Classic Rock | July 2014

London BST Hyde Park

Black Sabbath, Soundgarden, Faith No More, Motörhead, Soulfly.

If it really does turns out to be Sabbath's final London performance, an on-form supporting cast - and flowers - ensured it was a day befitting it This is an historic event. Not because it's London and it's hot and sunny, but because it may well be the last ever big-scale London shows from Black Sabbath and Motörhead, with key members of both bands having health issues of late. And with Soundgarden and Faith No More also on the bill, it could be seen as a passing on of the flame.

Maybe it already has been passed on; many of the 55,000-strong crowd have doubtless come primarily to see Soundgarden and Faith No More, and if they happen to catch the living museum pieces that are Sabbath and the 'Head, so be it.

Soulfly are the first band on the main stage today, and they get a decent reaction, especially set opener Prophecy. But having formed as recently as 1997, the Phoenix metallers are the main stage's relative newbies - Motörhead, Faith No More, Soundgarden and Sabbath have been going for a combined total of almost 150 years - and so have less of the other acts' gravity and import. You could say it's a miracle many of them are still going.

"We're Motörhead! And we play rock'n'roll!" announces Lemmy as he, guitarist Phil 'Wizzö' Campbell and drummer Mikkey Dee launch into old faithful Damage Case. Lemmy seems somewhat enfeebled, although at 68, and with the life he's lived, he has every reason to be. Still, sensing a muted response, Campbell tries to rally the crowd with instructions to "make more noise than you ever thought possible!" They play Lost Woman Blues, from 2013's Aftershock, and even Lemmy is dubious that anyone rushed out for a copy. "Did anyone buy it?" he asks, vainly. "Did anyone steal it?" There is an extended drum solo, but really Motörhead are about speed and concision, and it's only with Ace Of Spades and Overkill that the crowd's juices start flowing.

By contrast, Faith No More are in fierce form. Fierce irreligious form: they're all in black, with priestly dog collars, and frontman

Mike Patton, in the guise of a deranged preacher, keeps quoting from The Exorcist. "Let Jesus fuck you!" he yells. And "Your mother sucks cocks in hell!" Meanwhile, the stage, bedecked with flowers, couldn't be more Sunday-church-service. Zombie Eaters is similarly deceptive, with its softly-sung, balladic beginning ahead of its transformation into a funk-metal monster. Patton is red, hot and blue, his voice going from a facetious croon to a death-metal squeal. And whether it's an admonition of bullshit pop sentiment or an admission that entertainment is a lie, their cover of soul tune Easy goes down a storm.

Patton throws 'holy water' on the front rows as he finally gets sincere. "Thanks for having us, guys, seriously." Faith No More: they care a lot.

Soundgarden present themselves as sepia classic rockers, flanked by large-screen footage of themselves performing in black and white - you'd think Seattle photographer Charles Peterson, responsible for many an iconic grunge-era image, was directing. Going by Chris Cornell's leonine mane and lithe frame, you could believe he'd just stepped out of 1994. Fact is, he's 50, but that Plant-esque wail is still intact as the band run through the whole of Superunknown, which has just turned 20. They might, in the minds of many, be about to supplant the headliners, but they're in no mood to kill the king. "If you're here for Black Sabbath, maybe this is annoying," says Cornell. "But that's okay, cos we're here for Black Sabbath too." Pearl Jam's Mike McCready joins them for Mailman, Cornell joking that, with three guitarists,

"we're going to be like Skynyrd".

As the day grows darker and cooler, the growling menace of the music starts to take full effect. Black Hole Sun beats Nirvana at their own Beatles-meets-Sabbath game. Cornell dedicates 4th Of July (today's date) to the headliners, reminiscing about supporting them on tour. "It was one of the highlights of our lives," he says, paying obeisance to the ultimate masters.

By the time Black Sabbath come on stage its dark just right for the ominous grainy images of war on the screens. Suddenly the crowd is all devil horns and fist pumps. Tony lommi commands with his large cross, and even Ozzy Osbourne, despite the odd doddery move, appears strong. Whether you consider him the original Prince of Darkness or a comical buffoon, there's no denying he demands attention, although mention of his wife (it's his and Sharon's wedding anniversary) is met with boos, reminding us that Sabbath occupy a dual position: underground overlords, with a mainstream pop icon at their helm Into The Void is just one of many quintessential rock riffs, with lommi and Geezer Butler laying down awesome slabs of metallic slurry; pure heads-down, no-nonsense Midlands boogie. There are songs from all points in Sabbath's career, right up to last year's superb comeback 13. Inevitably it's the early ones with

the aura of doom that, paradoxically, elicit the greatest pleasure: the darker the better. The title track of their debut with its tolling bells, signals the onset of rain, and Children Of The Grave brings down the metaphorical curtain. "We'd play all fucking night if we could!" declares Ozzy, proceeding to do a series of weird frog jumps that are worth the price of admission alone There's an encore of Paranoid, and then that really is the end. Possibly forever.

Still, they've had a good run, and helped change everything. We'll never see their like again. Or will we?