Ozzy & co return to Aston. Chris Winter is won over.
Confession time – of the forty-odd thousand inside Villa Park on Saturday I might have been the only one who isn’t a confirmed metalhead. But I do like to see history being made so I figured that even at the prices being charged the chance to see Sabbath and Ozzy making their definitely, we mean it this time, no we really do, final appearances wasn’t to be turned up.
Walking round town on Friday I could see the excitement building and on Saturday morning, for good and bad, the event showed off the city in both a good, and an infuriatingly typical, light. The bench, the bridge, the mural and the murals were all there, with fans queuing up to take photos. And the place where it all started…. was boarded up. Only in Birmingham.
Getting to Villa Park was easy enough even if you were a total stranger to the city – follow the band t-shirts to New Street and get on the train that was fortunately going to Witton. From there it was a two minute walk or a much longer stroll round the ground, talking to fans from all round the world. One thing I noticed was that hardly anyone seemed surprised that in inner-city 
Birmingham, we have a stately house and a beautiful park next to a football ground. Maybe they think the whole country’s like that.
I’m not going into any depth because there have been far more educated reviewers than me taking great pains to write about what was billed as the greatest heavy metal show ever. Maybe it was; I wouldn’t know because I haven’t been to all that many. Villa Park seemed a lot bigger from the pitch that it does on TV. It clearly wasn’t built for live gigs because the sound wasn’t great at first although it did get better as the day went on and the crowd got larger. I didn’t mind standing round too much – there was always the chance to sit down for a bit, or walk around.
I’ve heard that there were large queues to get served, the toilets were flooded and a lot of the kiosks ran out of food and drink. I didn’t see much problem although there were a few lengthy queues at times but my Villa-supporting mate reckoned it was nothing compared to half-time when there’s a match on. Most of the people I spoke to were happy enough with what was on offer, and in particular the catering prices, which seemed fine to me and apparently a bargain by American standards.
Then, the music began. To be honest a lot of it was a bit of a muchness, with Satanic symbols and overlong guitar solos. But everyone was enjoying themselves and the split-second production was genuinely impressive. Other festivals could take note, particularly of the revolving stage.
I enjoyed the supergroups, in particular the end of the second one, with Steven Tyler showing that his voice is still as powerful as ever. I could have lived without the Ozzy Osbourne – This Is Your Life sequences where an array of stars paid tribute to the Prince of Darkness. Someone who I later found out was David Draiman was booed for what I later found out was being pro-Israel, which came as a surprise as I thought metalheads would be at best apolitical and at worst MAGA-lite.
As the day wore on the big guns were rolled out and even I knew a few of their songs. Guns’n’Roses got some poor reviews but I thought they were good enough even if Axl’s voice was showing signs of strain. They and Metallica were in the unusual position of being the support acts and they did what they had to do, taking no risks because the atmosphere was building for what would either be spectacular, or embarrassing.
A tribute to Randy Rhodes, the opening bars of O Fortuna, and there he was. Never can anyone have so totally dominated a venue of this size while barely moving an inch but such is the force of Ozzy’s personality and also the myth that’s built up around him that he managed it with ease. His voice might be a shadow of the roar of days gone by, although he could have mimed and the audience would not only have filled in they’d have also sworn they’d heard him, word-perfect and as good as ever. Some performers can hold an audience spellbound; Ozzy wasn’t really like that but the waves of affection merging from the audience were like nothing I’ve ever experienced. It was a special moment.
Maybe it was because the day had run so smoothly but there was a lengthy gap between Ozzy’s band leaving and the arrival of his old mates, which must have made a few of us think that something, or someone, had gone wrong and we never were going to get back to the beginning after all. But eventually the backdrop arrived, the filmed footage ended and the circle was complete.
We knew what was going to be played and in what order. Again, the crowd could have filled in – Sabbath have influenced so many bands that there was probably ten thousand guitarists alone out front. As the final chords of Paranoid died away the confetti fell and the fireworks began.
To be honest this felt a bit of an anti-climax. The band seemed to wander off and with the music having ended before the published curfew time I thought there might be another jam session, but that was it. An unbelievable event, well worth the money and one that’s definitely up there in my list of greatest-ever gigs.
As I was walking back to town (it seemed quicker than waiting for a train and there were so many of us there was no danger) I thought about both the line-up and the audience. From what I could see, headliners apart there wasn’t much of a British presence and that was reflected in the audience, where foreign accents seemed in the majority. Then again, there aren’t many British metal bands who could have played. Iron Maiden and Judas Priest are both touring and the rest aren’t big enough names. Perhaps it’s because the genre itself is lauded around the world while remaining a bit of a dirty word in the UK. Metal seems to be another Brummie invention that’s better thought of abroad than it is at home.
