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Arthur Bradford

I didn’t have particularly high expectations for last week's Black Sabbath concert, to be honest. Arena rock shows can be weird and distant, and too often these “final tour” announcements are bullshit. The old band just heads back out on the road a few years later. But I’m a big Sabbath fan, and news of lead guitarist Tony Iomi’s stage-three lymphoma lent sincerity to their “The End” title for this tour, so I took the bait and went to see what was up.

I first saw Black Sabbath in the early ’80s during the short-lived Ronnie James Dio era, and at 12 years old, I was genuinely frightened by the long-haired Satanic druggies roaming the halls. The music was loud and spooky and the crowd seemed to be on the edge of starting a riot. It felt like a live horror movie, strangely compelling.

Later, in my twenties, I caught the full, original lineup of Black Sabbath, with Ozzy Osborne fronting the band and malcontent drummer Bill Ward beating the skins for the last time with this group. That show was in San Antonio, which was notable because the police were finally letting Ozzy back within city limits after he had drunkenly pissed on the Alamo over a decade before. I wasn’t scared at that show, the way I had been as a kid. The music had a gleeful stomp to it, dark and heavy as it was, and I’ve been hooked on their sound ever since. Who, really, does not appreciate the massive opening chords to a song like “Iron Man”?

But now these dudes are all in their sixties, probably spending their days napping by a pool somewhere warm instead of of snorting lines of live ants like they did in the old days. Would the old guys still be able to rock? Would the crowd be full of over-the-hill faux-metal douchebags? Would I simply be one of them? I arrived a little early and scoped out the parking lot for raucous parties. It wasn’t like the old Heavy Metal Parking Lot days, to be sure, but the air was pungent with cannabis smoke and black spiked clothing was abundant. I’m happy to say the douchebag quotient was low—myself excluded—but you can be the judge:

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Arthur Bradford

This RV was rocking hard pre-show:

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Arthur Bradford

Meanwhile, this strangely sketchy limo emitted clouds of sweet leaf smoke. They wouldn’t let me inside:

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Arthur Bradford

I wouldn’t exactly call the event “family-friendly,” but I did notice several groups of parents with their kids, like this wholesome crew:

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Arthur Bradford

Most of the folks I talked to told me they had seen Sabbath play before and saw this as one last chance to pay their respects. There were quite a few Ozzy solo enthusiasts in attendance, too, like this guy:

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Arthur Bradford

I had so much fun checking out all the black-clad metalheads that I completely missed the opening act. Not even sure who they were. Such is life for openers, I’m afraid.

As soon as the gloomy church bells started ringing for the opening of the song “Black Sabbath,” we all ran inside to grab our seats. Luckily, that song takes about five minutes to actually get going, so I didn’t miss much.

Ozzy looked slim and happy out there onstage. Tony and Geezer hardly moved, but none of us really expected them to. The guitars sounded just like they should, deep and awesome. It was Black fuckin’ Sabbath, man!

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Arthur Bradford

While it’s true that Black Sabbath are most associated with doom and darkness, there’s also a lot of joy and mirth in their live performances. Ozzy in particular looked like an impish child up there, prancing about and rarely missing a chance to tell us how much he loved us all. At one point, he banged his face on his microphone, causing his nose to bleed. A stagehand scurried out and stuffed his nostril with gauze. If you look closely at this picture you can see what I’m talking about.

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Arthur Bradford

Shortly into the set, Ozzy said, “We’re not just gonna play the hits, man. We’re gonna make this worthwhile.”

So they played a few deeper cuts from early albums like “Into the Void” and “Behind the Wall of Sleep.”

Later, Ozzy pointed to his nose and said, “Speaking of having a fucking bloody nose, this next song is called ‘Snowblind.’” The band then launched into that cocaine-themed classic. Oh yeah!

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Arthur Bradford

Apparently, there was a keyboard player onstage, but I never noticed him. I did notice the new drummer, a long-haired, bearded dude named Tony Clufetos who used to play with Rob Zombie. He fit in just fine.

About two-thirds of the way through the show, the other band members took a break and left their new drummer onstage for the time-honored rock ‘n’ roll drum solo. Much of the crowd, including me, took this as a chance to get beer, use the bathroom, and further gawk at the heavy metal finery of our fellow fans. Behold!

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Arthur Bradford

Many of the folks I talked to were in bands, which makes sense. If you play any kind of hard rock or metal, you were likely influenced by Sabbath. This dude on the left told me he is in a metal band called Hyperthermia in Vancouver:

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Arthur Bradford

And look, it’s Portland musicians Kathy Foster (the Thermals) and William Slater (Grails)!

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Arthur Bradford

These ladies enjoyed my witty repartee:

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Arthur Bradford

Mingling was fun, but we rushed back inside as the drum solo faded and the opening riff to “Iron Man” filled the hall. Again, who the fuck doesn’t love that song? It was happy bedlam in there as we all sang along. Ozzy appeared to be losing his voice toward the end of the show, but none of us really cared. The final song, fittingly, was “Paranoid.” Its last line kind of hung in the air after the song ended: “I tell you to enjoy life, I wish I could, but it’s too late!”

It’s not too late, Ozzy! You can still enjoy it! As they took their final bow we all cheered and paid our respects to this band that have provided such a soundtrack for our decadent road trips and bong-fueled stoner rap sessions over the years. You’ve done so much for me, Sabbath dudes. I really do love you.

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Arthur Bradford

This guy, Ron, told me he’d seen Sabbath play 17 times. Fuck yeah, man! Fuck yeah...

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Arthur Bradford