Joe (He Eats Mr. Coffees Whole) Fernbacher, Creem, 6/86
Ozzy’s Ultimate Sin is a bottomless vortex of sheer metalicious delight, rife with all of the necessary contradictions, nerve-licking confusions and nose-picking rudeness that are the essence to true metal. Here we have Ozzy at his beastly best, not only as an example of the ultimate sin and sinner, but also as an example of the ultimate metal metaphor: bloated, tattooed, slightly insane, fearless—just what every parent dreams his kid’ll become if he listens to this music from hell. Which in a funky sort of way makes him as great a rock’n’roller as Elvis.
As the voice of metal, Ozzy is without question the champ. Just cast a decibel-lashed ear towards a few of these new Ozzythons: “Secret Loser” is, simply put, Sisyphus vs. Camus in a WWF Texas Bird Cage Death Match with Andre the Giant acting as referee; “Never Know Why” is Ozzy’s sonic answer to the recent Senate hearing record ratings controversy; and “Thank God For The Bomb” (or “TGFTG” as I call it) is magnificent as an antiwar anthem. Who can’t react as Ozzy shakes his jowls and growls, “Nuke Ya, Nuke Ya.” At least he wants to get it over with. Can’t say that I blame him. Mass psychosis is pretty dull stuff. All this on side one alone.
Side two wafts up into the acid rain with “Lightning Strikes,” an authentic ode to the soon-to-be-famous art of metalingus. It scuddles across the silent seas of your addled brain into “Killer Of Giants,” which is another anti-nuke protest hipathon so cash it’s beyond cold and well into the really neat. This would’ve made a great Monkees on heavy drugs song back in the 60s. Ozzy then does a manic flip-flop and leaves us with “Fool Like You” and “Shot In The Dark,” both sinister odes that’d no doubt pleeze Clint Eastwood’s Dirty Harry or David Berkowitz. I wonder if Charlie Manson listens to Ozzy? Maybe they could do a duet LP, sort of like Waylon and Willie and Julio etc.
The Ultimate Sin closes out with a little bit of shrapnel called “Never,” which is just a bit of carrot stick from the Rat Salad days, relentlessly letting you know that Ozzy is not only the Voice of Metal, he is metal personified.
Which brings us to what used to be the musical better half of Ozzy, Black Sabbath. While Ozzy’s band is competent, it doesn’t excel, or outshine the man. On the other hand, Black Sabbath, now under the tutelage of Tony Iommi (did you know that he married Lita Ford? Isn’t that so hot it’ll melt your sunglasses?) excel musically way beyond the norm of metalocity.
Seventh Star is refreshingly slick—if a bit predictable—and finely honed, if a bit forgettable in spots. The title song is the typical fantasy epic journey kind of thing a lot of metalmongers favor in between their bouts of mental gore. While entertaining, it also seems to be totally irrelevant. “Danger Zone” is a solid metalthumper, the type of song Loverboy has always wanted to do but never had a) the nerve, b) attitude, c) ability, d) metalocity or, e) all of the above to do. “Heart Like A Wheel” is an outstanding blues screed, with Iommi playing kinda like B.B. King doin’ the funky Broadway in between the rings of Jupiter, mind-flailed on some exotic designer speed drugs. Glenn Hughes gets to do his best vocals on this toon—which is all I can say about Glen Hughes because, like so many lead singers in metal today, he’s ignorable and decidedly uninteresting as a vocalist. My other fave on this LP is “Angry Heart” which elicits an image of Camus lolling around in purgatory and gettin’ really excited about it all.
No matter. This record is solid and has enough sonic pizzazz to keep a step or two above the slag heap. I give it an 85 ’cause I can eat bugs to it.
Ozzy on the other hand...arrggghhh, waiter, there’s a young baby in my rat salad.
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