by John Mizer
April 4, 2006

Heavy Metal pioneers Black Sabbath have FINALLY been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. This may be construed as somewhat of a dubious distinction. It strikes me that Rock and Roll had evolved out of rebellion and placing it in a museum smacks of irony.

Growing up, I was privvy to a rock and roll hall of fame of sorts in the form of my oldest brother Steve's bedroom. Steve's room I believe, just may have been the inspiration for the Greg Brady black light room. Performing the ritual of the little brother, I would slip into Steve's room on a daily basis, usually while he was away at work and plop myself down in front of his record collection. For me, it was better than going to the library. His records were alphabetized of course and I would spend hours rooting through the gatefolds and sleeves, extracting information about who played what where and when. If I needed a breather from rock trivia overload, I would merely lift my head and gaze around the room at the myriad of posters strewn across the walls. That's where the mighty Sabbath first got their hooks in me. My brother had recreated the Sabbath Volume 4 cover art on posterboard with day-glo paints. At the time it was probably the coolest thing my eyes ever bore witness to.

When I listen to Black Sabbath now I can't help but hear jazz and blues played through a wall of big and crunchy distortion. The rhythm section continues to destroy me and the song construction is simulatneously simple, intricate and eclectic. When I was seven, I didn't listen to Sabbath but I sure HEARD them. They scared me in the way that a maiden roller coaster ride would. At home, their first five records seemed to be on a loop, eminating from the bottom floor of the house and periodically bullying the neighbors' John Denver record's polite whispers. I feared and loved Black Sabbath and never stopped to ponder why. All I knew was that it was mandatory to play their music loud with the possible exception of perhaps Laguna Sunrise, the ultimate curveball.

The other day I finally got around to acquire the first Sabbath record on disc. I stubbornly refuse to abandon my records but never seem to get around to rehooking up the old Victorola either. I haven't heard the Sabbath debut in over 20 years and as I drove down the highway with "The Wizard" blaring through the speakers, I was immediately transported to my brother's room circa 1975, sitting in front of his record collection, having a William Miller/Almost Famous moment. Call me juvenile if you will, but I still think Black Sabbath is the goods. I know my brother does too.