Harry Paterson

First published by Moonshine Magazine  www.www.mickmoonshine.co.uk May 2011

Tribute acts, eh? Love ‘em or hate ‘em, they are now an established and accepted part of the live music experience. Some good, some absolutely abysmal and one or two, maybe, possibly, great. Some can, and do, go to ridiculous lengths to replicate every conceivable facet of their heroes’ act, from plastic surgery to King’s ransoms on costumes and props.

This is not the time, or the place, though, for a debate regarding the key attributes of a successful tribute act; is authenticity the primary goal? A little humour and self deprecation the key factor? Or maybe technical finesse over and above all else? For this writer’s money, greedy mofo that he is, a blend of all the above is the secret to earning the Moonshine Seal of Approval.

And so, without further ado, allow me to introduce you to Sack Sabbath. Probably sufficient information, right there, for you to deduce this is not a West Life tribute…

Unlike eight out of ten other leading brands of Sabbath tribs, the Sacksters concentrate purely on the Ozzy-era and, it has to be said, they’re some experience. Comprising front man, Ozzy Oddbin (great moniker), guitarist, Tony I.O.U. (inspired), drummer, Bill Board (even better), and bassist, Geezer I-can’t-believe-it’s-not Butler (outstanding), Sack Sabbath were amusing, extremely entertaining and, musically, highly impressive.

Visually, they struck just the right balance. Oddbin, complete with granny glasses, fringed top and an authentic 70s-era Ozzy barnet, did his famous namesake justice, with I.O.U. favouring a more restrained version of his alter ego, with black, fringed jacket and that iconic silver cross swinging across his chest.

The rhythm section, deciding to leave the theatrics to the two front men, and looking like any other pair of ordinary Joes, provided a little balancing sanity.

The packed house enjoyed every minute of it. And why wouldn’t they with all the Sabbath classics you care to mention despatched with accuracy, precision and skill? N.I.B., Fairies Wear Boots and Iron Man so faithfully replicated and yet, somehow, with a certain something the band made the songs their own.

Almost as impressive was the sound they managed to conjure. It was, actually, a little eerie hearing that retro, fuzz-drenched wall of noise, so authentically like the genuine article, slamming at you from just a few feet away. If eyes had been closed, ears would have been fooled.

Bill Board or, more accurately, Bored, judging by his inscrutable expression and general air of disinterest, nevertheless turned in one of the tightest and most polished performances I’ve ever seen from a tribute drummer.  War Pigs, in particular, benefitting from his attention to detail and total command of the material.

A Sabbath signature, certainly during their 70s heyday, was the distinctive tone of Ward’s bass and the way it doubled the riffs before spiralling off into zany, Entwistle-like, minor pentatonic work-outs. The fact that they were so effortlessly reproduced here was only marginally less impressive than the fact they were delivered by a musician who, literally, appeared to be asleep on his feet. Or maybe he was trapped Behind The Wall Of Sleep? Sorry…

And while we’re talking attention to detail, kudos to the excellent I.O.U. who rarely took the easy way out. No cheating on Paranoid for, instance. Nope. That famous riff was hammered out on the twelfth fret, complete with Iommi’s tricky appoggiaturas stylishly peeled off.

But it’s not just musical excellence with these chaps; Oddbin was a hysterically realistic Ozzy, complete with sly references to the fucked-up lifestyle, marital traumas and fondness for chemicals surely now as famous as the songs that can rightly claim to be the genesis of heavy metal.

That nasal West Midlands whine sounded more like Ozzy than Ozzy (all the more remarkable considering it’s progenitor hails from Beeston)and Children Of The Grave and Symptom Of The Universe were better value for money than the palsied, shambolic, self-parodied buffoon can offer himself these days.

Outstanding entertainment and if you can find better, I’ll eat my Rat Salad…