Heaven Or Hell

Ronnie James Dio died yesterday. Plenty of folks will wonder who he was, but if you lived in the apartments and dorm rooms where I was in the eighties, you got to hear plenty of Dio. Loud. Ronnie was the voice of Rainbow. He took over for Ozzy Osbourne when the Blizzard of Oz went solo. He cranked out a number of hard-rocking solo albums. For many, his was the voice that defined heavy metal. Sorry, Ozzy.
In May of 1982, I went with my good friend and confidant Dareen to take in all the noise that was the Mob Rules tour. I confess at the time I wasn't much of a headbanger. My tastes leaned more heavily in the direction of New Wave, but I had always loved "Paranoid" and "Iron Man," so it seemed like a pretty safe bet that I would enjoy a night of metal. At the time, my skepticism about Ronnie James Dio replacing the legend that was Ozzy was neatly assuaged by Darren. He was the one who had clued me into Rainbow in the first place, and encouraged me to buy the soundtrack to the animated feature "Heavy Metal," and on the strength of the Dio-led single "Mob Rules," I bought my second Black Sabbath album. The one without Ozzy.
The show itself was interesting, since it opened with a set from southern rock legends, the Outlaws. The played long and hard, and when they sang "Green Grass And High Tides" they weren't kidding about the "forever" part. When the lights came up, we felt like we had already been rocked pretty hard. Then came the announcement from the stage that someone had apparently managed to sneak a grenade simulator into the arena, and the promoters asked that, if we would be so kind, to please simply turn it over to a member of the security team. No questions asked.
I don't know if the grenade was turned in. I don't know if it went off during Black Sabbath's set. It could have, but it wouldn't have been noticed. The roar was unlike anything that I had ever experienced. I remember Darren, a Baptist by upbringing, suggesting that if that was what Hell was all about, then he could probably stand it. I had to agree. In spite of the persistent ringing in my ears, I had a smile on my face. Ronnie and the boys delivered the goods.
Somewhere in my basement, in a plastic tub, are the surviving remnants of my concert T-shirt collection. I look forward to passing along my Black Sabbath shirt to my son, about the time he gets to high school. And I'll look back on that night, with a smile.