Black Sabbath: Back to the Beginning - Villa Park, Aston: 5/7/25 (LIVE REVIEW)

So it came to pass, the four original horsemen of the heavy metal apocalypse joined forces for one last riff-laden hurrah in the now post-industrial corner of Birmingham that nurtured Messrs Osbourne, Iommi, Butler and Ward throughout their formative years. 

Indisputably, this was a once-in-a-generation hometown hoedown to remember for metalheads from all over the world. A stellar day-long undercard of expertly curated, rock legends (albeit overwhelmingly male) spanning a handful of decades proved the perfect appetiser, testament to Sabbath’s enduring influence more than half a century after their seminal long players first hit the shelves.   

A frail, seated Ozzy, now battling Parkinson’s, looked emotional throughout his time on stage. After sharing a handful of solo numbers, the remaining three-quarters of Sabbath joined the 76-year-old frontman for their final poignant moments on stage together. The perpetually shambolic frontman, never failing to come to life as his bandmates cranked it up, looked a shadow of his former self, yet still managed to buoy the 40,000-strong audience, thrilled and saddened in equal measure to be witnessing the definitive Sabbath lineup, albeit for one last time. 

Drummer Bill Ward, back in his rightful place for the first time in 20 years, the last piece of the jigsaw enabling tonight’s reunion show to take place, felt like he’d never been away. No stranger to health scares himself, his sorely missed groove, painstakingly honed inside Midlands venues full of punters demanding music they could dance to, once more gave Sabbath their much-missed looseness.

Tonight’s denouement may have erred towards ramshackle in places, but that wasn’t the point; the eagerly awaited appearance, so hyped in recent weeks, lasted barely half an hour but was still packed with a quartet of absolute bangers. 

For me, ‘War Pigs’ is the greatest curtain raiser in the history of rock, its apocalyptic intro presumably borne from growing up in the years immediately after WW2, still vivid memories of parents, aunts, uncles and grandparents recalling being woken from their beds, scuttling, petrified into air raid shelters at the bottom of gardens, knowing all too well that Aston’s heavy industry would forever be a key target for the Luftwaffe and they’d only have to be unlucky once. Tonight’s rendition still captured the sinister raw terror, a crowd as one, unhesitatingly performing the heavy lifting, propelling Ozzy’s initially fragile vocal. Ozzy’s bandmates heroically dug in one final time to get this classic anti-war anthem over the line to thrilling effect, despite their advancing years, Aston shaken to its core like it was 1940, thankfully this time with no loss of life. 

N.I.B. was tonight’s sole non-Paranoid track, Butler’s fuzzy bass intro as good as ever, getting his humorous ode to Lucifer’s unlikely romantic redemption underway, the crowd singing back Ozzy’s ‘Oh Yeah’ opener. 

‘Iron Man’ is seemingly slowed to a crawl, redolent of Fudge Tunnel’s cover of ‘Sunshine of Your Love’ tempo-wise. It’s like an anvil being dragged across a concrete floor as the now topless Ward calls the shots, flanked by Butler and the leather-clad Iommi, slowly grinding their way along. Indeed, 2025 marks 60 years since Iommi’s right hand was mangled in a nearby factory accident, his homemade prosthetic fingertips, combined with his detuned SG, defying the medical experts, perhaps accidentally creating the musical genre that’s sustained three generations of metalheads since. Stage front, the ever-lucid Prince of Darkness is still geeing everyone along from his glamorous commode, shouting ‘God Bless You All’ mid-song, the audience now certain that this would be the End for keeps. 

The set culminates with the timeless ‘Paranoid’, proof that Sabbath, despite their trademark sledgehammer riffs, also knew how to craft a catchy as hell pop song. The fact that the band then went and nailed that pop song to a runaway train is testament to the band’s chaotic core, a volley of fireworks sending everyone into the night, contemplating the beginning of the post-Sabbath era. 

Words & photo by Michael Price

Black Sabbath official