It’s 2012 at last!  Remember that press conference back in November where Ozzy, Tony, Geezer and Bill Ward (yes, that’s what makes it Sabbath finally – the insertion of one BILL WARD!) sat down at the Whiskey A Go Go and announced to the world that they were finally making a new album with Rick Rubin? Don’t call it a comeback. Call it a reclamation.

There’s something very intriguing about watching a band make a colossal misstep and then recover. There have certainly been a good share of them — most recently and horrifically that towering monolith of  “what the fuck was that?” known as Lulu — albeit, no one has redeemed themselves from that one quite yet. And with the exception of one great Maiden track, “The Klansman,” (which Bruce has to explain before every time they play it live), there were those Blaze Bailey Maiden albums.

In the wake of all the hoopla of their classic line-up reformation I give you Black Sabbath’s self admitted career low-point: Forbidden. First off, let’s make this clear: I do consider the Tony “The Cat” Martin era of the band to be a legit part of the Sabbath legacy, just not Forbidden. In fact, The Headless Cross is on my  top 5 list of  Sabbath albums. Truthfully, the Tony Martin era of the band doesn’t get enough credit; The Eternal Idol and Tyr are solid records as well. Maybe they’re not proper Sabbath records, but good ones.  Incidentally, Tony Martin should also be credited with one of metal’s most spectacular mullets.

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(This is simply my way of justifying a somewhat late album review —but the truth is shot straight and spoken above.)

Here’s another reason to love honorary Mayor of Washington DC (and Fugazi/Minor Threat guy), the Pope of Punk himself: Mr. Ian MacKaye, He’s dug through three decades-plus of the archives to unearth these grimy masters and given ‘em a Dischord Records “Legacy” treatment. Now if you haven’t heard of ‘em, we can put Void up there with the likes of Siege, Repulsion and a reference or two worthy of a crusty black and white patch or at the very least a Napalm Death cover.

Void weren’t merely one of those great dawns of the Reagan era (that’s the early ’80s for most of you who were still swishing ‘round yer daddies ball-bags). They were a mighty “WHAT THE FUCK!!!” whose up-til-now officially released musical output was under 20 minutes on the flipside of their mighty split LP with long-defunct Washington DC hardcore titans Faith. Oh, Void, how do I describe thee? They were hardcore without cliché. The sound of music being played with such fury that it falls apart only to put itself back together on the next song some 30 seconds later. They even take basic teenage screeds like “Authority” and surround ‘em with brilliant swells of feedback to make ‘em sound like the very, very retarded offspring of Black Sabbath (hence, the name from ‘Into The Void’) and Black Flag.

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So what was your entre into the world where denim, leather n’ demonology reign supreme? Where you adore the goat and sway to the symphony of deee-struction? Every man (or woman) has a tale to tell. Here’s mine. You’re gonna hear a lot of names you might be unfamiliar with, especially if you’re a member of Attack Attack! (Or just plain anyone under 23!) You’re gonna be thinking, “Damn, this fucker is old!” Yeah, well just remember that I’ve seen seen stuff that would make you shit Perrier with jealousy. I’m definitely old enough to have seen Minor Threat, Cliff Burton-era Metallica… the list goes on… before most of you were a tadpole in yer pappy’s population paste.

Let’s start at Discharge. I could go back and trace the whole history of early 80’s hardcore for you, but neither of us have the time or attention span. Let’s just say, the minute I heard these Stroke-on-Trent monsters of the nuclear reactor riff on the monstrous Hear Nothing, See Nothing, Say Nothing album, I nearly pissed my pants. It was the gateway to something far heavier than I had ever heard on a scratchy 7” from the new record store that had opened in Boston called Newbury Comics.

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