In the Belly of the Blackdragon
 

Greetings all,

I made a rookie error with my first attempt at a journal, and even though I'm glad I completed my list of 'The 26 Best Sabbath Tracks', its title was poorly thought through and I was left with the question of 'Now what?'.

I aim to redeem myself with my second attempt, and (if approved) I hope it will allow me to offer a decent contribution to the high standards of MB journal writing.

In the Belly of the Blackdragon will invite readers into a varied world of essays, lists, debates and personal entries from all the corners of my musical tastes, (which I like to think is ever-evolving). I feel that with a new title, and a fresh, diverse set of ideas I can offer a more rewarding reading experience.

I aim to cover albums, artworks, musical experiences, band history, detailed lists and perhaps some creative efforts to satisfy readers and make the most of this opportunity.

Nice one! Peace.

P.S. - As a taster, I posted a mini essay in the Rock & Metal forum of the site, analysing a Black Sabbath artwork. I have written a follow up concerning the artwork of Paranoid and will post that, along with the original, before moving on to other aspects of music in the future.

Good luck! I'm looking forward to the essay about the artwork for "Paranoid". If I recall correctly, it has guys in bright spandex jumping around with swords... should be fun!

ESSAY I - ALBUM ARTWORKS
BLACK SABBATH [1970] -

'Unseen Violence'

The cover art for Black Sabbath is the most timelessly powerful and harrowingly iconic album cover in the history of rock and metal. Even on first glance, without proper inspection, the beholder is shown a completely saturated image of darkness, mystery and the promise of an other-worldly experience. What we see is purely Gothic horror story; captured and framed to forever terrify and intrigue those who stumble across the band’s debut album.

Black Sabbath's cover gives us the image of an androgynous figure in a black cloak, standing upon the dead autumn ground surrounding an old watermill. Many have erroneously claimed that the figure is a drawing of Ozzy Osbourne, but that claim is illogical, as Osbourne did not don clothes of that fashion until late into his solo career (a point to which I will return soon), and so the identity of the figure within the context of the picture remains an absolute mystery. An idea that the figure is an unwelcome omen is reinforced by its juxtaposition with the image behind it. The watermill, a symbol of old, rural and agricultural virtue should permeate a hard-working, clean-living Protestant ambience, but that is not the case in this picture. The figure, with its features teasingly kept just out of focus, and its full form hidden by its tightly wrapped cloak could be seen to be smiling as it stands among the ruins of nature and man. Everything about the artwork appears dead, from the bare, scarred trees, to the still mill and its unkempt surroundings. You may be justified in thinking that the mill is abandoned. Where are its workers and inhabitants? Is that black rectangle doorway a signal that the door has been broken down and the figure’s dark will has been forced upon whoever lay behind it? Every one of these questions remains unanswered, there is no context to the piece when it is viewed on its own, but therein lies only a fragment of its power. We may consider that the figure is the bringer of the barren world you see before you. It sits completely central within the picture, and its black hole eyes are an intimidating betrayal of its hidden intent.

But what is this power? If you were inclined to read the poem included in the album sleeve, penned by an anonymous writer, you may have read the following words;

‘Still falls the rain,
The veils of darkness shroud the blackened trees,
Which, contorted by some unseen violence,
Shed their tired leaves’

The poem itself may be a sub-Alastair Crowley veined imitation, but it offers the line ‘unseen violence’, which captures exactly what makes the Black Sabbath cover art so frightening. Unlike the majority of heavy metal album covers, Black Sabbath visual companion is completely understated and offers only the aftermath of an event that the beholder can only guess at. This ambiguity is furthered by the elimination of time. When is this piece set? The witch-like spectre in the pre-industrial countryside suggest a medieval setting, and all of the demonic connotations that accompany that suggestion seem apt, but in reality the picture could be set in any time. One may read into this image a far more modern and frightening meaning, as you may observe the unnatural coloration of the surroundings. Odd purples, blues and greens stick onto the bark and leaves of the tree, and the walls of the mill. The trees in the background are an impossible red, and the obscurity of the water behind the reeds gives it a sickly, rancid texture. Is this figure the bringer or prophet of the nuclear apocalypse, a fear that would have been alive and well in seventies Britain? The lack of animal and vegetable life and the angry, scarred landscape may suggest so, but even so, the picture remains tortuously ambiguous, until it is paired with the album’s music.

Never before has an album’s sound complimented its artwork so effectively as on Black Sabbath, and the distant, tolling bells and thunderous rain bring the images in the picture to life, echoing that understated feeling of terror and unease. Upon placing the album down and concentrating on the music, the listener may be forgiven for assuming that the image will hold no further bearing on proceedings, and that it was only made to mildly frighten you. That assumption is smashed with such bold simplicity by the opening lines of ‘Black Sabbath’ that you may even feel chills running down your spine. Ozzy Osbourne asks desperately with his signature howling voice;

‘What is this that stands before me?
Figure in black which points at me,’

What is that if not a direct reference to what you are seeing before you, right there on the album cover? You may have even asked a similar question yourself, and now that artwork gains a new dimension. It’s almost as if Osbourne and the band are breaking the fourth wall and talking for you. This innovative feature is often overlooked, and only when one takes the time to consider it can its amazing effect truly be recognised. I’ve yet to see (or hear) this technique used in music in the same fantastic way. It amplifies the fear to a primal level, and although as the album continues, its effect is less prominent, its initial shocking declaration remains as a reverberation throughout. It becomes associated in some way with each of the album’s tracks, and all of their various Gothic themes; ranging from political corruption, magic, treachery and devilry seem to emanate from the mysterious figure.

How many times have you read or heard a statement professing that Black Sabbath were the pioneers and creators of the heavy metal genre? How many interviews have you seen with modern metal stars, who claim that the innumerable styles, trends, sounds and vibes of heavy metal were born from that tolling bell, from that opening line and from that disturbing artwork? Black Sabbath is generally considered (although not by all) to be the first heavy metal album, and its legacy remains constantly evolving to this day. What this piece proposes (as disturbing as it may seem) is that the figure in the artwork; the ‘big black shape with eyes of fire, telling people their desire’ was actually the founder of the genre, and that Black Sabbath were merely the prophets of its message. Geezer Butler has revealed in the past that the inspiration for the song ‘Black Sabbath’ came from his own paranormal experience, where a black shape entered his bedroom and stole a book of black magic from the foot of his bed. That experience no doubt led to the creation of the shadowy figure, and coupled with the lyrics, gave birth to the metal genre. Interestingly, throughout most of the seventies, Black Sabbath and bands like it were treated with disdain by the establishment and music critics, despite their popularity with music fans. Sabbath and the bands inspired by them sang about the darker side of life, and did not shy away from bluntly discussing the perils of war, religious evils, politics and mass conformity. Even today, long after the Cold War era and into the post 9/11 decades, they still warn of a forthcoming disaster and untold injustices against man and his descendants. All of this ruin, Armageddon and fear stems directly from that image that appeared in record stores back in 1970 and it seems that the legacy of the shadowy invader remains as strong as ever. Its message is vague in detail but undeniably clear. It foretells the downfall of man and the ushering in of a demonic reign. Religious fanatics and concerned parents should not have blamed Sabbath for their diabolic songs; they should’ve turned their attention to the figure, which (nameless as it may be) has taken on an almost deified personality in heavy music.

The band have revealed (if bashfully) in past interviews, a flirtation with occultist activities, usually at the request of their contingent, or as a way to seduce impressionable girls. Superstition has never fully removed itself from their psyche, as that first encounter between Geezer and his alleged spirit thief pervades everything he wrote about since it confronted him. Osbourne and Tony Iommi are rarely seen without their large steel crosses around their necks, despite their constant association with Satanism and the occult. Clips can be seen of Osbourne praying before gigs and talking openly about his Christian faith (albeit a vague and non-offensive confession). Perhaps most interestingly of all, the most common image of Osbourne in the 21st Century is of his long, black hair, dark sunglasses and billowing, black cloak. This attire is one that many incorrectly assume has been his style since the early days of Black Sabbath. In fact, his adoption of such clothing is a relatively new trend and is one that bizarrely imitates the look of the figure from the Black Sabbath artwork. On a superficial glance, this may not seem so strange, but when one considers Osbourne’s past taste for bright, white clothing and brighter coloured hair, paying consistent homage to an artwork character from over thirty years ago seems incredibly strange. When coupled with his stooped posture, this donning of the figure’s clothes that so frightened the singer in the band’s debut song appears to be inspired by intimidation or fear of that old ghost among the reeds. One may even read into this connection that the Prince of Darkness (one of the four godfathers of heavy metal) has a continuing relationship with the figure, and that the reprise of the rain and bells featured at the end of the 13 album serve as a ritualistic tribute to that frightening witch that still haunts the minds of music lovers the world over.

This short essay may have passed from the realms of mere speculation into fantasy, and the origins of the spectre in the real world probably have more logical (and hallucinogenic-related explanations) but the connections remain eerie, and deepen the dark wonder surrounding a rock band that seem to work hard at masking their depth of feeling outside of their music. Whether or not you believe that Black Sabbath brought forth heavy metal or not, you cannot deny that a certain frightening figure standing upon the bank in the Oxfordshire countryside has had a monumental impact on the world of rock and metal, and will continue to do so as long as the genre exists and the youth of generations continue to listen to Black Sabbath. Its appearance in any bedroom or in any clearing, or on the shelves of any record store is an omen of heavy sounds; angry, weird and wonderful. Let us not forget, as Osbourne observed:

‘Is it the end, my friend?
Satan’s come around the bend,’

Glad you took the plunge. I was seriously floored by your Black Sabbath cover essay, which I see you've transferred in here, good idea. As Oriphiel says though, I'm not sure what you can do with an out-of-focus warrior on "Paranoid", but it'll certainly be interesting!

Welcome! :)

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…’

Good post, extra points for psycho reference.

Appreciate all your support, man, and to everyone who takes the time to read it. Big thanks!

Fantastic work! I admit that I initially thought the cover of Paranoid was just a cheap way to depict someone seeing threats everywhere (i.e. swordsmen jumping out from behind trees). But you've made some great points, especially when you pointed out that the observer could very well be the swordsman lashing out. Definitely made me think twice. I can't wait to see which albums you look at next!

ESSAY III - L,I,S,T. I,T.
THE 14 BEST SUPERTRAMP TRACKS

For this piece, I will be borrowing the medium employed in my short-lived '26 Best Sabbath Tracks' to pay tribute to a band that probably sits as my second favourite of all time. Supertramp are a band I discovered in my mid-teens after watching an advert for their Retrospectacle compilation album. At the time, I was living only for heavy (ish music) and my meagre CD collection was fast collecting bands like Ozzy, Rainbow, Whitesnake and Cream. Tunes like 'Dreamer', 'Breakfast in America' and 'The Logical Song' seemed a million miles away from my tastes, but somehow, this quirky, piano heavy band with their weird moniker managed to draw me in. Since then I've had the thought that 'Capitalism may have its flaws...but if it wasn't for TV advertising, I'd never be listening to Supertramp.' (Not even Stalin could resist those melodies).

I've always felt that Supertramp were an overlooked and underrated outfit, that their place in the ever-nostalgically catalogued music of the 70s and 80s was unjustifiably uncertain. So in my own small way, I'd like to thank Rick, Roger and the lads for providing us with so much fantabulous music, and I invite you to join me as I visit the 14 best (in my humble) greatest Supertramp songs ever!

In the words of Commando's John Matrix, 'Come on, Bennett. Let's party!'

(please note that the songs are not listed in any particular order...it's just not that kind of list. Y'dig?)


1. School from Crime of the Century [1974]

You may have even raised a smile or given a chuckle, as you turned over a record with such a bold and ominous title, with the understated themes of imprisonment and yearning on the artwork and found that the opening song was simply titled 'School'. There have been countless songs about being an awkward kid, trying to survive in the cold world of school, where all of the injustices, rhetoric and hypocrisy of the adult world first becomes clear. But 'School' sounds (to me) like the one that spawned all the others. It is an absolutely timeless piece of music, that employs clever wording, deceptively muscular vocals and fluid musicianship in a way that makes it sound like it was written solely about your school-time experience (even if you loved or hated it). That is the essence of Supertramp's power; they are able to conjure such powerful images without pretence or cheap effects.
We are led into a musical lecture of fatherly advice by that haunting harmonica, and all of the raw emotions and grudges held against such unbending institutions are laid bare in just a few lines of ingenious lyrics. Perhaps unfairly, the pedestrian ‘Another Brick in the Wall (Part 2)’ remains the quintessential anti-school anthem, but in this writer’s humble, it pales compared to the nostalgic majesty of ‘School’, and the line that reads:

‘After school is over, you’re playing in the park,
Don’t be out too late; don’t let it get too dark,
They tell you not to hang around and learn what life’s about,
And grow up just like them, won’t let you work it out,’

remains one of the most cuttingly apt observations in rock history.


2. From Now On from Even in the Quietest Moments... [1977]

A cinematic, springy, defiant piano riff begins this song, and although it may not seem the most obvious choice for an entry, the way that ‘From Now On’ begins with such delicate melancholy, slowly building to that anthem-chant of an outro is achieved with such sly subtlety that on first listen that you even be taken aback. The song has deep sadness to it, which is constantly offset by the bittersweet saxophone segments and plucky piano accompaniment. It tells the wavering story of a man contemplating his mediocre place in the world, as he laments that his lifestyle and career may never emerge from being comfortably mundane. Supertramp have a way of making sad lyrics sound happy, but there is a true tiredness to Davies’ singing, and the track carries the weight of depression that all people suffer at some point in their lives. What makes this song so incredibly moving is that it is played in two parts, and the first, lonely verses lead us with slowly growing intensity to that pragmatic confession of,

‘Guess I’ll always have to be,
Living in a fantasy,
That’s the way it’s got to be,
From now on,’

What stops this song from being a self-pitying drag is that inclusion of the choir of singers answering Davies’ lines. Their sudden bursting presence gives a huge buoyancy to the ending of the track, and reminds the singer and all of us that we’re not alone with our troubles, and that there’s a world beyond personal gain. It’s a brave and touching song, which probably best shows the intelligence and heart of this great band.


3. Shadow Song from Supertramp [1970]

Tramp’s debut is one that those who don’t like call ‘self-indulgent and overly instrumental’ and it’s one that those who do like call ‘prog’. The dark ambience, mood and naïve passion of this album is something to be admired, and the finest example of that is featured on ‘Shadow Song’. I fell in love with this track as soon as the line,

‘Did your shadow ever speak to you?’

was uttered. There is a murky, psychedelic atmosphere to this song that is beautifully infectious. Its lyrics are a rambling bout of confessions and insinuations about mysterious influences in the lives of its listeners. The vocals border on sinister, and produce a calming, yet wary reaction that is joyfully inconclusive. Davies may not have been at the peak of his singing ability, but ‘Shadow Song’ thrives on its lack of bombast and slickness. It can be interpreted by anyone to mean anything, but its meaning will always be draped by a suggestively mischievous singer plucking at your sub-conscious and drawing out all kinds of weird thoughts and memories. This track is maddeningly addictive, and it is a shame that it remains as part of a wrongfully ignored record. The heavy, druggy vibes dished out by this track compliment the band’s ability to synthesise nostalgia from thin air. It is deeply personal, whilst being tauntingly vague, and I will always savour swigging beers and remembering the golden years of student years with this beautiful track as my shadow.


4. Just Another Nervous Wreck from Breakfast in America [1979]

Supertramp’s most iconic record plays as more of a greatest hits compilation than a studio album, and probably stands as the most accurately representative of the scope and scale of the band’s range, from the pop-saturated ‘Breakfast in America’ to the longingly meek ‘Lord Is It Mine’ and the indifferently bitter ‘Casual Conversations’. A true standout of their end-of-the-decade album however is ‘Just Another Nervous Wreck’, which is like no other Tramp song in their canon. If the band ever had a fighting song, it’s this one.
The electric energy of ‘Nervous Wreck’ is where its power comes from. There is a sugar-rich ferocity to the delivery of the lyrics and it’s impossible to sit still whilst listening to it. The truly angry tale of a life that’s been broken apart by misfortune and lost love is one that doesn’t force itself upon you with profanity or open rage, it’s provided through the signature building of sound and ensemble throughout its duration, and lashes out with barely constrained frustration and regret. The verses are so visually strong, and the raw humanity, oozing from a band that never appears to lose its cool is alarmingly powerful, and the courageous war cry of,

‘Don’t, give a damn,
Fight, while you can,’

Never ceases to be inspire and intimidate. Any old fool could’ve written those lyrics, their content is almost irrelevant, the lashing tongue and thundering piano riff is so urgent and genuine that it becomes musical Shakespeare. It stands as an anthem for both young and old, and captures the self-hatred and outward resentment of being an angry young man in a way that so many bands, (who make a career from these kinds of songs) will never manage to achieve.


5. Crime of the Century from Crime of the Century [1974]

Oppression and tyranny is a theme that runs with seething consistency through the band’s break-away album, and all comes to a shattering conclusion with the song’s title track. The band cleverly employs a sententious phrase, used often by newspapers to describe some new scandal or abuse of justice (probably about a hundred times a century). The phrase, its meaning now lost on a generation of desensitised media consumers, becomes used to describe all of the misdeeds of men, summed up in a few choice lines that are delivered with venom and omniscience by Tramp’s cosmic master of ceremonies. As the album comes to a close, we are invited into that dark expanse of space and eternity shown on the cover art, where all the crimes of history are put on trial. The lasting impact of this track comes from its hypnotic, daunting piano riff, which drives home the minimalist observations with seismic force. The effect produced here by this song’s sense of scale is sublime, and acts as a soundtrack to the dark deeds of mankind. It signals our doom, with its sharp and concise repeating of that simple yet powerful riff. It feels as if the entire album were leading to this one pinnacle, where all the evil institutions, sinners, fools and madmen in the world finally collapse under their own weight and ‘Crime of the Century’ acts as accompaniment to their judgement and damnation. It is one the most powerful finishers to an album ever made, and never fails in leaving a lasting effect on the listener. Its drive is so unrelenting, and its ambiguity so revealing of the beholder’s own nature, that it simply refuses to be ignored. This is Supertramp at their most morally conscious level, and their most worldly wise.


6. Bonnie from "...Famous Last Words..." [1982]

The 80s signified the beginning of the end for the definitive Supertramp, and "...Famous Last Words..." has never been embraced as a part of the band’s golden era, which spanned from Crime to Breakfast, but in this fan’s humble opinion, this record provides an appropriately melancholy, and deeply mature swan song to a band that seemed to explode with creative brilliance through the 70s. The songs on Last Words are of a less youthful nature, and signify a band that is coming to terms with its fall from peak glory. This reaction actually produces a more fluid, and less individualistic tone to the songs, and ‘Bonnie’ is one of the band’s most gentle, humble and touchingly tragic songs. There is a bashful pining and a synth-driven loving to this song, and provides the listener with a view of a very exposed and vulnerable Supertramp, who always triumphed over ill-fortune with humour and optimism, but here embrace a far more pragmatic, aged approach. ‘Bonnie’ is a half-smile of a song, and approaches the subject of impossible love and loneliness in a way that rings true for a world dominated by celebrity and the constant reminder of those few unattainable pleasures. Last Words represents Tramp at their darkest, and although ‘Bonnie’’s sinister narrative is masked by a vocal sincerity, we are given an example of how the band’s power to contradict dark lyrics with innocent, upbeat vocals can be used to beguile and even upset us. It takes closer inspection to learn that ‘Bonnie’ is about an obsessed fan, who may even be a stalker, but Davies’ ever-versatile voice fools us temporarily into sympathising with the figures in society we would naturally despise. It remains an underrated piece, from a fantastic album.


7. Even in the Quietest Moments from Even in the Quietest Moments... [1977]

Moments, as its title suggests is an album made of moments. It lacks the consistency of Breakfast and the overall atmosphere of Crisis? but it is blessed with a few fantastic pieces of music, that stand head and shoulders above the rest. The band embark on a spiritual journey in ‘Moments’ and the pervading sounds of singing birds, leading into an acoustic and clarinet intro manages to conjure the fresh, spring feeling in an almost Eden-like setting, with the simple tools of Beatles-esque vocals and hypnotising drum-beats. It is a song that calms the entire record down amongst the heavily-produced, more aggressive pieces like ‘Babaji’ and ‘Lover Boy’ and has a real enlightenment to it, allowing the hippie sympathies of the band to chant their way through in the song’s repeated chorus. Standing in contrast to the snowed-under, wintery artwork of the album, it’s impossible not to feel refreshed after hearing this track, and one can only wish that they could’ve crafted an entire album based around this casually brilliant, nearly religious sounding vibe. There’s a feel that the peace-loving, West Coast values of bands like Jefferson Airplane have been filtered through the understated British charm of Supertramp to create something disarming and inspiring. Supertramp are seldom earnest (they just trick you into thinking they are), and their cheeriness is usually almost accompanied by bitterness, but ‘Moments’ is the band breaking that tradition, and demonstrating that they don’t always need to rely on sharp wit and neurotic narratives in order to form a great song. Moments may be a flawed album, but ‘Moments’ is a moment that makes up for it twofold. If you don’t find yourself unwound by its message then you may be missing a soul.

8. It's Raining Again from "...Famous Last Words..." [1982]

I previously stated that Last Words was the band preparing itself for a break-up, as tensions rose and the creative spark that flared so brightly between Davies and Hodgson began to dampen. That said, Last Words also features the band at their most casually brilliant, in a way that's been mistaken by critics for laziness. ‘It’s Raining Again’ is the most blatant example of the band tackling a negative issue with a sense of buoyancy and wit. It is by no means the most intelligent or innovative of Tramp’s songs, but ‘Raining Again’ scores so highly because of its sheer sense of jovial energy. The song lets loose a flood of movement and excitability as soon as the saxophone breaks the silence from the previous song. This is Supertramp flexing their pop-music muscle, and the impeccable vocals, crisp piano and irresistible melody place the band as contenders for such accolade studded melody merchants as Lennon & McCartney. The song deals loosely with the loss of a friend or a loved one, but attacks it with an almost comical sense of happiness that makes it impossible not to enjoy. Only once does the song dip to melancholy, before continuing its skipping-rope tempo, leading to its chirpy synth outro. ‘Raining Again’ floats on a weightless high, and its concluding saxophone solo never fails to put a smile on this fan’s face. There is something hilarious about the way it discusses tragedy, and it’s something I can’t quite put my finger on, and perhaps I’d be better off not knowing. It was the first Tramp song I fell in love with, and I think I always will love it.


9. Remember from Indelibly Stamped [1971]

Indelibly Stamped is totally unique in the Supertramp catalogue, as it shows the transition from the band’s prog-rock besotted debut, and lays the foundations for the band’s signature, rich sound that was born fully on Crime of the Century. But unfortunately, transition albums like Stamped are often forgotten about, and only the pop single ‘Your Poppa Don’t Mind’ makes its way onto ‘best-of’ records. But the folky influences, and low-key, little England style song-writing on the album allow the listener to hear the band branch into different genres, that give them more in common with bands like Jethro Tull thanks to songs like ‘Potter’ and ‘Aries’. Supertramp may not have the effortless quirkiness of Ian Anderson, but in ’71 they made an album studded with gems, and ‘Remember’ provides what could be Davies’ best vocal performance. Heavy with the sax and rough with production, it’s a song with blatant influence from The Rolling Stones, and yet the sleazy, rough n’ ready musicianship mixes very successfully with the belted, unrefined singing, and binds to create a Supertramp classic. There’s a real passion on this track that’s not overdone or cheapened by time. You’ll never hear the band play like this on any other album, and how anyone ever considered this to be a weakness I’ll never know. The live feel of the song carries an infectious energy, and Davies’ delivery might not be as whisky-soaked and slick as Jagger’s, or as gruff as Anderson’s, but there is real power here, let loose without the reined in meticulousness of the band’s following releases. What’s great about the period from which these classic bands come from is that their consistent releases allow their fans to see their growth and progression through time, and Indelibly Stamped is an album showing a band growing up, who are light on their feet, lean and not yet indelibly stamped as a pop, rock or prog band. ‘Remember’ is a defiant piece, and its lion’s roar vocals ensure that it is delivered with pride.

10. Goodbye Stranger from Breakfast in America [1979]

‘You can laugh at my behaviour, that’ll never bother me,
Say the Devil is my saviour, but I won’t pay no heed,
And I will go on shining; shining like brand new,
I’ll never look behind me; my troubles will be few.’

Has there ever been a more perfectly worded statement of defiance in a song? I’m going to go out on a limb and say ‘probably not’. ‘Goodbye Stranger’ is one of the band’s most well-loved songs, and its reputation is not unfairly gained. Written as the manifesto for the youthful libertine that strives within us all, it is a track that flaunts a charming kind of arrogance. There’s a real cheek to the lyrics, and the punchy delivery of the lines conjures the idea of true and unchallenged freedom. It builds in signature Supertramp style, always governed by that spritely dance of the piano keys, which lead us to a fantastic duet-style between Davies and Hodgson; complimenting the completely different voices possessed by the two singers. This is Supertramp moving as the perfectly well-oiled machine, a machine that manages to grab melody and too-clever catchiness from nowhere to delight and enlighten. The guitar is always considered to be the champion instrument of rock ‘n’ roll, but Supertramp’s trust in piano playing pays off, as they manage to make that instrument sweat sleaze, sadness, joy and romance all in the same song. ‘Stranger’’s outro may be a slight niggle, as the guitar work lacks direction and finesse, but I think we’ll always be willing to forgive it, in the wake of those oh-so fantastic choruses. If it were up to me, I’d have those above lyrics carved on my gravestone, as no other collection of words manages to dismiss criticism, hostility and judgement by our peers with such ease and casualness. It’s inclusion in its entirety in the aptly quirky Magnolia will remain the film’s best scene in this writer’s humble, and is a tribute to the band’s cinematic competence and skill for narrative music.


11. Poor Boy from Crisis? What Crisis? [1975]

Crisis? is an album that is sometimes naively criticised as lacking the spark and creative brilliance of Crime of the Century, and this observation (incorrect as it may be) reveals the two sides of Supertramp, who either make albums comprised of moments, or albums comprised of moods. The latter, such as Stamped, Last Words and Crisis? are (IMO) the more timeless and rewarding in the long-run, as they produce a flow of music that rarely dips, and doesn’t rely on a magnum opus or a handful of popular champions to carry their weight.
Crisis? has few standout tracks, but ‘Poor Boy’ is definitely one of them. Written as a love song to serenade the simple life, the vocals have a shaky vulnerability, which makes its message all the more powerful. The calm jazzy undertones that become clear towards the song’s conclusion produce a sense of contentedness, and as with so many of Tramp’s songs, there is a feeling that Davies and co. are living their words, and the sincerity is always comforting. From an album with so many contrasting tempos and moods, ‘Poor Boy’ arrives as a steadily perfect, sharply produced pick-me-up, which harks back to their early 70s naivety and sense of fun. The song is not dissimilar to the themes expressed in ‘From Now On’, but also feels entirely different, as the heavy-hearted gravity of its more melancholy brother is replaced by a lovable foolishness and self-confidence. It also seems quite apt, as the band never managed to reach the heights of super-stardom in the same way that similar bands like Pink Floyd did, and their nonchalant dismissal of their modest place in life is an contagious and refreshing attitude, expressed in a stunning track.

12. C'est le Bon from "...Famous Last Words..." [1982]

Much like ‘School’ did at the beginning of Crime of the Century, ‘C’est le Bon’ acts as a smart-Alec protest song against the oppressive influence of adulthood on the minds and hearts of the young and free. The champion of this track is its lyric, and the flow and ebb of the rhymes wash together so perfectly that it almost feels like magic. It’s hard not to smile, or even laugh when Hodgson regales us with his little story, about the time when;

‘I took a tip from the man from the ministry,
He said, “My son, better work in the factory”,
Well, there were days I can tell you quite honestly,
I saw myself winding up in the military,’

In an age of financial worry and political apathy; where our parents, who grew up in the age of rock ‘n’ roll’s golden age begin to grow into the same conservative attitudes that so oppressed their youth and young adulthood, this song takes on a new and alarming relevance. It seems to many of my generation that those who have lost the memory of what it was like to be young, throw the blame and rhetoric upon the shoulders of those they were trying to make a more free future for. It’s a song about being forced to choose between the advice of your elders and the belief in yourself, and casts the casual joking aside for a more bluntly honest confession of rebellion against mundane reason. The vocals are sung with almost a whisper, as if disclosing a forbidden secret, and an invite into a world of chance, where you can embrace the unknown if you’re brave enough to try. This song is so poignant and inspiring because it comes at the end of the band’s golden era, where if their mark has not been made by now, then it will never be made, and blurs the lines of age, as the clever verses are answered by the simple, almost child-like choruses. The distant instrumental segments of the song capture that sense of loss and insecurity that governs so much of our youth, and for that, I salute it.


13. Another Man's Woman [Live] from It Was the Best of Times [1997]

Does this one count? It probably shouldn’t, as I would not include the studio version of this track, which originally featured on Crisis? but this song was made to be played live, and it’s just too god-damn good to ignore. What the live version manages to express in a far superior way is a sense of anger, which is defined by the erratic changes of tempo, all the while led by the older sounding, less delicate delivery of the lyrics, which tear through the whole mad nine minutes of the song with an unforgiving speed. It, combined with the commanding fluidity of the piano playing, and the sound of the cheering crowd make this song of lost love and resentment one written for all the betrayed lovers in the world. Supertramp play to the crowd, and show their ability for improvisation and variety in a way that’s not audible on any other kind of record. There are segments of patience (and even silence), that are then crushed by walls of sparking guitar, jazz-drumming and then majestic piano playing before the singing makes its return. The power of the band to introduce a vague story about betrayal and heartbreak, and then let the music carry that story through the imagination of its listeners is something to truly be admired, and once again Supertramp demonstrate that they manage to stand at the very forefront of a song that has become the defining genre for so many other lesser deserving bands. The grizzled voice of Davies perfectly defines the nature of turbulent love affairs in this song, and lines like,

‘Round and round we always go,
First it’s yes and then it’s no,’

only feel to be ringing true when heard live.


14. Rudy from Crime of the Century [1974]

‘Rudy’ is one of the darkest and most deeply cutting songs in rock and pop history…there, I said it. Its insight into the male psyche and the foolish illogic that so many of us cling to in life is nothing short of astounding. It acts as almost a psychological study as much as a song, and the tragic character of Rudy is one that every one of us can relate to in some way or another. His personality is completely exposed, isolated and dissected by the band in such an unflinching way that it’s hard not to feel true sympathy for this poor character, who is unable to overcome the narcissism and arrogance of youth in order to discover true happiness in life. Cinematic Supertramp is put to good use here, as the spoken word interlude on the train to Bristol Temple Meads gives a sense of reality, of travelling loneliness and a clash of emotions over Rudy’s desire to be free and to find love.
The song opens with the line;

‘Rudy’s on a train to nowhere,
Halfway down the line,’

And from then on a ceaseless bout of confessions and reveals about this poor sad character take us on a journey through our own foolish hearts as well as his. Maybe not all of us project ourselves with the same degree of sincerity on to poor old doomed Rudy, but of all the characters in music history, he stands as one of the most tragic and beautifully crafted. The band’s piano work here is sympathetic, but also oppressive, and eventually the song erupts with a climax of chanting choruses, before it soon slinks back into melancholy, and Rudy vanishes from our lives once more. There is a cold resonance as the song fades out and we are left alone to contemplate it. On an album so pre-occupied with imprisonment and the desire for freedom, Supertramp show us our worst oppressor is often ourselves.

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

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! :thumb:

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

I most certainly have!

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)

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!’

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…

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.