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ESSAY II - ALBUM ARTWORKS
PARANOID [1970] -

'Mad Men in the Woods'

In the first essay, I discussed the power that an artwork can have on the music and the legacy of an album, especially one as revered and influential as Black Sabbath, and although the debut is consistently pushed to second place in the wake of its younger brother Paranoid, its artwork remains a far more dominant, timeless and ultimately representative example of a heavy metal album cover. So, what about Paranoid's artwork? At first glance it may appear unworthy of a fully dedicated analysis. This essay seeks to disprove that and demonstrate that there is far more to this piece than just mad men in the woods.

Paranoid is an album that brought the themes teased at in Black Sabbath thundering into the 20th Century; complimenting the debut by allowing the band’s writing to evolve from magic, fantasy and psychedelic narratives into the modern world, where war-mongers, narcotics and machinery are our devils and plagues. The Modern-Gothic imagery on songs like ‘War Pigs’, ‘Hand of Doom’ and ‘Electric Funeral’ are some of the most harrowing and timeless in heavy music, and Paranoid can be described as a record that swapped subtle terror for searing, apocalyptic visions. Though to many fans who often outright ignore or simply forget about the album’s art, the image supplied is nothing but a dated, cheaply made throwback to the days before album covers became slick and stylishly made. The cover shows us the strange photograph of a man charging out of a darkened forest, wielding a sword and shield and wearing what appears to be a costume devised for live-action role-play. This at first may appear as a step back from the frightening majesty offered by Black Sabbath, and seems almost completely removed from the horrors of the machine age, cosmic pilgrimages and the Vietnam War (which has perhaps been the most powerfully visual war in human history). This lunatic swordsman is no-one’s idea of the grotesque war pigs, and he certainly isn’t the doomed anti-hero from ‘Iron Man’, so who is he? The answer perhaps plays to one of Sabbath’s greatest strengths; ambiguity.

Look closer at the image, specifically to the left and away from the glowing, orange marauder. Is what you see familiar? That forlorn, dead and rotting tree trunk has appeared before. Anyone who seeks to find continuity in the band’s visual aids may argue that it’s the very same tree, which sheltered the figure in black from the debut album’s cover. Its coloration and texture is uncannily similar, and it stands above the same wild and unattended grass. It is the only other solid object in the photograph along with the swordsman, but its inclusion is arguably unnecessary. It upsets the central focus on the work’s primary figure and adds nothing but evidence to suggest this is set in a wooded area. The conclusion can be drawn (not without justification) that these are the same woods from which the figure in black emerged, and the swordsman represents another ungodly agent conjured by its diabolical power. It also seems incredibly apt that the background of the artwork is bathed in a thick, deep blackness, shrouding the trees, and perhaps even the cursed watermill. As Ozzy Osbourne announces in one of ‘War Pigs’’ most powerful lines;

'No more war pigs have the power,
Hand of God has struck the hour,'

Talking of striking the hour is no doubt relating to the popular metaphor used to predict the likelihood of a nuclear apocalypse, and as we all know, the night is darkest at the midnight hour…

But if this picture shows us the ‘lieutenant’ of the figure in black, brought forth into the world as the day darkens and the end-times prophesised in the songs come true, why does the swordsman appear almost comical? Its effects (not without their charm) and its attire have all the look of a character from Doctor Who; a programme famous for using low-grade special effects and costumes combined with ambitious imagination. It may be coincidence or design that Geezer Butler is a confessed mega-fan of the show, and it is notable that his 1997 solo album Black Science was greatly inspired by his affection for 60s science fiction programmes, but apart from being a huge influence on his lyric writing, the comically cosmic appearance of the swordsman may have a more sinister and revealing relevance.

As you may or may not know, Sabbath’s second album was originally to be titled War Pigs, and Osbourne has stated angrily that the title of the album is far too removed its artwork. Superficially he may be correct, but Paranoid may have accidentally been a far more relevant title all along, (if the connections made in this essay are to be granted any kind of gravity). The album’s sleeper hit single ‘Paranoid’ is praised for its wild speed (when played live) catchy, simple lyrics and overall bittersweet attitude. Osbourne sings the song so well because he often makes light of and masks his genuine mental health issues by playing to his moniker of the ‘Crazy Man of Rock ‘n’ Roll’, but on close inspection the lyrics of the song are unsettlingly dark, and the theme of paranoia is one that offers a cornucopia of different ways to represent itself artistically. It is an ambiguous illness, and Sabbath play ever-strongly to ambiguity. But if we are to analyse what buzzwords we associate with paranoia and its numerous variants, we may conclude that paranoia is a compilation of: solitude, isolation, fantasy and fear. Fear is the strongest of these words, and combined with fantasy, the mind can conjure up unlimited amounts of nightmarish scenarios to feed its ailment.

Look again at the face of the swordsman, and consider that the features are blurred (as were those of the figure in black) and the expression is an incalculable mix between rage and fear. There is a deeply self-conscious look to the man’s stance and stare, and one could argue this is someone trapped in a nightmare. Imagine the swordsman to be a victim; exposed, disregarded and even mocked by you the viewer, forcing him to lash out in an uncertain world, where he is too often lost in in a dark and uncertain place. His pitiful battle dress and look of an outsider in a dark forest give the swordsman all the attributes of a self-projection, and a soul corrupted by the influence of that dark figure, that first brought the dark side of life into popular music. This concept is reinforced by the song’s lyrics, as Osbourne sings:

‘I need someone to show me the things in life that I can’t find,
I can’t see the things that make true happiness, I must be blind,’

His confession is truly believable, because when the childish pride taken in his off-stage antics are considered, his psyche is inescapably twisted. Many people rally around Osbourne as a source of great inspiration and even comfort because he makes us laugh about the sadder things in life, and that’s exactly what the swordsman in the Paranoid artwork does too. When one considers the uncertainty of the Cold War era, of fighting post-colonial wars in foreign jungles, with the death of the post-war dream, the space age and the new atomic oblivion that could await us all, it becomes less difficult to feel a strange affinity with the mad and lonely swordsman. Is this a statement, professing that the figure in black has awakened musicians and artists to the inherent evil in human affairs, and that we are no better, no more evolved than this wretched, blurred fool? Isn’t the image of a doomed figure, battling false demons in a world he cannot fully comprehend or understand, and clinging to petty gestures of civilisation and order a surprisingly powerful metaphor for humanity?

If we consider the infectious nature of paranoia, embrace the ambiguous nature of the Paranoid sleeve cover, and listen to the songs with that image in mind, we may find, as we did on Black Sabbath that both albums start with a single explosive statement or image, and allow that to trickle through the entire record. This is the reason why I first described these albums as ‘brothers’, because their continuity, timelessness and intelligent dedication to consistent themes place them above and beyond anything that came after them. Every one of the album’s songs contains evidence of paranoia, of uncertainty and of rage against the invisible enemies in life. None of these invisible enemies are more prominent or iconic, than those mentioned in the record’s opening line:

‘Generals gathered in their masses,
Just like witches at black masses,’

Geezer and the band are making an instant connection to their debut, and reminding us that the ‘witches’ or the witch who instigated the first mass (or Sabbath), has evolved, and become the host of unnamed military puppet masters, who were never more infamous than during that period. Such an observation never ceases to be intimidating, and shatters our illusions of the world around us, making us feel ever more like the mad men in the woods that we too soon ignored on first inspection. In the internet age we are ever more exposed to people who make claims such as those heard in the opening line of ‘War Pigs’. We call them conspiracy theorists, and their theories are often makeshift (much like the battle-dress of the swordsman), their conclusions wild and fantastical; preaching the coming of a New World Order; a faceless, ambiguous, yet consistently frightening cult-like movement with thousands of variants and intents. We view these people from a distance (both physically and psychologically) and may even laugh at their concerns. We may see ourselves in this situation as quite like the apathetic doctor from ‘Fairies Wear Boots’, who said:

‘Son, son, you’ve gone too far,
‘Cause smokin’ and trippin’ is all that you do,’

But perhaps what we simply don’t want to admit is that we all have those fears, and that in our own small or big way, we are all trapped in our own dark forest of the mind, and take more than just enjoyment from the heavy music of albums like Paranoid. The swordsman is just another prophet, sent to warn us of the next coming tyranny, which waits to leap out at us out of the darkness.

This essay scratched the surface of a theme that, thanks to that teasingly clever combination of ambiguity and subtlety, can continue to be discussed at length and bring forth many interpretations. This two-part essay has attempted to unlock the secrets of Sabbath’s first two album covers, and shed some light on the catalysts for the celebration and elaboration of the darker side of life in hard rock and metal. We may conclude with the idea that, Black Sabbath may be (accidentally or intentionally) the band that managed to capture and channel the fear of the masses, and put them to music in such a way that we don’t even realise that they’re speaking for us. I speak of Ozzy Osbourne in particular, as it is revealingly odd that so many people who have no obvious symptoms of mental illness find such a strong connection to him and his unique sense of humour, but as Norman Bates once said;

‘We all go a little mad sometimes…’

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'Well, I'm a common working man,
With a half of bitter, bread and jam,
And if it pleases me, I'll put one on ya man,
When the copper fades away!' - Jethro Tull