Black Sabbath fans heading to last night’s concert in Vancouver could have been forgiven for entering Rogers Arena with low expectations. The band’s last show in the city, two and a half years ago, was a mixed affair, blighted by struggling vocals from an out-of-sorts Ozzy Osbourne. Last night’s concert was a rescheduled date too, arriving a month after the singer’s health problems forced the cancellation of the scheduled Vancouver stop on ‘The End Tour,’ their alleged last lap of North America. These are not young men.
Those fans needn’t had worried. Black Sabbath were magnificent.
Starting imperiously with the none-more-evil three-note riff of the eponymous “Black Sabbath,” the shock arrived with Osbourne’s first vocals of the night: pitch perfect. It wasn’t a fluke. The highlight of the follow-up, the jazz-tinged “Fairies Wear Boots,” arrived as Osbourne held a lengthy note at its end while the crowd roared its approval.
Granted, Ozzy reclaiming his singing voice doesn’t mean he’s rediscovered the fountains of either youth or clarity. Throughout the concert he shuffled across stage with all the grace of a man moments away from soiling himself, and he remains the undisputed master of incomprehensible stage banter,
“Vancouver! I wanna fluppin luggle oomble beggle! One, two, THREE!”
For other bands, this would be an issue. But with Black Sabbath, Osbourne is the human yin to the machine-like yang of guitarist Tony Iommi and bassist Geezer Butler, the duo whose unrelenting riffs form the backbone of a back catalogue that remains the foundation for an entire genre of music. Razor tight throughout, metal masterpieces flowed one after the other; “After Forever,” “Into The Void,” “Snowblind,” and “War Pigs,” Osbourne alternating lines with the equally tuneful crowd for a protest song that remains sadly relevant.
The aroma of nostalgia was thick in the air, but what sets Black Sabbath’s music apart is how fresh it still sounds. Having eschewed classic rock lyrical clichés of good times and heart-breakin’ women, these are songs that’s artistry has withstood changing times and attitudes. Iommi and Butler had no need to strike poses. Their music spoke for itself. Tracks like “Behind the Wall of Sleep,” “NIB” and “Hand of Doom” may be approaching their 50th birthdays, but posses sufficient fire to never age gracefully.
“Rat Salad” provided a well-earned break for the more mature members of the band, new drummer Tommy Clufetos delivering a lengthy Whiplash-grade solo while simultaneously morphing into Captain Jack Sparrow. On any other occasion, the display of virtuosity would have been welcome. But this was merely keeping the ravenous crowd away from more riffs.
They didn’t have to wait long. “Iron Man” still sounded impossibly slow and doomy, the smile on Iommi’s face demonstrated that deep cut “Dirty Women” was a band favourite, a pounding “Children of the Grave” resonated with a delicious evilness, while the inevitable encore of “Paranoid” prised even the most resilient stoners out of their seats for a communal head bang.
The band gathered for an embrace filled with genuine affection as the words “The End” filled the screen behind them, a fitting finale to a night free of stage effects or gimmicks, packed with a selection of brilliantly performed songs from the best heavy metal band there ever was and ever will be.
Some rock fans might say otherwise. But they were not at this concert. And they would be wrong.
