Are The Tony Martin Black Sabbath Albums Actually That Bad, Though?
The late 1980s saw Black Sabbath in a precarious position following the brisk turnover rate of vocalists and their rapidly dwindling commercial success. Following on from the bizarre Seventh Star—possibly the bands most forgotten album, most notable for its rather comical “Black Sabbath featuring Tony Iommi” moniker—it was clear that the band needed to take some measure of stability and identity back.
Enter Tony Martin, a fellow Brummie brought on to redo the vocals of Ian Gillan on The Eternal Idol, ultimately becoming their longest tenured vocalist after Ozzy. Martin is an interesting figure, as he enters without the pedigree of Rainbow‘s Ronnie James Dio or Deep Purple‘s Ian Gillan, and despite being the voice of arguably the most iconic metal band of all time for the best part of a decade, he’s rarely brought up when discussing Black Sabbath.
But perhaps that isn’t surprising. If we’re speaking generously, the average Black Sabbath fan probably isn’t listening past Born Again, though realistically they probably aren’t even listening past Heaven And Hell. So the Martin years suffer in retrospect; their reputation is mostly defined by then-contemporary reviews and the grumbling of long-time fans. It’s a familiar feedback loop for a lot of bands: not many people listen to the album on release, its negative coverage and reputation becomes canonical, and so the album is continuously ignored while the aura of negativity surrounding it only increases. For many bands, this describes a single album, but for Black Sabbath this described over 10 years.
Despite my love for their best records—you’d have to go to the ends of the earth to find a better run of albums from their debut to Sabotage—I don’t have blind reverence for Black Sabbath as a band. I’m not much a fan of the Dio years (much preferring his work in Rainbow and his post-Sabbath records) or Ian Gillan’s contributions. I think Technical Ecstasy is genuinely very bad and Thirteen falls flat for me. So while it’s undeniable that the era certainly represents the commercial nadir of the band, I totally approached the Martin years with an open mind.
1987’s The Eternal Idol is an auspicious introduction, obviously cribbing much more from the Dio era and the general trends of traditional heavy metal from the time. There’s a big focus on drama and flair, a sort of ostentatious bent that will go on to dominate this period. It foreshadows a very ponderous record, even when it tries to be forceful. Opening track “The Shining” articulates this neutral sound: from the thump of its chorus, to its arpeggiated intro, to its slow fade-out retreat, everything feels similarly unassuming and weightless. Production contributions from Vic Coppersmith-Heaven makes sense since a lot of the album shares the recording sensibilities of a new wave record. “Ancient Warrior” teases something more unique with its crystalline synth introduction and acidic guitar tone, but continues the plodding trajectory of the record once Eric Singer’s incredibly understated drumming kicks in. This is an album that truly highlights Bill Ward’s importance to the band’s identity.
“Hard Life To Love” is maybe the platonic ideal of what the The Eternal Idol is aiming for: a track of oddly triumphant hard rock melodies that adopts trace elements of both contemporary pop forms and power metal. It’s easily the best track on the record, one that feels uninhibited by not having a foot in Black Sabbath’s past. “Glory Ride” is a marked step backwards, its saccharine melody and vague lyrics of glory and victory making it feel like KISS attempting an army recruitment song. “Born To Lose” reminds me of a flatter version of something off of Never Say Die, a record that, for its flaws, sounded quite explosive at times.
“Nightmare”‘s slower pace only highlights the anemic quality of its writing; it’s so barebones in its composition it feels transparent, like preset chunks from a hard rock tool kit slotted into place in a DAW. “Scarlet Pimpernel” is a solo piece from Iommi in the vein of “Orchid” or “Embryo,” and while not as strong as those two tracks—its comparative lushness and overdubbed harmonies evoking more New Age sensibilities—it’s a nice prelude to the album’s closing section, introduced by the noticeably brisker pace of “Lost Forever”. Title track “Eternal Idol” is the only track on the record that attempts to deliberately evoke the sound and spirit of early Black Sabbath, but the limp production and ostentatious performance from Martin really strip it of any power it could have.
The wisest decision Black Sabbath made during the Dio years was to accelerate the shift in their songwriting sensibilities towards a sound that was both different to their preceding albums and fitted Dio better as a vocalist. Even at their most dour, Dio never aped an affectation of Ozzy’s vocals, and the instrumentation never called for it; as a result, it’s an era with its own identity, its own sound. This is perhaps what every proceeding era struggled with: torn between contemporary trends in hard rock and the larval developments in doom metal from bands Black Sabbath were almost solely responsible for influencing.
In an odd way, I think Martin was simply too conventionally talented as a vocalist for the band at the time. Ozzy’s unique, warbled Brummie eulogies sound uniquely fitted to a band with such an emergent, prescient and dark sound as the first years of Black Sabbath. Dio was tremendously gifted, but wouldn’t have fitted the pitch-black sound of the early records, and so the band evolved their sound in a way that perfectly suited his vocal style. The Eternal Idol immediately indicates a persistent problem throughout the Martin years: a lack of identity; a lack of consistency; the sound being torn between arena rock and doom metal; never finding synergy between the two.
What The Eternal Idol displays most clearly is that Tony is good, but miscast for this era of Black Sabbath.
Two years later saw the release of Headless Cross, which begins with the short atmospheric track “The Gates Of Hell,” setting a dense (but ultimately apocryphal) mood that quickly relents, giving way to the title track’s typical bombast. As a track, “Headless Cross” is the best of the Martin era so far, its open sound and relative restraint affording it the epic scale that nothing on The Eternal Idol could match, even if its fade-out ending seems a little cowardly. “Devil & Daughter” is less inspired but still competent.
“When Death Calls” has an unexpected gentleness to its introduction, but ultimately feels more tawdry than it does genuine, and on the whole feels like a track that strains itself trying to emulate an atmosphere of awe. “Kill In The Spirit World” should fare worse, attempting to combine the Headless Cross sound with a misguided evocation of mid-era Journey, but instead is a moment where the Martin era’s penchant for full-spectrum flamboyance actually pays a dividend. “Call Of The Wild” is much less effective; much more tired in its composition.
“Black Moon” is quite bizarre, with these uncertain, barely perceptible keys quivering behind a jocular blues riff—a track embodying the band’s identity crisis at the time. “Nightwing”‘s melancholic aspirations are undercut by these stock, familiar guitar arpeggios that lack any menace or moodiness. Closing track “Cloak And Dagger” has a welcome irreverence and sourness to its opening riff that’s ultimately at odds with the romance of Martin’s vocals. Ideally, this conflict between Iommi’s composition and Martin’s delivery should have resulted in something unique and thorny but instead so often feels like a glum compromise.
Headless Cross as an album is certainly a marked improvement over The Eternal Idol, with a thicker production and slower pace. Cozy Powell’s addition injected the record with much needed energy, and his performance manages to place emphasis even on the albums weakest moments.
A quick turnaround would result in the release of 1990’s Tyr, the last record of Martin’s first stint in Black Sabbath. As an album it has a stronger direction and established identity compared to the prior two records, and is probably the only one of them to feel fully complete and cohesive.
“Anno Mundi” begins with dramatic interplay between Martin’s vocals and the background choral elements, before introducing a much more pronounced heaviness to its production. “The Law Maker,” conversely, is probably the Martin era at its most rollicking and traditionally rocking, even if it’s not the most interesting song. “Jerusalem” is a solid track, and “The Sabbath Stones” manages to feel self-referential without becoming indulgent, a track that relishes in the band’s back catalog while still standing firm on its own. Both “Feels Good To Me” and “Heaven In Black” are decent if a little meandering.
Conversely, “The Battle Of Tyr” is a really nice interlude that gives way to “Odin’s Court,” a remarkably understated track that displays an atypical restraint and patience before exploding straight into “Valhalla,” a track that manages to fully harness the anthemic potential found throughout the past few records. In spite of its brightness and seeming incongruity within the bands discography, “The Battle Of Tyr” / “Odin’s Court” / “Valhalla” is a solid triptych that represents the best of Martin’s tenure.
Martin would leave the band for a year, working on material for his debut solo record Back Where I Belong as Black Sabbath reunited with Dio for 1992’s decently received Dehumanizer. Martin’s first run in his Black Sabbath tenure was contentious but at least retained a cult following; vocal defenders continue to see the records as rough, uncelebrated diamonds in their discography.
This isn’t a luxury afforded to the second run of albums that featured Martin; Cross Purposes and, particularly, Forbidden, are practically invisible within the band’s legacy, rarely acknowledged by both their audience or the band members themselves.
Cross Purposes in particular is bizarre in how inessential and static it is. Opening with “I Witness,” it signals a band caught in stasis (or worse, regression) and “Cross Of Thorns” feels like it’s missing most of its pieces, like someone stripped a complete song of its defining qualities. Martin’s vocals are as good as ever, but are wasted in compositions that don’t fit him whatsoever.
“Psychophobia” is a mostly botched experiment that tentatively explores start-stop speed metal sounds before retreating to these clean, open chord sections. “Virtual Death”‘s ominous bass introduction gives way to a track notable for its relative minimalism: low-key vocals and restrained guitars brand it with a unique identity among the tracklist. “Immaculate Deception” isn’t bad but certainly underwritten and ponderous in its performance. I find “Dying For Love” to sound oddly unfinished, though, for all the world like a series of rehearsal vignettes queued up together, unfocused and rushed, only slightly bettered by “Back To Eden.”
“The Hand That Rocks The Cradle” is initially a change of pace but slumps back into the sluggish hard rock that defines the majority of Cross Purposes. “Cardinal Sin” has a more discernible rhythmic identity with its muddied triplets, but retains the album’s sense of lethargy. “Evil Eye” doesn’t announce the album’s ending with aplomb so much as it just drifts away quietly, as if to avoid notice, apologetic. Cross Purposes isn’t beyond reproach as an album; it retains consistent theming alongside a more deliberate, almost sombre approach to its composition, but it is bizarrely underwritten, paper-thin and inefficient with its own ideas. It’s not the worst Black Sabbath album—that will always be Technical Ecstasy, to my mind—but it certainly feels the most rushed.
Fast-forward to 1995 and the release of Forbidden, a record that partially acknowledges the sea change in heavy music since The Eternal Idol, enlisting both Ice-T and Ernie C from Body Count as contributors while allowing itself to have a more contemporary, occasionally more aggressive sound. Opener “Illusion Of Power” has the skeleton of a solid track; in concept the trudging dirge of the main riff and Martin’s decision to give a more authoritative, barked vocal delivery is interesting, but feels underdeveloped. Its oddly deflating chorus only highlights the lack of meat on the song’s bones. Ice-T’s feature is the most notable element of the song, and he’s pretty good, giving the song some additional presence, playing well against Martin’s more authoritative stamp,but it’s so brief it feels wasted. It represents the defining element of Forbidden: the sound of Black Sabbath embracing industry changes several years too late.
The production is emblematic of rock production of the era, wedged between the explosions of grunge and nu metal, tentatively skirting round the edges of harshness and warmth. “Get A Grip” sounds closer to a lot Alice In Chains-influenced bands coming out around the same time, just a wildly unpleasant track, but not in a particularly interesting or caustic way. “Can’t Get Close Enough” is plodding, injected with a measure of warmth from a trundling bass performance and Martin’s strong vocals. “Shaking Off The Chains” is highlighted by a persistent little legato riff around the halfway mark but is quite forgettable.
It’s an album without much cohesion; an album that struggles with confidence. The incredibly confused ballad “I Won’t Cry For You” is torn between Whitesnake and Dio, like library music for a parody montage. Both “Guilty For You” along with “Sick And Tired” are perhaps the most pedestrian the band ever got. “Rusty Angels” is similarly dry but distinguished with some brisk ostinato riffing.
Title track “Forbidden” is one of the better songs on the record, a solid track that reminds me of a more restrained Cathedral or something. But in that description I’m damning the record with faint praise; it’s a record that more than any other (save perhaps for the final reunion record Thirteen) sounds like a proper reified genre record, and not the sound of pioneers. Even at their most fatigued the band had the trace elements that defined their explosive arrival and revolutionary sound. Forbidden sounds like a band influenced by Black Sabbath, as opposed to a Black Sabbath record in itself.
The final two tracks at least end the album with some grace. “Kiss Of Death” has more ambitious aspirations with its reserved pacing, longer runtime and ample breathing space in the mix; it’s arguably the highlight of the record. “Loser Gets It All” isn’t immediately as appropriate as a closer but has a unique sense of defiance to it; it fittingly feels like a track directed by Martin’s vocals, a directed “get fucked” to end a troubled recording period, and a track that has some power to it. For as disregarded as Forbidden is, it’s really satisfying seeing it end with a solid one-two.
Following Forbidden, Martin was quickly out the door, seemingly making way for the long-in-the-works 1997 reunion. The treatment of Martin and his contributions to the band—representing five albums and almost a decade of touring—always stuck in my craw, and it feels like he never got a chance to display how good he was during his time in the band. Thankfully, Martin has been better served by his solo material, with his 2005 record Scream reuniting Martin with Cozy Powell and Geoff Nichols, a record that finally fulfills the promise of what his Black Sabbath tenure might have been. Martin has been consistently active since, with his most recent solo record being 2022’s Thorns, a fantastic record that somehow has some of his most impressive vocal performances in his discography—in his late 60s!
After having patched things up with Tony Iommi, leading to the the recent release of the Anno Domini 1989-1995 remaster boxset, it seemed appropriate to highlight Martin’s time in the group. His tenure was marred by an unfocused direction, conflicting musical focus, and a rotating cast of musicians, but despite this, Martin has managed to do what few musicians in metal have: get better with age, and thrive in his late career.
