by Conor Lochrie (@conornoconnor)
If Black Sabbath’s Paranoid truly was the first heavy metal album, the city that it originated in was a befitting place. Sabbath’s four young men - Ozzy Osbourne, Tony Iommi, Geezer Butler, and BIll Ward - emerged from Middle England’s biggest city Birmingham, a claustrophobic landscape of dreary concrete slabs and enervating smoky haze. Out of this industrial place rose the thunder and thrash of metal, the escapist howl of a working-class group whose only path from a life of factory monotony and drudgery was this music.
Paranoid followed their self-titled debut which also came out in 1970. Keen to capitalize on that record’s commercial success, Sabbath were sent trudging back into the studio to create their sophomore LP just four months after the release of its predecessor. The first wave of denouncing critical reviews and gimmicky promotionals would soon do Paranoid a complete disservice. Sabbath weren’t just silly progenitors of silly fantasy or woeful suppliers of dangerous messages, as some were led to believe. In fact they were often completely the opposite of what the high-minded moral masses thought them to be. Based on a few lines, “Hand of Doom” was believed to be about the wonders of heroin but it was really an anti-drug track; “War Pigs” mentioned ‘witches at black masses’ but it was also an anti-war and anti-imperialist lambast.
All the talk of the occult and horror shrouded the generational talent of the band and their aspirational story. Paranoid was the sound of a band playing with limitless potential and youthful zeal. Whatever genre it belonged to, the overwhelming ambition of it all was undeniable. Osbourne may have been the charismatic face of Sabbath but the record belongs to Iommi. Perhaps he is still - somehow - underrated, but on Paranoid he was a force of nature. Consider the famous story of how the title track came to be: as a matter of legal obligation, with the album not long enough, Iommi conjured the prowling and predatory iconic riff in less than 30 minutes. One of the greatest rock songs was born and its relative brevity and hookiness made it a surprise chart hit for the band. His guitar throughout is an unyielding power tool, hammering and bashing everything before it. “War Pigs” was also one of their greatest compositions, winding and careering to its conclusion amid a hail of furious razor guitars and propelling drumming.
As if toying with expectations, “Planet Caravan” immediately dissolves the racketing journey of the one-two opening punch of “War Pigs” and “Paranoid”. It’s a tender prog ballad, infused with hazy psychedelic flourishes. Osbourne’s voice is filtered heavily, making him sound like a man at the end of his profound acid trip into the unknown. This song proved that Sabbath were equally as capable at playing with a softer hue. They then awake from this momentary slumber, chugging straight into the powerhouse riff of “Iron Man”. It’s theatrical and parodical, it’s aggressive and monumental.
There’s often a sad naivety to the lyrics. “Paranoid” was written by Butler and is the encapsulation of a generation of working-class men who didn’t possess the understanding to comprehend their battles with mental illness (a similar thing was only noticeable in Joy Division’s Closer after Ian Curtis had taken his own life far too early): “Finished with my woman ‘cause she couldn’t help me with my mind / People think I’m insane because I am frowning all the time,” are the retrospectively aching opening lines. Throughout, Osborne is as magnetic a performer as Morrison, as commanding a vocalist as Plant. He sneers and jeers his way through the sludgy “Electric Funeral”; on “Hand of Doom” he utters his words with disdain and weariness.
The instrumental “Rat Salad” - one suspects a better piece for the live setting - contains a frenetic drum solo from Ward but it sets it up nicely for the expansive and meandering “Fairies Wear Boots”. A stoner rock anthem as well as a crashing metal tune, it displays their wondrous insouciance as Osbourne spouts lyrics belittling skinheads, who the band often had run-ins with at the time.
Sabbath’s - and Paranoid’s - story is proof that so much of criticism is about context and prejudices. These working-class kids were saying what they wished and playing loudly and chaotically and free, and some people simply didn’t like that. 50 years on and a special anniversary box set has just been released on October 9th to commemorate one of the defining albums of metal and classic rock; the last laugh has been Sabbath’s. Coming in either a 5x LP or 4x CD format, both editions contain a hardbound book with extensive liner notes featuring interviews with all four band members, making it a must-have for any devout fan.
This year, Osbourne also released the profoundly moving “Ordinary Man,” a solemn solo track considering his life and long career. “On their knees, the War Pigs crawling/ Begging mercy for their sins,” he first sang all those decades ago: both the ‘War Pigs’ and the Prince of Darkness still remain but the former’s power is still at its sorry peak while the latter’s is waning. Maybe - hopefully - Paranoid will inspire a new generation to follow in Osbourne’s and Sabbath’s vital path.