Black Sabbath: Back To The Beginning
Black Sabbath – Back To The Beginning
Villa Park, Birmingham
05/07/2025
Review by Rory Bentley
It is impossible to overstate the importance of Black Sabbath and Ozzy Osbourne to not only the landscape of contemporary music, but our lives as fans of heavy music. Through sheer dumb luck my best friend and I managed to secure tickets at face value the moment they went on sale, like the Metal Gods were smiling upon us for years of loyal service ruining gigs for other people with our high-pitched annoying singing and slogging it out in local bands whether people like us or not! After an unbearable wait, the day finally came on an occasionally sunny but mainly appropriately overcast day in Birmingham.
As a Leicester City supporter, the sensation of entering Villa park, surrounded by claret and blue and feeling like I was amongst friends was a surreal prospect to say the least, but the rows of terrace houses and factories that we passed on the walk up to the ground were a window into the spit and sawdust, industrial environment that birthed the music we all love. When we stepped onto the pitch it felt like home, and what followed was one of the most incredible days in musical history and of our lives.
Rather than a traditional all-dayer like a festival day, this was essentially live aid for lovers of the riff. The sets may have been short but thanks to meticulous organisation and a revolving stage that eliminated the pitfalls of changeovers between artists, the hits did not stop coming for nine-plus piss-break-free, foot-destroying hours that zoomed by faster than Zakk Wylde’s pentatonic runs. Essentially it was one gigantic set celebrating the transcendental, uplifting power of Heavy Fucking Metal.
I have the whale from the “Leviathan” album cover tattooed in a job-stoppingly prominent place on my forearm, so to kick off this magical day with Mastodon tearing into a ferocious ‘Black Tongue’ was already my idea of heaven. Unfortunately there were some sound issues towards the end of the normally triumphant ‘Blood and Thunder’, with some strange interference of the PA but the ship, or I guess the Pequod in this case, was soon righted by what followed. Lead by Brann Dailor channeling a fantastic Ozzy-esque vocal while still pounding the kit like an octopus on speed, the band kicked into an awesome, sludge-tinged cover of “Volume 4” favourite ‘Supernaut’- setting the precedent for every band doing a Sabbath cut in their set. Things got even better when they were joined on percussion by Tool’s Danny Carey, Gojira’s Mario Duplantier and Slipknot’s Eloy Casagrande and 40,000 heads exploded. Barely halfway into my first pint and I’d already witnessed history.
Rival Sons and Halestorm gamefully brought the rock and roll vibes and crushed superb renditions of ‘Electric Funeral’ and ‘Perry Mason’ respectively, and sandwiched between them were Anthrax who played a killer version of the Thrash-tastic ‘Indians’ before Scott and the boys absolutely bodied ‘Into the Void’. I’ve long been an Anthrax skeptic, but they were sensational.
Keeping things heavy, Lamb of God roared in with a feral tear through of ‘Laid To Rest’ and ‘Redneck’, capping things off with a groovy as fuck, beefed-up ‘Children of The Grave’. But then it was time for the first Supergroup set of the day, and when I say supergroup, BOY do I mean it!
Ozzy axe-ace Jake E. Lee teamed up with the rock and roll cyborg that is Extreme/Rhianna guitar genius Nuno Bettencourt (sporting a Liverpool shirt in touching tribute to fellow countryman the late, great Portuguese footballer Diogo Jota who tragically passed away recently and terrorised our defence many a time) as Faith No More/Ozzy’s Mike Bordin took to the drum stool, joined by former Megadeth bass icon Dave Eleffson and keyboard whiz Adam Wakeman to provide the canvas for Lizy Hale to return and absolutely dominate the mic on ‘Original Sin’. Unfortunately she tags in David Draiman for ‘Shot In The Dark’ and ‘Sweetleaf’, which he sings ably but receives heavy boos because signing bombs that are probably going to kill innocent civilians and posting it on instagram is something a lot of people frown on. You fucking ghoul.
Things get back on track quickly when Whitfield Crane from the 90s and ‘II’ from Sleep Token get the party cooking along with Scott Ian and Frank Bello for a raucous sprint through ‘Believer’. After putting on his backpack and going to leave (probably doesn’t want to pay cloakroom prices I guess), Crane remembers to introduce Yungblud of all people for the next song who tells us he’s about to sing “Changes”, which sounds like an awful idea. But you know what? It was fucking incredible! Mr Blud completely understands the assignment and belts his heart out while commanding a bunch of skeptical Metal fans like a total pro. It was genuinely moving, and although I can’t see me sticking his albums on at the next barbecue I’m certainly a fan of the man himself now.
Want more iconic bands? How about Alice In Chains obliterating ‘Man In A Box’ and ‘Would?’, then launching into an immaculate ‘Fairies Wear Boots’ that feels like it’s been in their set forever, with William Duvall staking a claim for coolest frontman in the building? Oh you want to get heavier? May I present Gojira shaking the stands with “Magma” anthems ‘Stranded’ and ‘Silvera’ and recreating their stunning Olympics performance joined once more by the stratospheric soprano vocals of Marina Viotti on ‘Mea Culpa (Ah Ça ira!)’. They then bow out with a cover of ‘Under The Sun’ that hits like a whale dropped on your noggin, showing the bulletproof nature and versatility of the Sabbath catalog.
Back to the supergroups, a beaming Tom Morello brings back Nuno along with Rudy Sarzo to lay down the riffs on ‘Symptom of the Universe’ as a backdrop for the drum battle of the ages as Blink 182’s Travis Barker, Red Hot Chili Pepper Chad Smith and a reappearing Danny Carey take to their kits and unleash carnage. Barker brings a raw animalistic energy, Smith brings impossibly cool swing and Carey is an interplanetary being from another dimension. I hate drum solos but this was phenomenal and not the least bit indulgent.
No time to hang about, though, because Billy Corgan is here with KK Downing to tear through ‘Breaking The Law’ before a face-smashing ‘Snowblind’ where Downing goes absolutely ham on the guitar solo, exploding with youthful charisma that belies his years. Brummie heaven!
Living Colour’s Vernon Reid brings his cool killer chops to the stage with Sammy Hagar for a feel-good version on ‘Flying High Again’ and Montrose classic ‘Rock Candy’, but things really heat up when his unholiness Tobias Forge storms the stage with a retuning Travis Barker for an awesome ‘Bark at the Moon’ that sends Villa Park crazy. I wondered if it could possibly get grander, then Steven fucking Tyler showed up!
Sounding absolutely astounding and setting the benchmark for charisma to impossible heights he brings on Ronnie fucking Wood for ‘Train Kept-A Rolling’. So far so great…but then we get that iconic riff ringing around the arena and I stand there with my jaw resting on my now quite tired feet, paralysed with astonishment as ‘Walk This Way’ takes me to a different galaxy. Seriously this was the point where it felt like all forty thousand of us were dreaming. This was not helped by them going into ‘Whole Lotta Love’, which felt like an out of body experience; the sheer level of star power, passion and swagger on stage may never be replicated in my lifetime.
As sexy muscular host Jason Momoa emerges with his brains dribbling from his ears like the rest of us, he introduces Pantera and immediately jumps into the pit to throw his Aquaman fists around to ‘Cowboys From Hell’. I would give that lad space if he was near me. We then get a stunning version of ‘Walk’ where the sound of everyone bellowing the chorus reverberating around the arena is deafening. Not to under serve the occasion, however they bring the mellow tones in for their iconic ‘Planet Caravan’ cover, with Anselmo in fine voice. We then get the second and best version of ‘Electric Funeral’ of the day as they pay tribute to the Gods in monstrous fashion, with Phil looking visibly moved and humbled by the end.
Speaking of humbled and moved, the notoriously curmudgeonly Maynard James Keenan is practically beaming in his own weird way as Tool weave magic over twenty minutes. It doesn’t generate the same pandemonium as Pantera, but Maynard, sporting a ‘Not Local’ t-shirt that’s surely a tribute to The League of Gentlemen (Keenan is a renowned fan of British comedy), he leads the band into a hypnotic, pulsating ‘Forty Six and Two’ before an absolutely stunning, sinister cover of “Paranoid” favourite ‘Hand of Doom’ that suits the band down to the ground. Capping off with a rousing ‘Ænema’ it’s a surreal and marvellous thing to see the band in broad daylight, stripped of elaborate light shows and mystery but just as powerful.
Slayer are next and within seconds of ‘Disciple’ kicking in my friend and I are wearing our freshly purchased pints as the whole stadium turns into a war zone. We tried to move back to protect our remaining expensive beverages, but I’m not convinced we’d be safe from the mosh pit vortex if we ended up in Coventry. You forget how fucking devastating Slayer are, having not seen them since their short-lived retirement tour in 2019, but the introduction of ‘War Ensemble’ seems to have the same affect on everyone as the rage virus in the “28” films. I myself was unable to resist a wee mosh pit cameo when the breakdown kicked in on ‘Angel of Death’ and I ended up committing ABH for 2 minutes. The smooth merging of Sabbath’s ‘Wicked World’ into ‘South of Heaven’ was also a total treat.
How do you follow that? Unfortunately for Guns ‘n’ Roses you kind of don’t, at least not at first. Opening with deep cut ‘It’s Alright’ with Axl sat at a piano feels like a commendable misstep and despite the band sounding game, the frontman struggles through ‘Never Say Die’ and ‘Junior’s Eyes’. Bold choices but ones that definitely dampened the crowd. Thankfully they do a great job on ‘Sabbath Bloody Sabbath’, with Axl finding form and smashing the high notes. By the time they break out ‘Welcome to the Jungle’ and ‘Paradise City’ the ropey start is forgotten and all is well in the world. Apart from a flashback I had during ‘Welcome..’ to when my dad got steaming drunk at my wedding reception and started a mosh pit with me that made me want to ring Child-line.
Metallica are incredible. Arriving with zero fanfare they launch into the swinging proto-Stoner anthem ‘Hole In The Sky’ last seen when they inducted Sabbath into the Rock and Roll Hall of fame and then perform a mass decapitation with a white-hot sprint through ‘Creeping Death’ that I’ll still be feeling next week. James Hetfield is lean, focused and in imperious form, tearing round the stage and sounding at the peak of his vocal powers and the rest of the band are practically exploding with joy as they play every note like their lives depend on it. To see a band that usually delivers 2 hours of timeless hits condensed into a shorter set is wild, and they treat Villa Park like a sweaty dive bar, roaring through ‘For Whom The Bell Tolls’, ‘Battery’ and ‘Master of Puppets’ as well as a version of ‘Johnny Blade’ that may better the Sabbath version. Absolute Metal nirvana.
As the night draws in, there’s nothing left but to welcome the great man himself, as
emerges through a trapdoor on a gigantic black throne. So much has been made of his health issues and whether he’d be up to the task at hand, but when ‘I Don’t Know’ kicks in, Ozzy gives us everything he has. Sure his mobility is restricted, and his voice sometimes wavers (though more with emotion than the ravages of time) but he exceeds all reasonable expectations in a set of pure Metal gold. ‘Mr Crowley’ is sublime, ‘Suicide Solution’ is an underrated classic and ‘Mama I’m Coming Home’ brings forth a tsunami of tears as we all weep along with The Prince of Darkness. There are times when you can see the Parkinsons taking hold but he fights through it with astonishing determination, refusing to be anything other than an icon for the ages. ‘Crazy Train’ is roared from the pitch and the stands as the final chapter closes on Ozzy’s live solo career. It’s already been a triumphant return for the Ozzman, but there’s one more thing to take care of. (I’m actually welling up while I write this)
Black Sabbath
All that is left is for four local lads done good to take to the stage to the sound of air raid sirens and take their final bow in front of the thousands in attendance and the millions watching at home. It might be four songs, but nobody feels short-changed by the majestic melding of dark magic produced when Ozzy Osbourne, Tony Iommi, Geezer Butler and Bill motherfucking Ward play together. Iommi remains the Iron Man with a bowel-shaking guitar tone that has been copied by millions and bettered by none. Geezer Butler is the definitive Rock bassist and is astounding, playing with youthful dexterity and looking like the coolest fucker on the planet and about 20 years younger than he should! Bill Ward is my favourite drummer of all time, and although his fills aren’t as showy as they were back in 1970, his swinging, cold-ass jazz-inflected rhythms are still fully intact as he pounds the kit shirtless at 77. Meanwhile Ozzy has his game-face on and sounds fantastic as he brushes his ailments to one side for one last ride into battle.
‘War Pigs’ is a crushing patchwork of shifting dynamics, ‘NIB’ is the blues turned evil, oozing thick, black tar from Iommi and Butler’s amps and ‘Iron Man’ is iconic and devastating as Iommi rips out solo after solo with timeless precision. One last blast through ‘Paranoid’ and the night sky is a storm of fireworks, roars of victory and tears of joy. And just like that the greatest band this country has ever produced takes their final curtain call.
Black Sabbath and Ozzy may be no more as a live entity, but their music will never leave us. It is in the DNA of every heavy band ever to string up, it is in the darkened souls of everyone who came to this music seeking belonging and a release for the hardships that life throws at us, and it is in the very soul of all we hold dear in this world and the next.
Today is the greatest celebration of the joy of heavy music one can possibly imagine. Smashing through expectations and creating alchemy before our very eyes and ears. Tom Morello’s curation of the event is as seismic as his revolutionising of the guitar back in the 90s, and I doubt I will ever see a greater gig as long as I live.
God Bless Ozzy Osbourne, God Bless Black Sabbath and God Bless Heavy Fucking Metal.
Disclaimer: This review is solely the property of Rory Bentley and Ever Metal. It is strictly forbidden to copy any part of this review, unless you have the strict permission of both parties. Failure to adhere to this will be treated as plagiarism and will be reported to the relevant authorities.
