•
Rating: Death induces emphasis, sometimes hyperbole. This album, like many others, shows how the concept of beauty is based and confused with nostalgia; indeed, let's say that nostalgia itself is nothing but the sublimation of a beauty that will not repeat itself.
This is the memory of Randy, a demiurge of the 6 strings, full of artistic talent and compositional ideas, celebrated and perhaps a little transfigured by a premature departure. Sure, the consumerist vortex of the Madman has shown that in the end the whole show was based on his charisma, and that the gleam of his satellites, even the most luminous, was ultimately always a reflected light. But when the light is so intense it blinds, then the satellites transmute into planets, black holes brush against supernovae, and the very rules of the musical universe, amorphous, fall lost into the infinite galaxy of art. A mediating ether, or perhaps an hyperuranium of music in the debut albums of the Madman, and I may be biased because I have been listening to it tirelessly for almost two decades now, but I believe that the stylistic talent of “Diary of a Madman” was something unmatchable and unrepeatable. A song, the title track, placed on a no man's land, at the border between psychedelia, progressive rock, and metal, in a kingdom where few musicians have reigned. On this Live, unfortunately of Diary Of A Madman, there are only two episodes; the claustrophobic Believer and the talented Fligh high again... what a pity. In compensation, however, the entire Blizzard of Ozz stands out along with 3 gems from Sabbath (Iron man, Paranoid and Children of the grave, the latter more engaging than the original played by the pioneer Tony Iommi).
Then there is also space for a studio version of the instrumental Dee, where the more attentive ear can perceive Rhoads inveigh against himself for almost imperceptible mistakes… However, it is not just the flavor of tribute that makes this album magical; it is also that, let's not deny it, but in this live almost all the songs surpass their respective original versions. I think of the opener “I Don't Know”, or (especially) the poignant “Mr. Crowley”, where the epilogue is a spine-chilling solo (Zakk will replicate it identically in future live performances… however, the irrefutable fact remains that, even though he wrote valuable music, that solo, perhaps the most beautiful of an Ozzy song, does not bear his signature...), or again the decadent “Goodbye to romance”. Also thrilling is the moment when Randy tackles a Rock version of Bach's solo... in the middle of Suicide Solution... truly goosebump-inducing. There are stretches of that solo where I can almost find no stylistic differences from Van Halen. But it's not just a matter of technique, it's mostly a matter of heart… in fact, here there are both, and that is why to lovers of beauty, a test like this live cannot leave them indifferent…
Because here everything is perfect, starting with the line-up: the rhythm section is nothing short of exceptional: Rudy Sarzo and Tommy Aldridge, majestic and immense in Diary of a Madman, in this live they realize and confirm an absolutely irreplaceable rhythm section; it’s a pity then that over time these two musicians gradually lost their charisma (perhaps too compressed in subsequent bands like Whitesnake). Ozzy here is in form and his talent as a showman is at its peak. However, the merits of this record (and of his first two) in my opinion, can be attributed to him in a relative measure; without Rhoads' melodies (also aided in Blizzard by Kerslake and Daisley) and the contribution of Tommy and Rudy, a work like DOAM would have been almost impossible. And do not tell me that, after the dissolution of that band, the choreography of the Madman remained intact, because I wouldn’t agree. Sure, in the following decades a certain Zakk Wylde (no less gifted than Rhoads, neither stylistically nor technically... listen to his masterpiece; “Book of shadows” to believe...), will confirm worldwide successes in the crucible of an increasingly consumerist verve… however, … works like DOAM and especially Lives like this one, will no longer belong to the art of the bat from Birmingham; the class of musicians set to his story will remain intact (I mention Deen Castronovo, the splendid Randy Castillo, or Geezer Butler just to name three), however there will no longer be that indescribable quid of records like this one, an invisible added value... an emphasis, a hyperbole... the nostalgia of absence, perhaps, who knows, but not only that, because death induces emphasis, it is true, but when emphasis is already in life, then death and music merge to perform a miracle and together they marry in an immortal hyperbole…
Loading comments slowly
