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Mawn-tree-awl! Ah yew redday ta paaah-tay? Respecting heavy metal by RUPERT BOTTENBERG
On the other hand, one can't be so sure of Ozzy Osbourne's relationship with Lucifer. Too many vague allusions throughout his discography and his unshakable connection to Black Sabbath, for whom he once sang, just about make him the poster boy for the powers of darkness. Regardless, it wasn't the hands of unseen evil that propelled Ozzy's popularity into the stratosphere, it was classic metal anthems like "Bark at the Moon" and "Crazy Train." There was a time when a million cheap cotton jerseys pronounced "Ozzy Rules," and the aftershock of his impact on rock still resonates today. Phil Trotter, the drummer of Grime, has a few thoughts to share about the Blizzard of Ozz: "I admire him because even when things really went downhill for him, when Sabbath kinda collapsed and everything was rotten, he hung in there and he gave the world faith. Even if it that faith was ugly, he was brave enough to face the world and say 'look, I'm ugly.' He wasn't afraid." Which is more than anyone can be said for the pantywaist skateweasels, thank you very much. A compilation of Ozzy's fave tunes called The Ozz-Fest Live is out now (Red Ant Entertainment/Ozz Records). |
A recent snowboarding video, titled Whiskey, drew my attention to a fascinating and frustrating point of contention in the world of contemporary rock. The soundtrack was mostly Epitaph-style "skate punk" (I use the word "punk" loosely), from the likes of Pennywise, Down By Law, Offspring... you know the type. As what I assume was a joke, the video's producers threw in the track "Cum On Feel The Noize" by quintessential early-'80s pop metal act Quiet Riot. It didn't surprise me in the least that Quiet Riot's Kevin DuBrow blew every last one of the phat-pants skateweasel bands right out of the water.
You see, what Quiet Riot played was the real thing. Rather than concealing the true nature of their sound under false pretences of punk integrity, they stood tall and proclaimed to the world, "We play heavy metal." They took their place among the gods of metal, lords of early-'80s teen culture, they of the zebra-striped spandex tights, sleeveless Union Jack shirts and Flying V guitars. Raise with me now the three-fingered salute, "la mano cornuda," as I celebrate the forgotten glory of Priest, Maiden and Crüe (first names Judas, Iron and Mötly). But first, some delineation: Quiet Riot's Slade-shaded post-glam anthems should be differentiated from Iron Maiden's epic outbursts of baroque excess or the "bad boy" party metal of Judas Priest and Mötly Crüe.
The latter banty roosters of rock, often accused of satanic conspiracy, were really just hair-farming party animals. After all, Crüe sang "Shout at the Devil," not shout with him.