath keep has remained as talented as ever.
The fans seemed sedate for such a momentous occasion, only surging as ‘Children Of The Grave’ thundered among them. It was only during ‘Paranoid’, the last song Black Sabbath would ever perform in this city, that they finally came to life in praise of the artists who brought so much blissful darkness into our lives.
The End was timely, but Black Sabbath leave this earth having laid all before them to waste. May the horns be forever held high.
