10 THINGS I HAVE DONE...

...that you probably have not. (Inspired by this list.)

1) Eaten chocolate cake with Ornette Coleman in his apartment.
2) Interviewed Lemmy in front of a live audience. (Video.)
3) Had my picture taken with Ozzy Osbourne backstage at Madison Square Garden.
4) Been a guest on live radio with Rob Halford of Judas Priest, and host Jim Breuer.
5) Received a phone call at home from Tony Iommi.
6) Nearly been thrown out of a Manhattan deli with Abel Ferrara.
7) Lived with a weird eco-militant/hippie cult.
8) Written liner notes for two CDs (one of which hasn't been released as of this writing).
9) Been flown to Stockholm to hear the last Opeth studio album and interview the band.
10) Self-published a book, and (as of this writing) three issues of a magazine.

OZZY OSBOURNE UPDATE

There's a video for "Let Me Hear You Scream," and it looks like this:



Also, I made a factual error in my review of Scream below; Mike Bordin doesn't play on the record, because he was busy touring with Faith No More. The drummer on Scream is Tommy Clufetos, a veteran who, despite being only 30 years old, has already played and recorded with Alice Cooper, Ted Nugent and (immediately before taking the Ozzy gig) Rob Zombie. (Also worth noting, that makes two RZ sidemen Ozzy has jacked. If Gus G doesn't work out, John 5 should probably expect a phone call.)

I DON'T HATE THE NEW OZZY OSBOURNE ALBUM

I met Ozzy Osbourne once. It was in 2007, backstage at Madison Square Garden. Mark Weiss was taking his picture for the cover of Metal Edge, which I was editing at the time. The story was gonna run a month later than it should have—we'd originally planned to have Ozzy and Rob Zombie on the cover, because they were co-headlining a U.S. tour. But Ozzy couldn't make the originally scheduled Chicago photo shoot, so we got photos of Rob and ran our interview with him, by itself, in one issue. Then we re-scheduled with Ozzy and planned to put him on the cover by himself the issue after RZ. Part of me thought, and still thinks, Team Ozzy did it on purpose.

Anyway, I hung out with Weiss, waiting and waiting with all the lights, backdrop, everything set up for when Ozzy would be ready for us. We wound up getting about five minutes. He came down the hall accompanied by a massive bodyguard whose two responsibilities were 1) to clear the hallway, and 2) to point out stuff on the floor that Ozzy might trip over, like electrical cords. Ozzy was wearing loose black pants, whatever black tunic he was gonna wear onstage, and old-man shoes (Rockports, I think) with velcro instead of laces, and he walked with the shambling gait of someone over 70, or someone with serious neurological damage. He came in, made Ozzy-ish faces for Weiss for about five minutes, then was almost ready to disappear when I asked if I could have a photo with him. He obliged, mustering his trademark maniacal grin on cue and throwing an arm around my back (I was a full head taller than him). Then he was gone, even quicker than he'd arrived.

I've never been a massive Ozzy fan—the only albums of his in my iPod are the first two, Blizzard of Ozz and Diary of a Madman. (Those two are being reissued in deluxe editions later this year, and I'll probably pick them up, especially if they come as two-CD sets packed with contemporaneous live material, or something like that.) I owned Bark at the Moon as a kid, but only ever really liked the title track and maybe one other song. After that, I caught a track here and there, whichever one MTV was playing. Some I liked, some I didn't. I don't think I've ever hated any of his music.

Anyway, there's a new Ozzy album, Scream. It's his first release in two decades not to feature guitarist Zakk Wylde; instead, Gus G of Firewind has been hired. The producer, Kevin Churko, is the same one who worked on Ozzy's last album, 2007's Black Rain. I think this one's better, though. Maybe. A little.

The first song, "Let It Die," kicks off with an almost thrash riff, and some shredding from Gus G. This could be the opening to an Arch Enemy album. But don't be fooled, because the whole thing goes sideways really fast. The guitars go away, and there's a mechanical rhythm, creepy keyboards, and Ozzy talk-singing (I wouldn't call it rapping) through a distortion box. Only on the chorus does the guitar come back, and it's not a metal riff; it sounds something like industrial-tinged radio rock. And the synths are always there in the background.

The next track (and first single), "Let Me Hear You Scream," is more amped-up and metallic; it actually kinda sounds like it was performed by three musicians in a room together. "Soul Sucker" doesn't (more industrial-lite effects), but it's got a decent, doomy riff.

The fourth track, "Life Won't Wait," is totally not metal. It's built around acoustic guitar over a big throbbing bass drum and synth throb. But it's a nice song. Ozzy gets to sing instead of yelp, and he's still kind of good at it, as long as you give him a zillion takes and someone pastes together all the good bits in ProTools at day's end. Seriously, this is a pretty nice song, with some good work from the band, Blasko in particular—his bass roams all over, almost the lead instrumental voice with the acoustic guitar just strumming along.

At this point, the parameters of the album have been pretty much established, and the next two tracks, "Diggin' Me Down" and "Crucify," hold to them. They're heavy, but not shockingly so; the lyrics are about religion and hypocrisy. They're good enough (the songs and the lyrics).

Then along comes "Fearless," and suddenly the album takes a big jump up the quality scale. It starts with some seriously nasty, distorted, crunching guitar, and the riff is more Motörhead than Ozzy. The drumming's a little stiff, like Churko locked Bordin's actual hits to a grid, but Blasko manages to swing around that, keeping the whole thing lively. It's a really pleasant surprise to hear something this truly metallic.

Up next is "Time," one of Ozzy's ballads, very much in the tradition of "Mama, I'm Coming Home" or any of a dozen others he's put out over the years. It's fine, but listening to it, you can't help but hear all the other versions overlaid. Plus, there's some seriously cheesy keyboard-and-backing-vocals stuff going on in the back.

"I Want It More," the ninth song, is another super-heavy performance by the band. The guitar riff is practically thrash, and Gus G totally earns what I'm betting is a massive paycheck with a shredtastic solo. In the song's final third, the piano and (synth, probably) strings come out, but it still doesn't suck.

That's followed by "Latimer's Mercy," which pairs an ultra-heavy, throbbing bassline with some wah-wah guitar and meant-to-be-creepy synths as Ozzy sings about torturing someone. It's not bad, but Ozzy's demonic guise is unconvincing at this point. He should give Alice Cooper a call, get some tips on how to still be a scary monster even after people have seen you stumble around in your bathrobe. The album ends with a minute-long interlude called "I Love You All," Osbourne's longtime (I mean longtime; it dates back to the Sabbath days) benediction to the audience. And that's it.

I like Scream. Ozzy Osbourne's not a clown to me, at least not when he's behind the microphone. But there's a not-so-slight disconnect between him and his band throughout the album. It's so slickly produced, I feel like they played, and then he came in and sang. Which is fine; that's how it works almost all the time. But it doesn't have to feel that way. The illusion of a band making music together is important, and Kevin Churko almost manages that here. Bordin's drums sound processed to hell, to the point that I'm not at all sure he played on ever song, but the guitars and bass sound really good, and both Gus G and Blasko deliver terrific performances on song after song. But Ozzy always sounds slapped on afterward. A truly cynical listener (i.e., not me) could wonder if he even heard the backing tracks before Churko played him the final mix. And metal's not supposed to be like that. It's supposed to be about bros working together to make something. Pop records are about one person up front and some semi-anonymous pros backing him or her up.

But I guess Ozzy is a pop musician, in many ways. He's mononymous, like Elvis or Bono or Frank. A lot of people know him for his showbiz antics and have never heard one of his songs all the way through. So really, Scream is the only album he could have made at this point in his career. Rob Zombie, his former tourmate, is still able to pull off an album (Hellbilly Deluxe 2) that sounds organic and raw, like four guys in a room jamming. Hell, it's his best record since White Zombie's major label debut. That's because he's defined himself by an aesthetic—white trash culture in a blender, with plenty of stage blood—whereas Ozzy has defined himself by a persona (former wild man, now aging and vulnerable to mockery). Zombie uses his persona in service to his aesthetic; Ozzy just shows up and is Ozzy, for however long you need him to be—a five-minute photo shoot, a 90-minute concert, or a 49-minute album. And if you know that going in, you'll find a lot to like on Scream.

ENTOMBED, WOE OF TYRANTS, GWYNNBLEIDD

[Cross-posted here.]

Swedish death metal legends Entombed are on a short U.S. tour built around their performance at last weekend's Maryland Deathfest, and I'd never seen them before, so I figured I'd catch the New York show. I was kinda hoping to get their late enough to miss the opening acts, because the website said the relatively unimpressive metalcore band Woe of Tyrants and the totally useless hardcore band Merauder would be on the bill. Well, I got there only a few minutes after eight PM, and my information was only 50% accurate. The first band was not Woe of Tyrants, but Gwynnbleidd, a very pleasant surprise.

Gwynnbleidd are a Polish-via-Brooklyn blackened death metal band with some folk tossed into the salad bowl, too. Their 2009 album Nostalgia is terrific; it sounds a lot like Opeth at times, but in what universe is that a bad thing? They were the first band, so they got shafted by the soundman, who didn't give them even half the power or fullness their complicated and aggressive, but beautiful music deserved. Still, they pulled off a good set and had some loyal (and vocal) fans in the crowd. So good for them.

Woe of Tyrants were on the bill, and they were up second. They set up quickly, but took a long time to get their sound together (apparently their drummer had four toms, but only three microphones for them, which baffled the in-house engineer). When they did get rolling, it seemed like they were forced to perform an abbreviated set, 'cause they only bashed through about five of their stamped-out, melodic death metal/metalcore songs before leaving the stage. Instrumentally speaking, they're fine. They sound like At the Gates, they sound like Darkest Hour, they sound like a zillion bands you've heard before. Their vocalist is the problem. He's goofy looking. He looks like Michael McDonald from MAD TV, and it's hard to watch him. But again, it was over soon.

Entombed was up next (no Merauder), and they were one of the loosest bands I've ever seen onstage. They almost reminded me of Eyehategod, but without the deliberately sculpted feedback and at twice the speed. They played a lot of old material ("Demon," "Wolverine Blues," their cover of Roky Erickson's "Night of the Vampire"), but after all, isn't it all old material? They haven't put out an album since 2007, and when I interviewed vocalist Lars-Goran Petrov last week, he told me they have some songs, but no scheduled plans to record or release them.

Anyway, the set was terrific. Petrov is an entertaining frontman, dressed half scruffy-rock 'n' roller and half homeless-guy and kinda shambling back and forth onstage, half hunched over like a cross between a gorilla and Ozzy Osbourne, and his voice is just as leonine and room-filling as it is on record. Even though the band only has one guitarist these days, that guitarist, Alex Hellid, keeps the trademark Entombed ultra-distorted roar going at full strength, and the rhythm section has death metal power but rock 'n' roll swing. They reminded me of Motörhead or one of Scott "Wino" Weinrich's bands—Spirit Caravan, The Hidden Hand—more than a standard "death metal" act. And even though it wasn't a super-packed house, everyone there seemed to be into it, too—they had one of the bigger moshpits I've seen in a while. These days, a lot of audiences, especially in New York, just kind of stand around watching the band like they're at a zoo or something. But Entombed got the people moving. This was a great, loud, aggressive rock show, and I had a blast.

RONNIE JAMES DIO 1942-2010

Legendary metal singer Ronnie James Dio passed away early Sunday morning, May 16, from the stomach cancer he'd been battling since November 2009. The 67-year-old Dio had one of the greatest and most recognizable voices in metal history. His career began in the 1950s, fronting various rockabilly and R&B groups (Ronnie and the Red Caps, Ronnie and the Prophets) in upstate New York. "When you start, you do cover material, and whatever happened to be around, we did it," he told me in an interview last August. "We did a lot of blues, a lot of R&B material very popular back East—people like Sam Cooke, Jackie Wilson, the Isley Brothers, James Brown, those kinds of people. You did what was put in front of you."

Dio really found his niche in the early '70s, though, first with the boogie/Southern-rock-style band Elf and then alongside former Deep Purple guitarist Ritchie Blackmore in Rainbow. With his theatrical outfits and dramatic, sweeping gestures, not to mention his astonishingly powerful voice, he established a persona far larger than his relatively small physical stature, stalking the stage and commanding the audience's attention at all times.

After leaving Rainbow in 1978, he moved on to front Black Sabbath, and in so doing reshaped that legendary band in his own image. "When we did 'Children of the Sea,' I think that was the first one we wrote together, and that showed that I was more than capable of doing it," Dio recalled about taking over as Sabbath's lyricist. "And Geezer [Butler, bassist and primary lyricist during the Ozzy years] really didn't want to write. When I came in, he said, 'You're gonna write the lyrics, aren't you?' and I said, 'Well, I certainly hope so,' and he said, 'Oh, thank God, that's one job I never wanted.'"

Where the band had been focused on doomy rock and relatively down-to-earth lyrical concerns with Ozzy Osbourne up front and Butler doing most of the writing, when Dio joined, he brought his own interest in heroism and myth to bear on the albums Heaven And Hell, Mob Rules, and Dehumanizer. Last year, that lineup of Black Sabbath, now renamed Heaven And Hell, released one of 2009's best albums, The Devil You Know—a stunningly heavy, operatic meditation on mortality and doom, by four guys who helped invent a genre and got back together to show the youngsters how it's done.

But no matter how heavy the music was, Dio's fundamental optimism always shone through. "None of the songs end with 'OK, and now we're going to die,'" he told me in that conversation. "My manner is always to let people know that someone out there feels the same, and luckily I've got a stage to speak for them."

Of course, Dio also achieved solo stardom in the '80s, with albums like The Last In Line, Holy Diver, and Sacred Heart, and classic metal anthems like "Rainbow In The Dark," "The Last In Line" and "We Rock." I was lucky enough to see him live three times—first on his Sacred Heart tour in 1986, then as the middle act on the bill (between Motörhead and headliners Iron Maiden) in 2003, and finally in 2008, fronting Heaven and Hell on the Metal Masters Tour with Judas Priest, Motörhead and Testament. The latter show was my then-eight-year-old nephew's first concert, and I'm really glad he was able to see a true legend perform. The world of metal has suffered a great loss; we'll never see another performer like Ronnie James Dio.