blackdragon123

ESSAY IV - COVER LOVER
OZZY OSBOURNE v JOHN LENNON

‘The Madman and the Dreamer’

How?

Originally recorded in 1971 on John Lennon’s second (proper) studio album Imagine, ‘How?’ is an example of the singer’s capacity to produce seamless melody, clever word-play and bitterly ironic humour. Beginning with the brilliantly existential line;

‘How can I go forward when I don’t know which way I’m facing?
How can I go forward when I don’t know which way to turn?’

‘How?’ poses a series of rhetorical questions, which undermine the complacency of modern life by challenging the basic securities and assumptions about our journey through time, which sits well with his persona of a borderline neurotically moral pop-prophet. I’ve never been overly impressed with what I’ve heard from Lennon’s solo work, and although I can appreciate songs like ‘Imagine’ and ‘Working Class Hero’ for their fine production and effortless fluidity, the politics surrounding his life can be a off-putting side show, and his elevation to the status of demi-god by fans borders on nauseating. Also, not all of his songs have aged well lyrically, and now appear almost childishly naïve in the cynical 21st Century. ‘How?’ however, still sounds strong and fresh, probably because of its ambiguous content and less-than-preachy message to the listener. Lennon’s voice is wavy yet gentle, and it feels as if the former-Beatle is boasting the peak of his vocal control and versatility. The song carries a whispering melody, and even the thudding drum-beats never raise the quiet frustration to desperate outcry. Is this a weakness? Some would argue not, as the singer’s drawing out the last line of the verses is musical confectionary, and there is a fatherly sense of consolation pervading throughout. This considered, there is also room to argue that there is an untapped potential to this song, where a singer with heavier designs and an equally well-loved persona may step in to challenge the champion.

Enter Ozzy Osbourne; Prince of Darkness, heavy metal titan and confessed John Lennon super-fan. The similarities between Osbourne and Lennon are surprisingly many; from their talent for forming melody, to their troubled, drug-addled lives, controversial wives, and (yes, even their sunglasses). Osbourne describes Lennon as his ‘hero’, and that is evident by his tributes in the form of his cover of ‘Working Class Hero’ and ‘In My Life’, along with open homages in songs like ‘Dreamer’ and ‘I Just Want You’ to ‘Imagine’ and ‘All You Need Is Love’ respectively. But in this writer’s humble, Osbourne has offered no greater gift of remembrance to Lennon than of his cover of ‘How?’, which was recorded in 2010 for Amnesty International on the same week that Lennon would have turned seventy.

The difference is notable from the first line, as Osbourne’s signature voice, lacking that refined finesse of Lennon’s, lays down a heavy-hearted wail, which carries double the vocal weight of the original. Suddenly in Osbourne’s hands, the song becomes far less distant and becomes sudden and urgent. The song is interpreted differently as Ozzy sings it, replacing the dry sarcasm of Lennon with his own signature earnestness. The anonymity is replaced by the unmistakeable personal touch of a singer that was twice as old as Lennon at the time of their respective recordings, and carries all the scars and worries that ail any surviving rock ‘n’ roll superstar, giving new meaning to lines like;

‘Life can be long,
And you’ve got to be so strong,’

This is still Osbourne singing delicately, in his warming ballad-style, but his voice has all the feel of boisterous heavy-footedness in comparison with Lennon’s, which allows it to contrast perfectly with the original. He may not be able to carry the whimsical, floating end of the verses with the same dexterity, but his voice has such a unique huskiness in his old age, that it has none less of the charm. No other singer (imo) could have given this song the recognition it deserves better than the former Sabbath-frontman, and in spite of his humility and contentedness to live in the shadow of his hero, Osbourne pretty well challenges Lennon’s supremacy over this understated and fantastic song. This track stands as a noble statement, which observes that, regardless of genres, demographics and displays of image, music is a uniting art-form. I noted before that there are strong similarities between these two controversial singers, and their musical themes are not so different either. Both strived to understand and survive the often cold world we all inhabit, and ‘How?’ allows those similarities to be appreciated in the best way possible.

There have been many people who have covered songs by great artists like Lennon and The Beatles, but too often they have been charmless ways of satisfying their own ego and trying to place their own persona on a pedestal (naming no names…Noel). More commonly, cover versions are nearly always the subject of many fierce debates, which always end in nastiness, without proper appreciation for both versions (except on Music Banter, of course) . Osbourne’s cover of ‘How?’ is different, and side-steps all of the politics by offering a new musical interpretation of a song that applies so strongly to both artists’ lives. Both are to be immortalised for very different reasons, but the lyrics are eerily apt for both men and their roller-coaster journeys through creative life. The music video, showing Osbourne wandering through New York before laying flowers on the ‘Imagine’ memorial is a touching symbol of respect for a man who has been a hero for so many. All politics and rhetoric aside, both of these versions warrant high regard, but if asked to pick a winner, I’d predictably pick Ozzy, simply because of the perfect employment of his grizzled voice to sing a song that, like the ideals of that Liverpool Dreamer, were once so promising and are now aged and worn (but still singing loud to be heard).

FINAL SCORES:

OSBOURNE / * * * *
LENNON / * * * *

We’ve seen a tie here today, ladies and gentleman, and perhaps we should ‘give peace a chance’ and say that both versions are equal. In the spirit of amnesty the judges appear to be allowing this to happen. Both men have been summoned to the centre of the ring, obliged to shake hands, and the crowd is jubilant. Let’s hope we never forget this moment, where comradery was solidified between the Madman and the Dreamer. Thank you, and good night. Good night, sweet ladies, good night.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wq7jLEnZw6s

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=awOcbVoS4yE

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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

Pet_Sounds

I know I'm rather late, but that Supertramp list deserves a comment. I'm quite pleased to see "From Now On" and "Rudy" (two of my favourites), but slightly saddened you didn't include "Fool's Overture". Still, nicely done. I like how you blended both hits and deep cuts. Supertramp needs more love around these parts!

__________________
Everybody's dying just to get the disease

Trollheart

You have checked out my review of the debut this week?

__________________
Trollheart: Signature-free since April 2018

Pet_Sounds

I most certainly have!

__________________
Everybody's dying just to get the disease

blackdragon123

Cheers man! I know 'Fool's Overture' is a fan favourite, but in all honesty it really doesn't do it for me. I feel it tends to waffle and waver without focus Not even Churchill's gin soaked speech can save it! (and that is saying something)

__________________
'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

blackdragon123

ESSAY V - THE FIVE STAR ALBUM CLUB
FIREBALL [1971] -

‘Big and Bold and More Than Twice as Old…’

What makes an album a 5* contender? Well, in this humble Dragon’s opinion, there are certain criteria a record must meet in order to be crowned, knighted, loved and highly-rated. 5* albums are the titans of any music lover’s collection, and even if you completely disagree with someone’s choice of titan-like albums, it remains the most accurate way of judging the bias, trends and preferences of that particular music fan. Some of the albums we own are what all new albums are compared against. They may span genres or generations, but they remain the kind of albums that simply blow your mind and rouse up your soul each time you hear them. They’re the reason you became a music fan in the first place, and they raise the bar just that little bit higher. Whether it’s a record studded with gems, or one that boasts an overall majestic flow, an iconic sound or an innovative, genre-pioneering vibe, everyone has their own reasons for falling in love with a particular album. ‘The Five Star Album Club’ will be my own small dedication to the personal and social world of music fandom. Tight cha’mone!

Deep Purple are a strange band, and one that only reveals its strangeness on closer inspection. Over the course of their long career, the band have produced nineteen studio albums and have boasted a dizzying number of line-ups and styles. From the early rock ‘n’ roll days of Nick Simper and Rod Evans, to the representative hard-rock Mark II, where Ian Gillan and Roger Glover made their mark, to the funk-based Coverdale-Hughes days and beyond, the band seem to have done it all. They have produced some of the most famous and influential rock songs in history, and stand nostalgically as one of the ‘unholy trinity’ of hard-rock groups alongside Sabbath and Zeppelin, but when it comes to albums, Purple have always struggled to achieve consistency. For such an influential unit, they are only remembered (by most fair-weather rock fans) for three albums, recorded between 1970 and 1972. Deep Purple in Rock, Fireball and Machine Head pretty much sum up the ‘golden era’ of the band, and although ...in Rock is an intimidatingly brutal rock behemoth, which kicks off with ‘Speed King’ and doesn’t stop blasting out rough an’ ready riffs, solos and shrieks for forty-five minutes, its lack of texture and mellow intervention is a thorn in its unapologetically heavy side. Machine Head is an album that has been largely propped up by songs like ‘Smoke on the Water’ and ‘Highway Star’ for much of its career, and despite the fun-loving ‘Space Truckin’’ and hypnotic ‘Maybe I’m a Leo’, it’s actually a rather uninspiring affair. Its production has none of the bite of its predecessors, and it never truly delivers on its over-hyped reputation due to (what I would call) filler-tracks and a lack of ideas. So if that’s the cream of this band’s crop…what does that say of the lesser-loved records? Have Deep Purple ever made a near-perfect album?

In my humble, the answer is yes, and that album’s name is Fireball. If there was ever any doubt about the right for Purple to stand up to the other rock gods of the 20th Century, then this album smashed it to pieces in under an hour. By taking the raw muscle-power of ...in Rock, and filtering it through a more progressive/psychedelic mind-set, and throwing in some country-style for good measure, Deep Purple created the pinnacle piece of their musical capabilities.

Purple have always come across as the kind of band that throw a load of ideas into a pan, turn the heat up high and simply wait and see what happens. Gillan’s presence in the band injects a kind of hyper-activity that is impossible to predict, and his blistering vocal style seems to force Ritchie Blackmore and Jon Lord to play around his impossibly energetic singing. This gives many Deep Purple songs the sense of coming apart at the seams, as if part of the fun is trying to keep the band running together while it breaks free of constraints and becomes a whole other animal. This effect gives Purple a very organic, living feel that no other band has been able to replicate. But the act of throwing everything in and seeing where it goes can lead to inconsistent records, something that has plagued Purple for most of their career. Fireball however is an example of how everything was thrown in and fell perfectly into place. The texture, length, tones, lyrics, vocals and musicianship on this album is staggering, inspiring and god-damned beautiful.

The albums kicks off with the thunderous rock-champion of 'Fireball', its presence signified by the starting-up of the studio air-conditioner (too cool), the song appears to pick off where ...in Rock left off, as a battering ram of a riff is accompanied by Gillan’s faster-than-lightning vocals. Though, unlike ...in Rock, Gillan seems to rein and conserve his banshee insanity, which allows the brooding, atmospheric song to blast along with a more structured, melodic style. The champions of 'Fireball' are Ian Paice’s unflinching drum bombardment and Glover’s helicopter bass strumming, which along with a snappy keyboard solo from Jon Lord, and a rousingly bombastic ending, make 'Fireball' sound like the apocalypse in fast-forward. 4/5* for this gem of a song about the bitterness of betrayed love.

We slink next into 'No No No', whose melody may seem to jar at first, but gradually melts into a catchy, raging list of injustices and calls for defiance, which Gillan spits out with a drunken bitterness, and emanates such primal power that its message becomes infectious and unshakably strong. The song comes up for air with wandering guitar-work from Blackmore, allowing a brooding bass-driven interlude to set up the next crushing wave of intensity (exercising the textural diversity that was missing from ...in Rock). Gillan has total control over his voice here, and allows his growl and wail to complement each-other perfectly. The contrast of sounds is executed with such confidence and style that it’s still a wonder how Blackmore can call this album a ‘disaster’. It’s a 4/5* song and it rocks the house every time.

'Demon's Eye' is the slickest, sexiest song Deep Purple ever recorded. From the moment those fuzzy synth-waves guide us in, the groove is already set, and the lick of Blackmore’s guitar almost speaks as it lashes out with fantastic libertine arrogance. Not even Plant and Page could match the sleazy, irreverent and (slightly sinister) vibes put together by the band in this song. Purple take on another colour (pun intended) in this track, and when Lord’s keyboard kicks in with its crisp, tight solo, it feels as if the group are exploring their sound on some wonderful musical liquor, that even manages to make the listener drunk on its fumes. The song struts, as we all have done on the dancefloor after too many tequila shots. To be able to create such a visual scene in a song with such basic lyrics is a golden skill. Just as Gillan announces, this dancing devil of a song remains,

‘Sly, sly,
Like a demon’s eye,’

5/5*

Ian Gillan called 'Anyone's Daughter' a ‘mistake’, and when I heard that Purple had put on a country song, I was inclined to agree. On hearing the track, however, I was both entertained and amazed at how good this song actually is. Had this been a serious attempt to take Purple in a country-direction, I probably would’ve given up on life there and then, but 'Anyone's Daughter' is a great tribute to the band’s boyish sense of humour. There is a real sense of fun on this song, all about Gillan’s trail through a series of unsuccessful love affairs with daughters of various professionals; it doesn’t take itself seriously, and that’s what allows the listener to enjoy it so easily. The melody in the chorus is maddeningly catchy, and although Gillan’s voice struggles with the accent, it feels much like an interlude between the guitar-heavy beasts of the album. Texture is such a vital part of any record, and off the wall-segments in albums like Fireball give them a live-show feel and the sense of being taken on a journey through the different pieces that make up a fantastic record. It may sound like Gillan is making up the lyrics as he goes along (which he probably is), but the effect is an organic and pleasant one; 4/5*

'The Mule' is a strange track that seems to draw in inspiration from acts like: The Beatles, Cream and The Jimi Hendrix Experience to produce a half-heavy, half-mellow psychedelic experiment. There is a real trippy-ness to the sound, and Gillan sounds like he’s doing a pretty worthy impression of Eric Clapton as the song bubbles into a dreamy, ambiguous (and slightly cosmic) mash-up. Paice keeps the song grounded with his steady, military-like percussion, but Blackmore wanders into space, and the song sits in brilliant contrast with the former 'Anyone's Daughter', revealing the dexterity and inventiveness of this band that never quite let its prog-roots go. Gillan's presence is minimal on this track, but its aloofness only makes its resurgence far more impactful and enjoyable. 4/5* for its genuinely cool and confident vibe.

When I first heard the intro to 'Fools' I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Glover and Blackmore tease us in after that wave of mellow streaks on 'The Mule' and Gillan’s distant, echoing vocals promise more of the same (or so you may think). I will go on record and say that Gillan’s bomb-blast introduction into this song is the most violently passionate, brutally raw and unflinching moment in hard rock history. I remember being genuinely taken aback as he thunders in with,

‘I, can see, what’s wrong with me,
It’s in my head,’

There is such a richness, and constrained energy to Gillan’s delivery of his lines that I never cease to get shivers on hearing them. Not even the blood-pumping freight-train of ...in Rock can match the intensity of this song, and Gillan flies in and out of the scene like a heavy-weight boxer; throwing everything he has into the mix before needing a few moments rest, where Blackmore takes over and settles the nerves before they’re shattered once more. This song is a brawl within itself, and there is a beautiful sense of self destruction within its structure and its lyrics. Lines like,

‘Man, is not, my brotherhood,
I am of the dead,’

are not intimidating to read, but when they fly from Gillan’s lips, they carry all the seething hatred that all the death-metal screaming in the world couldn’t match. It’s a 5/5* track, no questions asked.

The album ends with 'No One Came', which takes all the slickness of 'Demon's Eye' and the anger of 'Fools' to create a semi-comprehensible ode to the life of musician in a world full of fakes, posers and greedy music producers. Gillan’s voice can hardly contain itself, and as it has done for the majority of Fireball, reminds us that behind every reined in line, there’s the animal that assaulted the songs of ...in Rock with rabid ferocity, itching to be let out. Blackmore shoots of a majestic solo atop the stylish, bass blasting Glover and Paice, before melting away to allow Lord to take centre stage. This song truly feels like the end to a live set, the only thing missing is Gillan introducing the band to the crowd. 'No One Came' may be a complaint in regard to its lyrics, but it’s a celebration with regards to its music, and signals the closing to an album that has demonstrated the creative and musical peak of a band that would never again create such a sublimely addictive sound. Fireball’s closer is a 4/5* track, and its short reprise feels like a much wanted encore to an album that I just didn’t want to finish.

Fireball is a masterpiece, and although it was followed by the lacklustre Machine Head, it served as a musical fireball; dropped from the sky to glow so brightly for a short while. Its artwork (though dated) captures the balance between heaviness and tranquillity that makes a hard rock album great. If proof was ever needed of Deep Purple's justified place in the rock-worshipping glory days of the 70s, it's this. It stands as a lesson to the young guns from a band that are ‘big and bold, and more than twice as old!’

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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

blackdragon123

ESSAY VI - ALBUM ARTWORKS
HEADLESS CROSS [1989] -

‘In the Graveyard of the Giants’

This essay may get a trifle ambitious, but as with my previous studies on the artworks of Black Sabbath and Paranoid, I wish to offer my individual interpretation on a subjective matter that remains deeply personal to each fan. Much like the paintings of famous artists on a wall, album covers remain constantly on show to us in our bedrooms and music rooms. To consider an artwork unimportant is to lose half of the value of an album, whether we consider it or not, they work on us subconsciously, and offer one small window into a world where the music becomes visual, and its aesthetics are mixed with fantasy and mood to produce something quite brilliant. Some artworks achieve this on a stronger level than others, and it’s not always possible to conclusively explain why, but this essay will attempt to at least partly uncover the mysteries of today’s chosen piece.

Sabbath’s artworks had struggled during the 1980s, but although many recoil from its bold grotesqueness, 1983’s Born Again presented a bizarrely apt image to accompany Ian Gillan’s polarising, yet undeniably unique venture into the Sabs canon. (It may even prove worthy of its own essay in time). Seventh Star and The Eternal Idol offered inexcusably bland artworks, with the latter seeming to be completely disregarded lyrically and holding relevance wholly and only to the title of the album. This essay however, is set to concentrate on one of the most underrated artworks in Sabbath’s history, and one, which holds (in this writer’s humble) a special relevance on the fateful state of affairs in the Sabbath camp, which ultimately led to the downfall of the Tony Martin era and the professional and emotional abandonment by Tony Iommi of that oh-so murky 80s period.

Headless Cross does what every great Sabbath artwork should do – haunts! It wafts out of the picture in an understated and ghoulish fashion, providing an excellent accompaniment to the re-worked, bold, brash and fully loaded musical style (which may not have the same level of maturity and texture of Eternal Idol,) but is refreshing nonetheless. A pitch-black moor-like setting, with a full moon obscured by a sliver of cloud above the tall, broad gravestone, with its eerie purple (or white depending on which version you own) glow, surrounded by a sea of mist. What is that, if not the quintessential Gothic setting? With this image, we are transported back to metal’s roots; born out of simplicity, of subtle horror and the promise of danger. It even takes us back (as on Black Sabbath) to the English countryside, as even the album’s title is drawn from Martin’s Warwickshire hometown of Headless Cross. This was the first Sabbath artwork for years to provide a vivid, darkly beautiful and perfectly atmospheric cover piece to enjoy along with the music. Its rich blackness, supernatural suggestion (teasingly left ambiguous) and the knowledge that beyond this small square image, there is a wealth of demonic, occult and downright weird phenomenon taking place, as is explored in the album’s music.

Our attention is first drawn to the broad, flat face of the cross, with the halo-like ring kneading through the crucifix to create eye-like slits for the moonlight to shine through. This image is intimidating, and it holds the attention of the viewer with a cold, hypnotising deviousness that is not easy to explain. Note that the point of view is of the beholder is placed below the top of the cross, adding to the level of intimidation, with those slit-eyes bearing down upon whoever gazes upon it. This placement of imagery may have more bearing on the artwork’s significance than you think, as closer scrutiny of its perspective may reveal one of two things. One; the viewer (when engulfed in the world of the image) is lying low, crawling or just rising from the grave to which this monument belongs, or that the cross of stone is in fact an enormous monolithic structure. (Note that from a distance, the oddly shaped rock to the left of the cross resembles a thatched-roof house, commonly found in the English countryside. A subtle optical trick to emphasise the size of the cross, perhaps).

To tackle the subject of identity firstly, you may have asked yourself the question of ‘Who does this gravestone belong to?’ No name, no floral tributes or identifying symbols exist to guide your estimations, and the cross exists entirely in a forgotten and forlorn world, and not even fellow gravestones grace its lonely cemetery. It has all the attributes of a medieval folk-tale, where a lone, giant monument to an unnamed corpse is likely to stir up innumerable theories and ghostly prophecies. In this writer’s humble, the total anonymity associated with everything within the cover is a subtle and powerful statement regarding Black Sabbath’s place in the metal universe and its discontentment (especially from Martin) with the long-shadow cast by Sabs’ 70s era. Headless Cross is widely considered by avid Martin-era fans to be its best offering to the Sabbath canon, and appears to be the only album of that period that Iommi recalls with any kind of fondness. This is possibly due to its good sales in the UK, the fact that switching to I.R.S. had allowed Iommi (the de facto leader of the group) a huge increase in creative control. This optimism finds its way into the music, as a plucky new contentedness and relish in the dark bounty of hellish imagery that saturate the record. When all of this is considered, the cross in today’s chosen artwork takes on a new wealth of relevance. Imagine, if you will that the circle surrounding the cross was not there, and what do you see? A tall, broad crucifix; something that you have no doubt seen a hundred times hanging from the neck of Ozzy Osbourne and Tony Iommi in photo-shoots and interviews. These crosses (according to Osbourne) were crafted by his father in the Aston steel factory that brought about the sound and inspiration for a sound that transformed heavy music forever. It is the symbol of Sabbath’s origin and with a keen eye you can see it standing right there in front of you, nineteen years on, and gracing the grave of some poor dead soul.

When this is considered, the boldness of this new album and the promise of resurgence for an ailing band appear to make sense. The melancholy and more self-conscious vibes of Star and Idol are shaken off with a set of songs which, may be more superficial and less fitting with the intellectual side of Sabbath, but are hard-rocking, free-living testaments to the mighty genre. Perhaps this cross represents the burial of old Sabbath, with its mass legacy, influence and generation-defining albums crammed beneath the misted, cursed earth, with this beastly marker placed as a warning and dedication to its past actions. This would no doubt account for the size of the gravestone, and the mass of earth needed to fill the grave, below which, all of the band politics, the Ozzy, Dio, Gillan, Hughes eras and all of the tiresome critic comparisons between new releases and the ‘golden age’ of Sabbath slumber hellishly in the graveyard of the giants.

The attitude here appears to be one of revival; and the circle ring within the arms and head of the crucifix attest to that symbol. That revival and circle of life is betrayed by the impossibly back night behind the grave, offering up a parallel to the dark mystery of Paranoid’s artwork (apt considering the oppressive influence that particular album held over every previous release). Lyrically also, the band strains to break free from its past and start afresh with a Hammer Horror recreation of the events that began the band’s dark journey in 1970. Lines in the much-revered ‘Headless Cross’ such as;

‘Look through the people, and on through the mist,
To the hill of the headless cross,
Where all witches meet, on a night such as this,
And the power of darkness is host,’

We have returned it seems, after all of the line-ups, scandals and failures to a new black mass, and a re-imagining of the witches meeting (as they did in ‘War Pigs’) and on the cover of that debut album to create a new age of evil music and the celebration of the dark side of life. This imagery, when placed in the context of Sabbath’s past is truly exciting, and almost feels as if Iommi, Martin and Co. are repeating the ritual, re-summoning the darkness and re-pledging themselves to that figure in black that has haunted them since their original union was formed. Not since Black Sabbath have the band made such a direct narrative-style connection between the lyrics and the artwork, and (IMO) this does but double the power of this concept and all of its suggestions.

If we continue to analyse the lyrics of ‘Headless Cross’, we come across an omen-like observation regarding the giant structure and its relevance;

‘From the first evil night, when a black flash of light,
Cut the crucifix half to the ground,’

This sentence may force us to re-observe the artwork and note that it is not in fact a headless cross. Only on the reverse of the sleeve can we see evidence of the cross being cut to the misted earth and left to crumble. This line, could either be considered to be Martin’s era asserting its dominance, and casting aside the legacy of its forerunners to place itself atop the current Sabs pedestal, or that it represents the inevitable downfall of Martin’s era, and the destruction of the short-lived ‘new Sabbath’. As we all know, the revival and resurgence gained with Headless Cross was short lived, as the far-less revered TYR dampened the spirits of the fans and the supporters, and Ronnie James Dio was re-introduced, leaving Martin out in the cold, before his two nineties efforts were also forgotten and consigned to failure. One may consider, darkly and coldly that the repeating of the ritual had been rejected by the figure in black, who had awoken, in a ‘black flash of light’, to tear down the Martin-era and re-instate the old guard; bringing back the Prince of Darkness and leading the band out to reclaim the title of heavy metal royalty with 13. This we cannot know for sure…but we can always speculate, that all is not always as it seems on the darker side of life…

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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

blackdragon123

Roll up! Roll up for the Magical Mystery Tour. Step right this way!

Whoa, whoa. Before I do, John Lennon I gotta ask you a couple questions. I gotta ask, what am I payin’ for here? I mean…where we goin’? You got a licence? You got proper documentation ‘cause I don’t wanna spend Aunty Mabel-Marigold’s new lips money on this trip for myself and find out like ten miles down the road that you’ve not actually researched the route and you’re just sat at the front of the bus smilin’ at me…lookin’ like a total a**hat with a Sgt. Pepper green a** army jacket on, singin’ about how many holes there are in Lancashire while the cops rummage through our luggage like “You got drugs, son? You been packin’ old shmogle fun battalions up your Z-hole? You mockin’ me skittle-tits?”

…Don’t forget me sittin’ here…saying “Oh, I’m sorry, aunty. I wasn’t aware that the eight hundred and fifty cent dollars you were gonna use to turn your face into a Picasso rendition of the Battle of Barking Creek has been blown on being driven around the south-west wilderness dispensing drug-laden old fashioned pastries to nineteen-forties refugee children. “Get your pip-skippens while they’re hot children! And while you’re still alive…Hitler’s comin’! Luftwaffe gonna bomb the crap out of your grandfather’s ceremonial donkey-plough mosaic.

What?...I didn’t know John Lennon was a schizophrenic bus-bandit with pockets filled with powdered gold. Who am I? Winston Churchill? Predictor of the downfall of man? F*** this, though…get Mark Chapman up here. Let’s just get through this….Phonies…..I ain’t catchin’ you if you fall…you read my book...you J.D. Syringer meathole…Gotta study that ****…history class or whatever.

Well I had me a pigeon by the name of Fred.

You seriously doing this? First stop on the Mystery Tour and we’re at…Dewey Bunnell’s broken down old farm with this pigeon show. Aunty Marigold’s had enough. She’s takin’ the next gyro to board the HMS Hood. Got a death-wish. What can I say? Aunty knows her maritime warfare. Gonna sink like so much radon based sex lubricant. Glow up, you degenerate consumers. Stay hopeful, kids. We’ll sink the Bismarck. Get those cluster kittens dropped from my Bolton Paul-Defecate and we’ll reach Truro before limping season.

So anyways, Dewey’s gonna give us magic pigeon show, while I sell John Lennon down the river to the local posse. They’re gonna take his skin…turn him into a Peking duck monstrosity. It’s beautiful. We sit in the stands with a big ol’ General Pershing brand massacre hot-dog. Estd. Nineteen seventeen and suddenly Bunnell goes alf-s***. Shoots the god damn pigeon in the face with a thirteen fifty-six Silt & Weapon. “Fred! Fred!” the crowd say. Not me…I paid my fee. I got my ticket. I’m gonna sit here eating delicious wrong-doing by belligerent nations. Feathers landing in my nachos. You think I’m impressed? Bunnell..Why’d you do that s***? Why’d you shoot Fred? That ain’t entertainment. You want entertainment? Try sieging Tobruk you American fennel-head. Screw this. I’m gonna get mustard. Excuse me, Mister Mark Twain I’m aware that you like to view this American culture through your moustache but you can’t be hogging all that mustard. You bought pretzels…d***. Back on the bus people. Next stop. What’s next? Woo, exciting.

Hey now, baby. Get into my big, black car.

Hey, now girl. Don’t you be stupid. We…We ain’t even reached Somerisle yet. That Christopher Lee’s gonna put out a platter for us. Got Scotsman, bread rolls. You want a wicker-back bagel? It’s beautiful. That political man ain’t gonna teach you nothin’. You ain’t gonna be Shadow Secretary. That’s not how Democracy works. We got ballots and far reaching council members. Arms like god damn windscreen wipers. I’m telling you it’s disgusting. Like shaking hands with E.T.’s grandfather. I can’t take it.

You know that car ain’t insured, honey. No fresh, fresh air-freshener in the back seat. No Richard Burton’s eyes for indicators. The most intense left turn of your life. You want to get married to Liz Taylor? Ain’t nobody wants that. That ain’t no way to die, Dickie. Get help…seriously. You think Prime Minister Ginger Baker wants to be friends with you? Want to lean in for a little kiss on the frickle? Man can’t even tell whether he leans left or right. Hung parliament you know what I’m saying? Get Solid Snake on that s***. Get a Metal Gear right up the Kurt Russell in John Carpenter...Christine…that’s right. Best Stephen Queen since Bohemian Kubrick up the Overlook fried chicken with Dick Hallorann and the dried apricots. You want some, Mrs Torrance? This your whole thing? Room two, three seven. That’s where it’s at. That’s where you’re going. Wanna be sick on those freak carpets? Got Roger Waters hiding in a turn-table. Heaven and hell? Yeah I know the difference. One’s got Columbo on repeat….other’s got biscuits in the CD drive. Nothing I can do about it. Speak to Roger. I didn’t vote Conservative. I was like a bull in that ballot box. The church had to close. Kids from the nineties make B-movie babies there. It’s sad. You wanna read my struggle got to Amazon.Reich you Nazified Martin Bormann hypocrites. I don’t want a panzerfaust for my birthday….I want Whitesnake on betamac and cheese.

Look at your game, girl.

Manson’s back. That’s the movie we got going on Lennon’s death coach. Man’s steering with his knees. He’s hit two treaty signings on the way over to Devon. Got to do another Versailles before Kaiser Wilhelm finds out what happens in the sequel. Man thinks Pearl Harbour is a type of vodka your student friends always tell you to drink on the beaches of Sacramento before Charlie comes to turn you into an Aquarius wonder-maid you freaky bleach-headed star bar. The name of the game is bad old writer’s block taking you back to the days of Golden Axe III. You wanna play as Gilius Thunderhead? No wonder your father thinks you’re a failure. Man just wants to play baseball with his little pal and you wanna kick elves for their blue potions and throw your d***-fire at a snake. Kids got no respect. No time for Attenborough’s Blue Planet. He’s teachin’ you about birds. You got a sixteen-bit fantasy nightmare on your Mega Drive. This ain’t Streets of Rage. No eating chicken out of a trash can…Jesus. Didn’t you learn anything at Professor Iron-Brew’s a***-class?

Look at your game. That’s what uncle Charles Manson is telling you kids. Don’t look into his eyes. Man’s got a swastika on his face. It’s nineteen thirty-eight. We got time for lebensraum if the pieces don’t stick.

I wish I was back home again.

You and me both, Rick Davies. We’re home again. Adventure’s over. Or just beginning. Ain’t writer’s block a bitch. Ain’t it just a bitch.

Like driving a race car with no steering wheel. Hit that wall and you got the best of Viscount Marmalade all over yourself…no bread…just head. F*** you John Lennon. I’m calling the cops. Too much opinion here. Not enough driving on the right side of the road. Pit stop for sauercradle? My a***…..I’m getting’ out of here…But I’ll be back…Watch it…got a mouth on this monkey….Get me a missile crisis. Peace out. Sweet prince…beautiful.

__________________
'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