Black Sabbath (L-R) Bill Ward, Geezer Butler, Tony Iommi and Ozzy Osbourne pose for a portrait on May 31, 1970 in London, England. Photo / Getty Images
“I hope we didn’t freak you out,” yelled Ozzy. “This one should help you. It’s called PARANOID!”
The Ngāruawāhia festival came three years after the film documentary on Woodstock was screened here. Woodstock was a turning point in first world youth culture, radically departing from older generations’ attitudes to everything from drugs to nudity.
I’d been despatched to Ngāruawāhia as a reporter by the newspaper in Auckland where I was writing about everything from music to sport to shipwrecks. It was quickly clear the massive influence Woodstock had on many of the music fans who headed to our first home-grown festival.
AdvertisementAdvertise with NZME.
After a restless night trying to sleep in a small tent, I was puzzled by what the material was in the bikini the topless woman from the tent next door was wearing. Then I realised she wasn’t wearing anything.
Tribute to Black Sabbath front man and legend of heavy metal music, Ozzy Osbourne, by NZ Herald cartoonist Rod Emmerson.
Nudity, a la Woodstock was commonplace over the next three days. The opening act, Kiwi singer Corben Simpson, sang a couple of songs and then announced it was “too hot”. He stripped naked to finish his set. Five months later he was in court where he was fined for “wilfully and obscenely exposing his person”.
Musically, Ngāruawāhia offered a stage to an amazing range of future giants in New Zealand music. The festival’s co-promoter Barry Coburn was the manager of a gifted Auckland group calling themselves Split Ends. Sadly it was the wrong place and the wrong time for a band, which was then featuring flute and violin solos. At best the audience reception could be described as cool.
Ozzy Osbourne (left) and American musician Randy Rhoads (1956-1982), on electric guitar, as they perform during the Blizzard of Oz tour, at Nassau Coliseum in 1981. Photo / Getty Images
The future Split Enz weren’t the only ones battling, at the very start of their careers, to win the crowd over. Dragon, with just one Hunter brother, Todd, played to a muted reception.
On the other hand, there was an ecstatic reaction to the co-headline act, the British folk band Fairport Convention. Very much the yin to Black Sabbath’s prototype heavy metal yang, the Fairports had the moshpit dancing to old Scottish and Irish reels and jigs.
But there was no question that the big-name act was Sabbath. To get them to New Zealand required a trip to Britain for tyro promoter Coburn.
In 2011, he wrote in the Herald how he had flown to Europe and saw Sabbath’s manager Don Arden, at Arden’s home in London. Coburn was greeted at the door of the luxury house in Wimbledon by Arden’s daughter, the then-teenaged Sharon. (Who would have guessed that Sharon would later marry Ozzy and become known throughout the world with the stunning success of the reality TV show The Osbournes?)
Coburn was just 22, so dealing with Arden, described by the Guardian when he died in 2007, as the “Al Capone of British music” took some backbone.
AdvertisementAdvertise with NZME.
In the mid 1970s in Auckland I found myself sitting next to Arden and his Irish wife Hope at a dinner hosted for the visitors by a local record company executive. Hope, a former dancer, was a delight, rolling out anecdotes about film star Cary Grant, their next door neighbour when they were in Los Angeles.
Don was exactly what I had expected, revelling in stories that basically painted him as a semi-gangster. When he heard that rock and roll pioneer Chuck Berry had recently been in Auckland, he took special delight in recounting details of a show he had co-promoted in the 1960s in Germany with a former SS officer. Berry was refusing to go on stage until he had been paid. “The German pulled out this big Luger pistol and pointed it at Berry’s head. There were no more arguments.”
The night made it very clear that any charm Sharon Osbourne has comes from her mother.