Ozzy’s singing is clear, and the context of the lyrics are clearer: he’s a kid that grew up in squalor and found salvation in rock ‘n’ roll. Opener Back Street Kids kicks the album off with a signature Tony Iommi chainsaw riff (similar to his earlier masterpiece Children Of The Grave), and a classic Geezer Butler/Bill Ward powerhouse rhythm that hurtles forwards with all the grace of a steam engine. Despite all of this, Technical Ecstasy is an incredible album. The album was recorded during a turbulent time for the band: Ozzy was considering quitting, the band’s manager Don Arden (father of one Sharon Osbourne) was spending more time on other projects, soft rock was taking over the airwaves ( The Eagles were recording in the adjacent studio), and punk was looming large on the horizon. The problems with making a statement like that are many, because of the complaints levelled at the album: It’s not heavy enough, it’s not ‘dark’ enough, it’s not intense enough, it’s silly, it’s got synthesisers, it doesn’t compare to the earlier Sabbath albums, it doesn’t compare to the early Ozzy Osbourne solo albums… While all of those statements are completely and utterly true, it does not make Technical Ecstasy a poor album. Technical Ecstasy is Black Sabbath’s seventh studio album, and it’s one of the finest heavy metal albums ever made. But when it comes to albums like this one, the whole concept of ‘genre’ and ‘becomes so apparently stupid that I frequently need to remind myself to get over myself and just listen to things as they hit me. There’s a photo of me stood outside an apartment at Butlins in Skegness wearing a Morbid Angel t-shirt. It’s weird, but my holiday photos are essentially yearly t-shirt taste updates – one year The Band, the next Alice Cooper, and so on. It has to fit some imaginary theme, have some imaginary connection in order to work. I have to listen to a genre, a band, a style for at least a week or so, and immerse myself in it as much as possible, before moving on to the next thing. That said, still to this day I find it hard to switch from Bryan Ferry to Black Uhuru, or from Sade to Van Halen, because something about it just feels wrong. This kind of weird tribalism that young music fans grow up into, and refuse to grow out of, is still alive and kicking in the metal community.
We’re not talking hated, or disliked, or adored, or even respected – it’s just ignored. The reason why this is important, and the reason why it’s essential context for the album I’m about to talk to you about, is that this album is absolutely, completely and utterly ignored by metal fans. For example, my crazy taste as a youngster encompassed everything from Gorillaz to Tom Petty to KISS to The Human League… Then, at about 12, I decided that I was going to be a metalhead, and all that variety went out the window. We find our first favourites bands early on, grow up into one particular scene, then nurture tastes that prohibit us from liking anything else. Some music obsessives – myself included – struggle with the idea of ‘genre’. On the 50th anniversary of their debut album’s release, Ross Horton – born in West Bromwich and raised within walking distance of Birmingham – highlights a diverse, endlessly entertaining yet unfairly neglected Black Sabbath album.
#Black sabbath technical ecstasy series
One For Keeps is a features series in which musicOMH writers wax lyrical on albums they’d just not be able to cope without.
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