Sabbath Gaudy Sabbath (or Hey, Let’s Make Fun Of The Crap Some Rock Stars Wore In 1985)

Black Sabbath – true Gods of heavy metal. The undisputed inventors of it, actually, right? I’m a little dicey on their history, but I believe original singer Ozzy Osbourne quit Black Sabbath in 1979 so he could do heroin full-time and dick around with Randy Rhoads before the latter died. The band soldiered on without the Blizzard of Oz for some time after that, but they weren’t against reuniting with Osbourne for the occasional multiple continent charity event. That’s exactly what happened on July 13, 1985, when the original Black Sabbath lineup reformed for Bob Geldof’s much-ballyhooed Live Aid concert.

On the plus side, Ozzy and the boys sounded really great on that sunny Reagan afternoon. On the minus side, they looked totally fucking ridiculous. Let’s review the video tape:

0:03 – I know from other YouTube clips of this same performance that the person introducing Black Sabbath here is Chevy “I Used To Be In Steely Dan” Chase. This footage is edited down; the band actually opened with “Children of the Grave.” What I cannot tell you is the correct wingspan of Ozzy’s fully extended cape at 0:08.

0:22 – I see you’ve been in my grandma’s closet, Ozzy. Jeez Louise. I didn’t know the Prince of Darkness went through a Rue McClanahan phase.

0:43 – Hey, who’s that guy who ate Bill Ward, and why is he dressed like Richard Simmons? The giant metal cross does not make up for those matching wrist warmers, Billy Boy.

0:45 – Uh, FRINGE MUCH? Way to look like Zorro’s cougar mom. At 0:48, Iommi actually has to push his guitar away from all that fringe. That’s how you know you’re wearing too much fringe. If it’s interfering with your day job.

1:14 – Bassist Geezer Butler is the most normal-looking of this 1985 pre-Poison freakshow we’re witnessing here, but that’s not really saying much. He still looks like he’s auditioning for Night Ranger. Also, the guitar Geez is using is a little too pointy and a little too fire engine red for the band that wrote “Symptom of the Universe.” Gotta love the matching pants, though.

1:35 – Those drums are the property of Live Aid AND DON’T YOU FORGET IT!

1:38 – Check out Ozzy’s hair. It’s at that perfect stage where the perspiration has yet to compromise the integrity of the Farrah Fawcett blow-out.

1:48 – Hey, I just noticed Iommi’s fringe nightmare is also adorned with an obscene amount of metal crosses. Did Black Sabbath buy metal crosses wholesale and just stick ‘em on every necklace and jacket they owned? No way Tony got through airport security with that thing on.

3:05 – Iommi’s expression suggests he is proud of his female biker ensemble. In fact, every member of Black Sabbath seems very not ashamed of their duds. This is your brain on money, fame, drugs, and Philadelphia. Any questions?

Black Sabbath didn’t always dress like the Golden Girls. I think all rock fans fondly remember their dingy, leather-jacketed ’70s look:

Yet even back then, they couldn’t resist a little a lot of fringe. Here’s a 1974 clip that finds Ozzy and Iommi sporting some threads that would make the Bee Gees blush:

Who knows, maybe these guys never had it together fashion-wise. Maybe those leather jackets and belt buckles were a fluke. Maybe fringe is fucking HUGE in working class areas of England. Well, at least Black Sabbath managed to write some killer rock tunes in between their numerous visits to Dress Barn.

What The Fuck Is So Random About Kelsey Grammer?

That’s my question for Lev Grossman, who wrote the following passage about his favorite “Star Trek: The Next Generation” episode, “Cause and Effect,” in a May 4th Time article that generally concerns the forthcoming J.J. Abrams Trek reboot, but also Star Trek at large:

“There’s a lot to love about ‘Cause and Effect.’ The fetching but elusive Ensign Ro Laren is in it. Generous amounts of drive plasma are vented from the starboard warp nacelle – always good. The writers actually give Dr. Crusher something useful to do for a change, and Kelsey Grammer makes an awesome, beyond-random cameo as the captain of the other ship.”

Now hold the phone there, Tex. Just what the fuck is so random about Kelsey Grammer? Kelsey’s been a working actor since at least the early 1980s. He was definitely a working actor in 1992, the year “Cause and Effect” was produced. In fact, one could accurately state Grammer was at the height of his fame that year as beloved barfly psychiatrist Dr. Frasier Crane on “Cheers” (the following year marked the beginning of his eleven year run on the spin-off “Frasier”). So I really don’t see how “Star Trek” hiring one of the most popular sitcom actors of that era is even slightly in the neighborhood of “random,” let alone “beyond-random.”

You want “random” for a “Star Trek” captain? How about a toaster? How about a Kodiak bear? How about a toothpick or a diaper or a can of fart spray or a cardboard cutout of Wendy’s founder Dave Thomas? How about something that isn’t a working human actor whose credits include “The Simpsons” and “Another World?” I mean, shit, it wasn’t like Kelsey Grammer was just walking by the Paramount lot when he accidentally tripped, fell into a costume, learned a bunch of lines, and ended up in front of a camera. A pile of uncooked hot dogs? The keys to Brent Spiner’s Honda? Yes, I’ll accept those items as totally “random” Starfleet Officers, but not Kelsey Grammer, a PROFESSIONAL ACTOR and “STAR TREK” FAN who had to be BOOKED and PAID to appear.

While I’m busting your chops here, Lev, I’d also like to take you to task for using that awful “wait for it” gag TWICE in one paragraph. “Wait for it” really only works in spoken dialogue. You’re building suspense for the listener. They will indeed have to wait for the crazy information you’re about to lay on them. They cannot make you speak faster. Your mouth is an instrument only you can control. In print, “wait for it” is just a cutesy pile of vomit that gets in the way of the narrative. I am not going to pause and ready myself for whatever insane fact awaits me in the next part of the sentence. I’m just going to damn you for wasting my precious time with trendy garbage slang that belongs in a sassy pre-teen conversation about Zac Efron.

And yes, Lev, isn’t it just completely fucking insane that “Enterprise” star Scott Bakula was once on “Quantum Leap?” Oh, no, wait – that isn’t completely fucking insane, not at all, because “Quantum Leap” was the most high-profile shit Scott Bakula ever did. Nothing he’s ever appeared in before or since has been more popular – not that football movie he did with Sinbad, not his role on “Murphy Brown,” not his high school turn as the lead in “Godspell.” In the words of Amy Poehler, really? That’s your reveal? Some shit me and my Grandma already knew for over a decade? If your article were an actual real-time conversation between the two of us and that little nugget of info was prolonged with a “wait for it,” I probably would have gone semi-Christian Bale on you. Next thing you’re gonna tell me is the guy who played Urkel doesn’t really talk like that! HOLYFUCKINGSHIT!

As for your prediction that this new Star Trek won’t have a “sense of intimacy” or be both “brilliant and ridiculous,” I guess you haven’t seen the following trailer:

Robot cop, that little kid’s hair, that little kid’s line, James Dean Biker Kirk, Uhura’s granny bra, Crazy Action Suit Sulu – all brilliant, all ridiculous (intimacy quotient pending). How could they not have you at Thelma & Louise Convertible Death Wish Nine Year Old?

Sorry if this all seemed a bit harsh, Lev. I guess I’ve been a little touchy since the Hipster Grifter randomly stole my – wait for it – “Quantum Leap: Season 1″ DVD that was autographed by Scott Bakula! It was right underneath my – wait for it – framed photo of Kelsey Grammer! That’s random beyond Thunderdome!

Requiem For Walter Cronkite’s Girlfriend’s Cat

My friend John has this friend Nancy who offsets gambling losses by cat-sitting in and around New York City. A few years ago Nancy landed a sweet gig taking care of the beast you see above this block of text. That Persian’s name was Shadow, and he belonged to Carly Simon’s sister Joanna. Everything was hunky dory until Joanna Simon decided she wanted to move in with her boyfriend – Walter Cronkite (yes, that Walter Cronkite). Apparently ol’ swingin’ Walt already had a bunch of cats up at his groovy bachelor pad, and there was just no room for Shadow. So Joanna bequeathed him to Nancy, who in turn bequeathed Shadow to John.

The story of Shadow’s acquisition was one John loved to bring up whenever there was a conversation lull amongst a group of people. Most of the time, though, that quirky tale was far more endearing than Shadow himself. Shadow was not a people cat. He would not rub against your leg and let out a comforting purr, nor would he playfully bat at pieces of string you danced in his field of vision. This pussy seemed to actively avoid human contact. If you happen to end up in the same room as him, he’d just stare you down, perhaps emitting a noise once or twice that sounded like the death rattle of an AIDS-infected mouse. Every once in a while he might jump up on the piece of furniture you were using, but certainly not to nestle in your lap. Shadow would just walk around and stand over your lap. As soon as you started petting him, he’d run off as if to say, “Ew, you have cooties.”

Yet as antisocial as Shadow was, he was a beloved presence in John’s household. He was kind of like the bitchy Southern Belle all the men tolerated because she was so hot. Indeed, Shadow was quite stylish in later years thanks to the lion’s mane haircut John insisted on giving him. Although fecal matter would occasionally stick to his butt hairs and he pooped on the bed more than once, I don’t think you could call Shadow a “gross” cat in general. He did not have the mange, he was not outwardly aggressive, and I never once saw him bleed out his eyes. So I considered him a friend from the animal kingdom (albeit a standoffish friend).

Shadow died yesterday on a routine trip to the vet. He was pretty old. I don’t have exact numbers here, but it had to be double digits. It was just her time. He leaves behind a caring master, his equally caring roommates, and a legion of befuddled fans who wish just one more time that asshole cat would look up at them and make some kind of ungodly devil noise to express his displeasure.

Rest in peace, Shadow the Cat.

Ideas For The “Office”/”30 Rock” Crossover You Know Is Going To Happen Before 2012

- Tracy Jordan is forced to attend the same workplace sensitivity training seminar as Ryan Howard after the former accidentally lights Kenneth on fire and the latter calls Pam a “stuck-up bitch” for the three hundrenth time

- Jack Donaghy resumes his relationship with that Senator and they do the whole “meeting up in Pennsylvania” thing again; eventually the lovers end up at a diner where Dundler Mifflin warehouse employees like to blow off steam after a long day at work

- Dwight Schrute lands “TGS” as a client and visits their offices after being entranced by Liz Lemmon’s sexy phone voice

- Kelly Kapoor begins dating Lutz for some reason

- Phyllis begins dating Lutz for some reason

- Oscar begins dating Frank for some reason

- It turns out Creed is the father of both Grizz AND Dot Com

- Michael hires the Ghostbusters to investigate a noise he keeps hearing in his office; they accidentally cross the streams and total protonic reversal moves the island of Manhattan to within walking distance of Scranton

Where I Was When So-And-So Died

A companion piece to my Cobain remembrance post. One day, these stories will be important to someone.

JIM HENSON (5/16/90): Not sure. I think I saw it on “The NBC Nightly News?” Man, we’re off to a great start! I know for a fact, though, that the next day was my fifth grade science fair. I distinctly remember R.E., the kid in my class who got left back a couple times and was really bitter about it, teasing me during said fair by suggesting that I “probably cried” when I heard about the master Muppeteer’s death. That seemed pretty uncalled for. Who doesn’t love the Muppets? In retrospect, I think R.E. probably cried when he found out he was getting left back again. Yeah. Two decades later, I finally figure out the perfect comeback.

SAM KINISON (4/10/92): I was watching Walk Like a Man on WPIX Channel 11 while playing Scrabble with my parents. They actually interrupted the movie to deliver a grim report from near the scene of Kinison’s fatal car accident. Depressing (even more so than Howie Mandel’s performance in Walk Like A Man).

SHANNON HOON (10/21/95): My friend Jon broke the news to me in our high school Journalism class. I apparently made some really crass remark, like, “Fuck it, one less hippie asshole to deal with!” Seems like something I’d say, but that corner of my mind is a little dusty. Care to clarify here, Jon?

TUPAC SHAKUR (9/13/96): Another one in front of the tube. I was watching “Ren and Stimpy” on MTV when they ran a crawl (in the “Beavis & Butt-head” font, no less) announcing that Tupac Shakur had been fatally shot. I think it was the “Crocostimpy” episode. Inappropriate. September 13th is also Dave Mustaine’s birthday. There’s some kind of interstellar connection there waiting to be found by rock/rap pundits.

PHIL HARTMAN (5/28/98): A friend of a friend told me on the phone, “Oh my God, they just said that Phil Hartman’s wife killed him and then killed herself!” I didn’t believe him because he was a known practical joker, but then I flipped on CNN and saw the crawl at the bottom said something like “HARTMAN RESIDENCE, EARLIER.” It’s always sad when a talented comedian dies because his wife is fucking bonkers. That night, I watched all my old “SNL” video tapes in Phil’s honor.

JOE CALLEJA (11/16/00): This one took a week and a half to confirm. Why, I have no idea. It’s not like anything else was going in November of 2000 (were we really that caught up in The Legend of Bagger Vance mania?). Anyway, this kid I worked with at Perkin’s (who, it should be noted, was white and drove a car with the phrase “PIMPIN’ AIN’T EASY” emblazoned across the top of the front windshield) came in one day in mock-grief over the death of Joe Calleja, a.k.a. “Kid Rock’s midget.” I could find no verification of this on the Internet or in local newspapers, so I just assumed Vanilla Ice was lying. I can’t remember what media outlet confirmed Joe C’s death for me. MTV? At any rate, it was kind of sad to see the only interesting part of Kid Rock’s stage act fade off into the ether.

JOEY RAMONE (4/15/01): Easter Motherfuckin’ Sunday. I came home from a long-ass shift at Eckerd, America’s drug store (yeah, they were actually open!), and sat down at my computer before dinner to check my e-mail. I had twenty new messages. The subject of every single one was along the lines of “Did you hear about Joey Ramone?” Right then and there, I knew that fucker was dead. Yahoo! News confirmed it. Talk about a kick in the balls. The last report I heard before his passing made it seem like Ol’ Joe was on the upswing. It was the same deal right before Johnny died. The guitarist seemed to go to great lengths to assure everyone he was alright. Oh, those Ramones. Never wanting the fans to worry about their various cancers. I miss those sloths.

LAYNE STALEY (4/5/02): At Eckerd again, slinging baby formula and dancing hamsters to the rednecks of the greater Central Florida area. Jon, the guy I mentioned before, was employed there as well, and we had actually been joking for weeks months about when Seattle authorities might discover Layne’s decaying, drug-addled corpse. Then, on a seemingly normal April day in 2002, Jon walked in to the Mighty E, looked in my direction, and said with a slight look of fear, “They found Layne. He’s dead.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Shortly thereafter, I had four teeth pulled and spent my entire recovery period listening to Music Bank while watching “The Gong Show” on mute, wondering if my painful experience was anything like Layne’s final moments.

DEE DEE RAMONE (6/5/02): Eating a hot dog while on the phone in front of the computer. Just surfin’ around. Hit Yahoo! News and saw the amazing headline – “DEE DEE RAMONE FOUND DEAD IN HOLLYWOOD.” That’s like some shit you see in a movie, right? “Found dead in Hollywood.” How epic. Was Dee Dee Ramone the Black Dahlia? The Orlando Sentinel obit a few days later was even funnier – “PUNK ROCKER FOUND DEAD.” Like, any ol’ punk rocker, not one of the important ones. Just some dipshit punk rocker! I remember I made one of my friends drive me to the airport the next night so I could buy a couple of New York newspapers (I was still living in Florida at the time). I knew Big Apple writers would grasp the severity of the fatal overdose of the man who wrote “Rockaway Beach.” As usual, I was right.

RONALD REAGAN (6/4/04): I walked into my parents’ house and the following conversation happened…

JG1: [JOYOUS] Pack your bags, son!
JG2: Why?
JG1: [STILL JOYOUS] You have to go to California for the funeral!
JG2: What funeral?
JG1: [DRIPPING WITH SLIME] Ronald Reagan.

My dad hated Reagan.

Remember when Bo Derek walked by his casket in the Capitol and everyone was like, “Whoa, she’s a Republican?” That was funny.

STEVE IRWIN (9/4/06): This was one of those moments where I was staring at the computer and not fully believing I was completely sober. Someone must have slipped something into my Coke. This couldn’t be a real news story. The Crocodile Hunter died after a stingray stabbed his fucking heart? No goddamn way, man. Either I’m dreaming or someone’s poisoning me. At any rate, I’m tripping balls right now. The funny thing about Steve’s death is every person I told was like, “So? Who cares? Those were shitty 1980s movies anyway.” Y’see, most of my friends were confusing the Crocodile Hunter with Crocodile Dundee star Paul Hogan. Most of my friends don’t watch Animal Planet.

HEATH LEDGER (1/22/08): I was living in this windowless, completely illegal Brooklyn apartment at the time with about thirty other people. I’m sure I saw it online first, but the newspaper headlines really stand out in my mind. This was another, “Huh? Am I on drugs here or something?” death. One guy I lived with really flipped his biscuit about it. He kept holding his head in the common area saying, “It could have been me, it could have been me!” It should be noted this guy was not a hunky, acclaimed actor from Down Under who was in danger of buckling under the pressures of acting/Hollywood/celebrity/a secret Olsen twin affair; rather, he was a Repo Man hailing from Wisconsin, I believe, whose hardest decision on a day-to-day basis was figuring out what deli or pizzeria to hit up for a lunch. Proof positive that New York makes people totally fucking crazy.

How Does That New Upper Crust Record Strike Me?

Favorably.

Other stuff I’ve written for Crawdaddy! lately that I’m not sure I linked here:

An Open Letter To Chuck Biscuits
Henry’s Funeral Shoe – Everything’s For Sale (review)
The Terminator’s Back…In Rock Form

An Open Letter To Gawker

Dear Gawker,

I hate to have to be the one to tell you this, but you’re really embarrassing yourself with this ’round-the-clock coverage of the so-called “Hipster Grifter.” It’s like you’ve never seen a con in action before. Didn’t your parents ever take you to the State Fair? Guess they were too busy jerking off to Lou Reed records and not owning TVs to get you anywhere where grass doesn’t have a fence around it.

Gawker, I feel by giving Kari Ferrell so much digital ink, you’re perpetuating the stereotype that hip, young Asian women can do anything and it will be totally fucking adorable. If Kari was white (or black or Hispanic), had sixty more pounds on her, lived in Omaha, and liked Staind, would you give a shit that she was fabricating her résumé and writing her sexually explicit desires on matchbook covers? Probably not. Criminals like that are basically non-existent unless they do some crazy shit like call 911 on McDonald’s or take a dump during a bank robbery.

I think the last thing America needs right now is another Bambi Bembenek character running around, a criminal folk “hero” we all rally around because we (not so) secretly want to give her the high hard one in a Denny’s bathroom stall. I’ll admit, Kari Ferrell’s pretty close to the Manic Pixie Dream Girl I used to fantasize about in high school and college. Unfortunately, she’s also a deceitful weasel who played on people’s emotions to get money and jobs. I was just as qualified for that position she landed at Vice. Guess I should change my interview strategy to lying, showcasing lame tattoos, and blowjob small talk.

Sorry, Gawker, I just had to get that off my chest. If you could please just ignore Kari Ferrell from now on until she turns up dead, in custody, or on the fucking moon with Neil Armstrong’s dick and concentrate on the shit that really matters – candid photos of “Gossip Girl” cast members and FOX News bashing – I’ll be a happy little reader.

Yours ’til Niagara Falls,

JG2

Prominent Dr Pepper Cans In “South Park” Raise Questions

I don’t know if this has been discussed at length anywhere else on the InterWEBZ (man, I’m really starting to hate that term), but has anyone else noticed the non-animated cans of Dr Pepper that have been appearing in characters’ hands during the last couple episodes of “South Park?” They’re kind of hard to miss. It was Cartman, I believe, who was nursing a DP at some point during last week’s hilarious “Fishsticks” outing; in this week’s episode, one of the competing Pinewood Derby fathers was clearing holding a can during the big race. I tried to find a screen capture online, but when I typed “Dr Pepper South Park” into Google Image Search, this is all that came up:

Anyway, isn’t this shameless in-show product placement (a hot trend now with advertisers desperately fighting the Tivo and DVR uprising) the kind of thing “South Park” would usually mock into complete embarrassment? I have noticed recently there are more commercials during your average episode of “South Park” than there used to be. Is Matt & Trey’s greatest creation slipping in the ratings? Are talking Towlie plushies not bringing in their projected revenue? Have the suits beaten the guys who made Orgazmo! into submission? I guess after ten plus years, they have to concede to one or two things their evil corporate overlords come at them about.

Still, you’d think they’d at least make some kind of reference to the silliness of blatantly Photoshopped soda cans. This is the show that just graphically beheaded Carlos Mencia and animated a music video in which Kanye West has sexual intercourse with a giant sea creature. Maybe they thought that stuff would distract everyone from Cartman’s shiny maroon can full of fat, fat greenbacks. Whatever. “South Park” is gonna be appointment TV until it goes off the air. As long as they don’t change the voices or totally run out of steam, I’ll still watch the shit out of it.

NOSTALGIA WARNING: Man, I remember when “South Park” first came on. I was a freshman in college. I specifically remember talking about the premiere episode with a girl I liked the day after it aired. That conversation was quite possibly the most 1997 conversation I ever had in my life. Topics included “South Park,” the Star Wars re-releases, Blur, and feeling completely shiftless during the go-go Clinton ’90s. Talk about a scene from the coming-of-age teen comedy I’m going to write when I’m 45 and drowning in the candy-coated memories of my youth. Blecch.

Numerous Ways To Describe That New Tinted Windows Song

- The sound of Illinois and Ohio farting simultaneous Cheap Trick b-sides

- The kind of song they play at Claire’s Accessories to get ten year old girls excited about hoop earings

- A sparkly, Disney-sounding co-op of every slightly sugary alt-rock band circa 1996

- Taylor Hanson casting off the oppressive shackles of his musical brethren and firmly planting his foot on the next rung of the pop rock ladder

- Bun E. Carlos casting off the oppressive shackles of Robin Zander and firmly paying off his third mortgage with the revenue from this juicy slice of teen pop that will undoubtedly appear in the next movie Zac Efron makes

- Nowhere near as good as that song from my last post

If Vampire Weekend Sounded Anything Like This, I’d Consider Listening To Them More Often

NOTE: I have no idea what this song is, where it comes from, or how old it might be.