This is a rant about certain recent events in my career.
Back in August, I applied for a promising contract as a revenue accountant for the Bureau Of Land management. I interviewed one weekend late in the month with a panel of six women. Yikes!
Actually, it went well. My natural charm and command of details gave me the appearance of enthusiasm, and I won their hearts. Then that weekend I received the rejection letter. I was disappointed with how things worked out, but moved on.
The following Monday I was off work. I woke up late to a phone call telling me to ignore the rejection letter. The cobwebs cleared from my head. The contractor decided to hire me, pending a standard background check. I let out an audible whoop after I hung up. This was good news! Pending the background check of course.
Pending.
I complied with all paperwork requirements the next day. I was fingerprinted in an office in Lakewood. I filled out the long questionaire, and complied with all required disclosures. I was a bit concerned that it took them two weeks after being hired to take my fingerprints. Then I had to wait.
I began to hear from people I had listed as references that they had received questionaires about me in the mail. All for what I was told was a low-level security clearance. It seemed a bit much.
A few weeks later I received a phone call in which I was told I was clear to give notice to my current employer. Which I almost did. Thankfully I decided to check my personal email that morning. An email from another bureaucrat told me I hadn’t completed the information and so-and-so was on vacation until next Monday. What information was incomplete was not specified, until the next Monday. That same day I provided the information and faxed it again. Later that week I confirmed that the OPM had received it. Then, nothing.
After inquiries for a couple weeks, I was forwarded an internal email chain between the contractor, the BLM and the Office Of Personnel Management. Someone I had never met or seen said about me and my background check, “He doesn’t want to quit his current job until he knows it’s good.” Something about this phrasing still nags at me... perhaps because it did not describe reality. In fact I wanted to quit badly, but had explicitly been told not to quit until the background check was complete.
I wasn’t worried about passing the background check. I was becoming worried that someone wasn’t telling me the truth, intentionally or not.
Finally, last week I received a call. The BLM “decided to go in another direction” because your background check is taking too long.” The people at the contracting office “feel terrible” about this. I did make a mild protest that I didn’t think this was fair, since I had complied with everything as timely as possible. They explained to me that since nearly two months had passed already, only 10 months remained on the contract and the BLM had decided to promote from within.
I was actually excited to have found this job. It sounded like great accounting experience. I would have been helping to implement a new billing system for well inspection fees. Losing this opportunity was a big blow, in several ways. My job search was delayed by more than six weeks. It’s dejecting to be strung along in that way.
I do feel like someone is not telling me the truth, or at least that I don’t know the whole truth. It’s a somewhat bitter irony, as I was completely honest in my disclosures.
Finding a new job in this horrible economy is neither easy, nor fun.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Saturday, October 08, 2011
"Poem" of the day #4
I wrote this in memory of Wendi’s brother, who died under tragic circumstances in 2008. I didn’t know him well, but his death affected Wendi greatly, not least because they had not been very close for a long time but she had recently spent some time with him and had been trying to reach out to him towards the end. With reverence and respect...
“In Johnny’s Room”
we struggle to find a name for it
as we are overwhelmed
stare into the abysmal black mirror
as if we are compelled
what is rising to swallow you
try to lose what follows you
in the end to just lie down
oh in happier times he was not happy
in bleaker times lost his way
now there is nothing left
now to clean up the wreck
she reached out her hand and was bitten
but still worried for him
when the news came she cried quietly
mourning the memories so dim
and nothing would fill in the gaps
a life with no strength left to sap
waiting for the end
your daughter
like her son
cannot say
how must they feel
now you’ve gone away
without a word to them
they are your next of kin
look what you did to them
now there is nothing left
now to clean up the wreck
while they are living still
life will do that, man
you could’ve used that, man
but the light was too dim
can’t see the bottom from here
Your humble blogger has been scribbling words of varying degrees of coherence in countless spiral-bound notebooks for many years. This is one small sample of them.
“In Johnny’s Room”
we struggle to find a name for it
as we are overwhelmed
stare into the abysmal black mirror
as if we are compelled
what is rising to swallow you
try to lose what follows you
in the end to just lie down
oh in happier times he was not happy
in bleaker times lost his way
now there is nothing left
now to clean up the wreck
she reached out her hand and was bitten
but still worried for him
when the news came she cried quietly
mourning the memories so dim
and nothing would fill in the gaps
a life with no strength left to sap
waiting for the end
your daughter
like her son
cannot say
how must they feel
now you’ve gone away
without a word to them
they are your next of kin
look what you did to them
now there is nothing left
now to clean up the wreck
while they are living still
life will do that, man
you could’ve used that, man
but the light was too dim
can’t see the bottom from here
Your humble blogger has been scribbling words of varying degrees of coherence in countless spiral-bound notebooks for many years. This is one small sample of them.
Apologies again
Well I was going pretty good there for a while, only to drop out of sight for 8 months or so. No promises this time. But I am going to try harder.
I guess I just haven't had much to say. But I have been thinking a lot. More soon.
I guess I just haven't had much to say. But I have been thinking a lot. More soon.
Tuesday, February 08, 2011
An artist statement
"I find artist statements to be tiresome, so I limit myself to the following: yes, your kid could do this." -Inept, 1992
While shopping among the scratched records and random detritus at Goodwill sometime in the early-to-mid 1990s I found a tape by a “band” called Inept. It was a hand-dubbed Memorex with a photocopied cover, and contained10 or 12 songs of stumbling, out-of-time rhythms, mangled guitar chords and funny, self deprecating lyrics. Though nobody would claim (including the band) that the album contained great music, the “musicians” obviously had made it with much love and had fun doing it. It had a certain homemade charm, and it still holds a warm place in my heart. I think the band was from Montana somewhere, though I know nothing else about them.
The above quote comes from a short, spoken intro to one of their songs. The only reason I mention it here is that it has stuck with me to this day. An artist statement usually accompanies an exhibition or commission and is intended to provide some insight into the artists thought process or inspiration. Wendi has had to write a number of them in her college career, being one of them hoity toity art majors (in a fairness, she just now walked in as I was writing this and told me I was a “podunk philistine”).
I won’t argue. I love and appreciate art, but I do find much of the theorizing and philosophizing of the academic art world to be ponderous and wordy… tiresome, even. Hence, the above quote.
I’m not a visual artist. I can’t really draw or paint and the few times I’ve tried are better forgotten. But I have been playing and practicing music now for more than 20 years, writing and recording songs and absorbing lessons from the music that inspires me. I’ve been posting some of my random scribblings lately… some of the better ones anyway.
So, whatever the quality of my output, I guess I qualify as a creative person. I’m a fairly skilled songwriter and guitarist and have made plenty of efforts to study music theory and formal songwriting, in my own slacker way and time. But I also listen to and have made music in my time that was deliberately primitive, unskilled and… well, inept, and that is another reason that the above quote has always stuck with me. I’ve always said that making great music has little to do with how well you can play your instrument, and I still believe it.
Anyway all of this is just to give a bit of background to my own artist statement, and my thought process when writing music or words. I really don’t take myself too seriously, whatever the tone of the following; having said that, creativity and expression is pretty central to who I am. As I continue to post various poems, and as people hear the music I make, if anybody has questions about what they “mean” or how I come up with this shit, this is as good a place to start as any.
Narrative. What is it?
Narrative is the human compass. Texts are the expressions of the collective consciousness. The human capacity for forging narratives and myths is very nearly infinite. The peculiar and paradoxical features of narratives are that they are both universal and strictly individual, collective and differentiated, simultaneously. Every person is therefore both a repository for and manufacturer of stories.
But narratives are more than stories. They are ways of making sense of the world, understanding the associations we experience, the subconscious reactions and conscious reflections our minds’ eyes. The self both authors and experiences narratives, interpreting the manifold symbols and never ending chaos of life. The simultaneous objective and subjective nature of narratives’ relationship to our consciousness is, I believe, unique to human beings.
This dual nature of the power of narratives is what the best art strives to nurture. The experience of the viewer/listener/reader is an integral part of a work of art, in some cases more so than the contributions of the artist. The artist/audience dynamic and dialectic are essential to art.
In my work (if you want to call it that), I have tried to nurture and encourage this dialectic between the listener and this humble artist. The lyrical content of my songs has become more important as I have progressed as a songwriter and musician.
In the songs by other artists that I appreciate most, the deepest feelings and most unvoiceable thoughts were caused in me by their ability to foster this dialectic. Therefore, I try to encourage the listener to make up his or her own narratives or story. While I generally have a specific idea in mind, I consciously attempt to avoid specificity in voice or causality, but trying to leave enough significant signposts and monuments upon the convoluted path that (I hope) the listener will appreciate as their own the view to which it as brought them on the journey. I believe it to be ultimately more meaningful this way. I just hope the view is scenic enough to make them want to continue the dialectic.
What does it “mean”? Exactly what it says. Exactly what it sounds like.
I hope that clears things up a bit.
While shopping among the scratched records and random detritus at Goodwill sometime in the early-to-mid 1990s I found a tape by a “band” called Inept. It was a hand-dubbed Memorex with a photocopied cover, and contained10 or 12 songs of stumbling, out-of-time rhythms, mangled guitar chords and funny, self deprecating lyrics. Though nobody would claim (including the band) that the album contained great music, the “musicians” obviously had made it with much love and had fun doing it. It had a certain homemade charm, and it still holds a warm place in my heart. I think the band was from Montana somewhere, though I know nothing else about them.
The above quote comes from a short, spoken intro to one of their songs. The only reason I mention it here is that it has stuck with me to this day. An artist statement usually accompanies an exhibition or commission and is intended to provide some insight into the artists thought process or inspiration. Wendi has had to write a number of them in her college career, being one of them hoity toity art majors (in a fairness, she just now walked in as I was writing this and told me I was a “podunk philistine”).
I won’t argue. I love and appreciate art, but I do find much of the theorizing and philosophizing of the academic art world to be ponderous and wordy… tiresome, even. Hence, the above quote.
I’m not a visual artist. I can’t really draw or paint and the few times I’ve tried are better forgotten. But I have been playing and practicing music now for more than 20 years, writing and recording songs and absorbing lessons from the music that inspires me. I’ve been posting some of my random scribblings lately… some of the better ones anyway.
So, whatever the quality of my output, I guess I qualify as a creative person. I’m a fairly skilled songwriter and guitarist and have made plenty of efforts to study music theory and formal songwriting, in my own slacker way and time. But I also listen to and have made music in my time that was deliberately primitive, unskilled and… well, inept, and that is another reason that the above quote has always stuck with me. I’ve always said that making great music has little to do with how well you can play your instrument, and I still believe it.
Anyway all of this is just to give a bit of background to my own artist statement, and my thought process when writing music or words. I really don’t take myself too seriously, whatever the tone of the following; having said that, creativity and expression is pretty central to who I am. As I continue to post various poems, and as people hear the music I make, if anybody has questions about what they “mean” or how I come up with this shit, this is as good a place to start as any.
Narrative. What is it?
Narrative is the human compass. Texts are the expressions of the collective consciousness. The human capacity for forging narratives and myths is very nearly infinite. The peculiar and paradoxical features of narratives are that they are both universal and strictly individual, collective and differentiated, simultaneously. Every person is therefore both a repository for and manufacturer of stories.
But narratives are more than stories. They are ways of making sense of the world, understanding the associations we experience, the subconscious reactions and conscious reflections our minds’ eyes. The self both authors and experiences narratives, interpreting the manifold symbols and never ending chaos of life. The simultaneous objective and subjective nature of narratives’ relationship to our consciousness is, I believe, unique to human beings.
This dual nature of the power of narratives is what the best art strives to nurture. The experience of the viewer/listener/reader is an integral part of a work of art, in some cases more so than the contributions of the artist. The artist/audience dynamic and dialectic are essential to art.
In my work (if you want to call it that), I have tried to nurture and encourage this dialectic between the listener and this humble artist. The lyrical content of my songs has become more important as I have progressed as a songwriter and musician.
In the songs by other artists that I appreciate most, the deepest feelings and most unvoiceable thoughts were caused in me by their ability to foster this dialectic. Therefore, I try to encourage the listener to make up his or her own narratives or story. While I generally have a specific idea in mind, I consciously attempt to avoid specificity in voice or causality, but trying to leave enough significant signposts and monuments upon the convoluted path that (I hope) the listener will appreciate as their own the view to which it as brought them on the journey. I believe it to be ultimately more meaningful this way. I just hope the view is scenic enough to make them want to continue the dialectic.
What does it “mean”? Exactly what it says. Exactly what it sounds like.
I hope that clears things up a bit.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
"Poem" of the day #3
The terrible tyrant trots out another excuse
Tries to rescue himself from the swing of the noose
"And the statues they build of me
must surely reflect my nobility
of blood, most goodly bred."
The armies clash in the streets outside
Even unto the fall of night
Black treason in the air
Hear the oaths the generals swear:
"This day we stand together,
if for no other
than each other."
Now, as the thunderclouds roll over the sun
Behold the chosen one
White trash son-of-a-gun
As the stars fortold
So done
The armies dash like water off his flanks
Victorious sign with a roar from the ranks
A forest of spears in the sky
The cries of hawks upon high
"Let the glory of this noon
be remembered.
Let each man to fight
choose his own legend."
Thus was the kingdom established
And prosperity reigned
Until the pestilence threatened
In the year of the plague
Thirty years yonder
Very few remained
Your humble blogger has been scribbling words of varying degrees of coherence in countless spiral-bound notebooks for many years. This is one small sample of them.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
I am so tired
Oy, I am so tired of living from paycheck to paycheck. It's been like this for years, but in the turmoil of the past year has been the worst ever. There have been times when I literally couldn't have bought a pack of chewing gum. You can imagine how this makes me feel about my ability to support my wife and son. I generally live from day to day, just hoping I can buy groceries to feed Simon or eat lunch at work.
But this week I was finally given a significant raise at the job I've had for 8 months. We're not on easy street now, but at least I hopefully won't have to go begging for handouts from family members so I can buy enough gas to get to work for the next couple of days. Yes, it was getting that bad. Humiliating at best, desperate at worst.
My employer does seem to value me to some degree, and I like my immediate bosses. But I don't care about wacky things like having a jazz band playing live in the office (yes, that actually happened last month), or having no dress code, or praise. I need money, badly.
I'm glad they stepped up to the plate, but I've been dissatisfied with quite a few things at my job lately, and I'm not the only one. There has been a lot of grumbling around there, and in the past few weeks a number of people have quit. Just last week, a guy in my work group went to lunch and didn't come back. I can't say I blame him.
The upshot is that I've been looking for another job for a few weeks. This raise has diminished my dissatisfaction somewhat, but lo and behold this week I managed to get two interviews for jobs next week. Real employers, not the usual shady recruiters that flock around you like vultures when you post your resume on Monster.com. This is a much better success rate than when I was unemployed last year; back then, I sent out over 200 resumes over the course of a few months and got only 5 or 6 interviews. This time, I applied for about 12 jobs over a few weeks and already have 2. Maybe the economy is improving? What other opportunities are out there...?
So I'm conflicted. On the one hand I would really love a satisfying job that doesn't require me to donate 10 pints of blood a month. On the other hand, I absolutely hate looking for a job and the whole interview/hiring process, and I feel I have some more potential for advancement at my current job, and they did give me a pretty fat raise. So I am going to check out these two opportunities next week and see if they lead anywhere.
They are going to have to offer me some serious $ incentive though, if they go so far as to make offers. That is my number one concern! You might not understand if you haven't been through the sort of financial trauma my little family has been through. We have been barely holding our shit together.
The other thing: my band had a pretty good rehearsal this evening. But I apparently blew a speaker in my amplifier, my beloved 1976 Fender Twin Reverb. It sounds like bacon frying when I hit the low notes. Oh well... they are the original speakers and are nearly as old as I am, so something had to give, sooner or later.
I don't really have much more to say right now. Time has just been so short lately. My job is working me an average of 10-12 hours per day, plus weekends too... it's hard to find the energy to say something worthwhile. But I will persist in my attempts!
Maybe some more "poetry" tomorrow, if I get a chance. People seemed to dig it... to my surprise. I only posted it to fill a bit of space. Anyway, that's all for this evening.
Have I mentioned that I like bourbon? Jim Beam is calling me. Bye.
But this week I was finally given a significant raise at the job I've had for 8 months. We're not on easy street now, but at least I hopefully won't have to go begging for handouts from family members so I can buy enough gas to get to work for the next couple of days. Yes, it was getting that bad. Humiliating at best, desperate at worst.
My employer does seem to value me to some degree, and I like my immediate bosses. But I don't care about wacky things like having a jazz band playing live in the office (yes, that actually happened last month), or having no dress code, or praise. I need money, badly.
I'm glad they stepped up to the plate, but I've been dissatisfied with quite a few things at my job lately, and I'm not the only one. There has been a lot of grumbling around there, and in the past few weeks a number of people have quit. Just last week, a guy in my work group went to lunch and didn't come back. I can't say I blame him.
The upshot is that I've been looking for another job for a few weeks. This raise has diminished my dissatisfaction somewhat, but lo and behold this week I managed to get two interviews for jobs next week. Real employers, not the usual shady recruiters that flock around you like vultures when you post your resume on Monster.com. This is a much better success rate than when I was unemployed last year; back then, I sent out over 200 resumes over the course of a few months and got only 5 or 6 interviews. This time, I applied for about 12 jobs over a few weeks and already have 2. Maybe the economy is improving? What other opportunities are out there...?
So I'm conflicted. On the one hand I would really love a satisfying job that doesn't require me to donate 10 pints of blood a month. On the other hand, I absolutely hate looking for a job and the whole interview/hiring process, and I feel I have some more potential for advancement at my current job, and they did give me a pretty fat raise. So I am going to check out these two opportunities next week and see if they lead anywhere.
They are going to have to offer me some serious $ incentive though, if they go so far as to make offers. That is my number one concern! You might not understand if you haven't been through the sort of financial trauma my little family has been through. We have been barely holding our shit together.
The other thing: my band had a pretty good rehearsal this evening. But I apparently blew a speaker in my amplifier, my beloved 1976 Fender Twin Reverb. It sounds like bacon frying when I hit the low notes. Oh well... they are the original speakers and are nearly as old as I am, so something had to give, sooner or later.
I don't really have much more to say right now. Time has just been so short lately. My job is working me an average of 10-12 hours per day, plus weekends too... it's hard to find the energy to say something worthwhile. But I will persist in my attempts!
Maybe some more "poetry" tomorrow, if I get a chance. People seemed to dig it... to my surprise. I only posted it to fill a bit of space. Anyway, that's all for this evening.
Have I mentioned that I like bourbon? Jim Beam is calling me. Bye.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
"Poem" of the day #2
it's a plush chair to sit in
the comfy spot under the bridge
the paperbacks you'll never read
they are all you'll ever need
it's a dirty coin to pick up
if someone will make change
collecting the odds and ends
dissecting the fads and trends
it's a plastic toy dump truck
the child would never grow up
a sad reminder of the past
but happy days are here at last
it's a ticket stub from a show
back when the band played cheap
wrote your name with your young blood
before you saw the grave was dug
a soiled scrap of twisted paper
the thoughts that came and went
the missing moments that didn't come back
from the void where they were sent
a rusty can, a ripped-up shirt
a soiled mattress in the dirt
a pickle jar and broken sticks
the thoughts you lost and found again
now you forget what they meant
Your humble blogger has been scribbling words of varying degrees of coherence in countless spiral-bound notebooks for many years. This is one small sample of them.
Sunday, January 09, 2011
Guitarists I admire: Tony Iommi brings the thunder
Black Sabbath, though they were not the only band emerging in the late 1960s to play the style of rock that would eventually become known as heavy metal, were undoubtedly they heaviest in their heyday. Their sound was generally despised by the critics of the time, and yet more than four decades later their early music, specifically their first 6 albums, is among the most influential and revered of any rock band before or since. Each non-guitarist in the band – Bill Ward’s amazing sludgy backbeats and whirlwind fills, Geezer Butler’s throbbing, flailing and deceptively simple bass llines, and Ozzys wailing, sometimes-slightly-out-of tune vocals – contributed massive amounts of talent and drug-infused inspiration to the band.
But it was Tony Iommi’s sledgehammer guitar riffs and bluesy soloing that was the keystone of the band. Without Iommi, there simply would have been no Black Sabbath. It was Iommi who wrote most of the riffs and songs, with Butler writing most of the dark lyrics. His talent is all the more amazing because he lost the tips of two of his fingers back in the mid 1960s in a machinery accident in the metal shop where he worked before Sabbath blew up big (all of the members came from working-class backgrounds).
Just to get it out of the way, contrary to the popular beliefs of the ignorant, the band did not worship Satan. Their songs did often dabble in dark, occult or druggy waters, as well as science fiction. These themes suited their doom-laden, downcast music, which generally merely commented on the dark side of life with an old-testament vibe of retribution and punishment for sins, rather than a celebration of them. They also had a strong anti-war streak, with a number of songs decrying the destruction and death of war.
Though I hate ranking my favorites, Tony Iommi is near the top of the guitarists at whose pantheon I worship. The riffs and songs of Black Sabbath’s early “Ozzy” era were generally recorded quickly and cheaply in-between tours, but are among the classic albums that to this day I do not tire of hearing…. as seems to be true with a lot of bands that recorded classic albums in the late 60s and early 70s. And I generally bore pretty easily.
There’s something about those sludgy, overdriven, precisely loose riffs, dripping with the smooth blast of Marshall amplification that made a boy of 15 want to play guitar like that. Heck, I still do! I play a lot of Sabbathy solos in my current band, and that’s ok with me. He could play so soulfully, those fat, pentatonic runs, his impeccable sloppiness (just enough behind the beat and accented to let you know he knew wtf he was doing) and his howling, moaning vibrato. I would say that, by default if not by design, my current soloing style owes a lot to this guy.
Iommi’s signature guitar was a Gibson SG, which, after many years of fudging around with other kinds of guitars, your humble author/guitarist finally settled on as having the ideal blend of fat tone, lovely sustain and affordability. Iommi’s guitar tone, generally amplified to earsplitting levels through stacks of amplifiers, was also a thing to behold. I have played an SG as my main electric guitar for more than a decade now and though it is beat to shit and showing its age, to this day I still love it’s tone. I owe it to Tony!
More about tone and why Iommi’s is so special… back in the day, heavy guitarists used much less distortion than most metal bands today… and yet they recorded music that was both groundbreaking and timeless. This lesson in tone has stuck with me. As the years went by and heavy metal developed as a style, the guitars became much more extreme, overdriven and distorted, sometimes sounding like swarm of killer bees at 110 decibels, or in the worst cases, like a thundering dentist’s drill.
As Black Sabbath lost and gained new members (eventually only Iommi remained) Iommi’s tone became more processed and distorted, his style less bluesy and more conventionally metal, and his music less inspired. He recorded a few dreadful albums in the 1980s that are better forgotten, believe me. He seems to have, anyway. In the past decade his bread and butter has been touring with various lineups of members from Sabbath’s classic era. This is as it should be!
So it’s really in Black Sabbath’s early era that you will find the good stuff. Specifically, the band’s eponymous debut, Paranoid, Master Of Reality, Volume IV, Sabbath Bloody Sabbath, and Sabotage. Every one of these albums is a classic from beginning to end, and I continue to throw one of them into heavy rotation every few months or so.
So, here’s a few examples. First up is their classic ode to marijuana, “Sweet Leaf”:
I often describe this riff as one of the stupidest (and most awesome), ever written. Basically, it's a three-chord, repetitive slog that that begins to really get under your skin by the second verse. This song’s famous riff (which is one of the first any metal kid learns), though indisputably great, is like a teaser, deceiving you into thinking the band is a bunch of unsophisticated galoots incapable of playing any more than these three notes.
Many aspiring guitarists have been lulled into a sense of complacency by this awesome and easy-to-play riff, including yours truly. This song is actually very difficult to play, because of the speedy middle section. The band speeds up, building to a crescendo as Iommi whips out a major-key lick that splits the sky with lightning. There is then a tornado of virtuosic double soloing backed with the band whipping itself into a wind-lashed frenzy before the main riff comes crashing back in at the original tempo. This song also features one of the first uses of sound sampling in popular song – the dry hack of Butler coughing is looped into an instantly recognizable intro to the song. I speak from experience: cover this song at your peril!
Next song. “Wheels Of Confusion” is probably my favorite Sabbath tune, though again, I hate to pick favorites.
The introduction is a slow, mournful blues that collapses into a droning one-chord riff. Again, deceptively simple. There is a short turnaround at the end of each section that I have never been able to master. This song again follows the tried-and-true template, first pioneered by Sabbath, of a sludgy verse section followed by a speedy middle only to slow down again for the climax. Hey, it works! This is a great example of a song that just draws you in with its hypnotic groove only to explode with fury in the middle section with a strangely beautiful guitar lick in the middle that sounds like a shooting star. There is also a great coda to the song with a very nice solo… for some reason they titled it “The Straightener”. The lyrics are some of their best, about a dark night of the soul or depression or something, but they fit the song perfectly. It’s a masterpiece of rock dynamics and the band plays like a single instrument, each member’s simple part contributing to create a mighty mountain of stark, hard rock beauty. It’s the perfect example of why they were one of the great classic rock bands.
Finally, anyone who doubts Sabbath’s greatness needs to watch this awesome performance of the band’s anti-war anthem “War Pigs” from 1970, by a young and hungry Sabbath with something to prove.
Just look at the way Ozzy wails, Butler flails, Ward beats his drums to death…. and Iommi actually moves around a little! Sabbath cut its teeth in the days before MTV, and Iommi’s stage presence was usually not very rock star-ish. He generally just stood there on stage right, whipping out these amazing riffs and solos. But here he is clearly rocking even more than usual. What I like most about this video is that this was filmed before the whole “arena rock” conceit. There are no stage props, no pyrotechnics, no fancy lighting. Heck, there ain’t even a riser for Ward’s drums! Just a ripping band at the peak of their powers, clearly enjoying themselves and rocking out... and I love the size of Ward's bass drum, which is much bigger than on the average modern trap set.
Sabbath will never go out of style. All hail Sabbath!
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