Tony Iommi Is Still Just Tony, Which Is Quite an Achievement

Mrs Olley and I went to support a friend launching his first solo album in 21 years. Birmingham turned up to celebrate a legend. Tony Iommi simply turned up as himself.

Mrs Olley and I went to the Actress and Bishop because Tony Iommi was launching his new album, From The Dark. We went because Tony is a mate and when a friend has spent two years creating something that matters to him, you turn up and support him. Admittedly, most of my friends have not invented heavy metal, sold millions of records and altered the course of popular music, but you have to take people as you find them. Tony was there to introduce his first solo album in 21 years, Frank Skinner was there to interview him, and Mrs Olley was there with her camera. More of that later, because she took what I believe is a world class photograph, although marriage requires me to declare a possible interest.

Frank Skinner, Albion to his bones, jokingly observed that Birmingham now appeared to be married to Aston Villa. It never used to be like this. Geezer Butler is a proper Villan, but Tony has never been much interested in football and never even came to watch the Saddlers with me, which remains a surprising gap in an otherwise dazzling life. Ozzy and Bill were hardly likely to be found debating the merits of a back three either. Yet Sabbath made its final bow at Villa Park and the club regularly embraces the band and its music, so perhaps Frank has spotted a civic marriage that took place while the rest of us were looking the other way. He did not labour the point and neither shall I. A joke is like a soufflé. Poke it repeatedly with a spoon and everybody wishes you had left it alone.

Frank was the right man for the afternoon because he has the rare ability to show proper affection without allowing reverence to turn into embalming fluid. Before long he had promoted Tony to the new James Bond, which seemed reasonable enough. Tony has also been awarded an MBE but has not yet collected it. Frank wondered whether he would wear a top hat and suggested that the King might confuse him with Slash. Tony laughed, as he did through much of the conversation, without ever looking like a man who had arrived expecting the room to kneel. That may be the most remarkable thing about him. The world sees Tony Iommi, creator of riffs that changed music and inspired generations. Tony appears still to see Tony, a Brummie bloke who plays guitar, makes records and occasionally has to explain why he once set fire to his drummer.

The album has not suddenly popped out of the woodwork. Tony has mentioned it on and off for a considerable time, and it has taken two years to complete. There was no pressure, he said, which is precisely why a perfectionist can take two years. Nobody was standing behind him with a stopwatch, but Tony was, and he is probably the more demanding of the two. This is plainly a labour of love, made because he still has music inside him that needs to come out and because he will not put his name on something until it sounds as he believes it should. The contrast with Paranoid was glorious. This album took two years, while Tony recalled that Paranoid was written in about two minutes. Some music has to be coaxed from hiding over months of work. Other music turns up before anyone has found the kettle and announces that it intends to become immortal.

Tony described From The Dark as a very Brummy album. Many of the musicians involved are from Birmingham and much of the merchandising has been made here. That matters because Birmingham is not decorative wrapping placed around Tony Iommi after the event. It is in the work. His story runs through Washwood Heath and Aston, through workshops, factories and the stubborn ingenuity of a city that made things long before it became fashionable to hold conferences about making things. The industrial accident that cost Tony the tips of two fingers should have finished his playing. Instead, he found another way, fashioned tips for his fingers, adapted his guitar and helped create a sound that travelled around the planet. Birmingham hurt him and Tony made Birmingham part of the answer. There is something very Brummie about refusing to accept that the machine has had the final word.

Frank described Tony as the player manager of Black Sabbath, and it fits. He was the sensible chap keeping the whole extraordinary contraption on the road while the wheels threatened to head towards four separate continents. Sensible, of course, is a comparative term. Tony once set Bill Ward on fire and left him with third degree burns, after which Bill’s mother told him off. This is difficult to reconcile with our conventional picture of sensible management. Somewhere between musical director, peacekeeper, practical joker and boy receiving a severe lecture from somebody’s mom sits the Tony Iommi of Sabbath. It is a wonder they made any records at all. It is an even greater wonder that the records were so magnificent.

There was also the suggestion that the new album might eventually be performed live. Tony announced nothing and gave little away, but said anything was possible and that he was not opposed to doing it. Nobody should book a hotel, order a commemorative T shirt or begin sleeping outside Villa Park, but the door was not slammed shut either. That is enough to keep hope alive without turning a friendly answer into a world tour. Frank said he loved the album, and what we heard suggested Tony has not spent 21 years preparing a tasteful selection of background tunes for a garden centre café.

Afterwards Tony was surrounded by people wanting photographs, signatures, handshakes and a few moments of his time. That is the strange tax placed upon famous people. Everybody wants a small piece of them, and the decent ones keep giving until there is hardly any afternoon left. Tony managed it all with patience and warmth. I had, purely for research purposes, acquired a rather unofficial copy of the song from the video and briefly considered offering it back to him at a competitive price. Unfortunately, he was busy being an international rock star and the commercial opportunity passed. The evidence will naturally be destroyed. Tony may be one of the most influential musicians alive, but he is also arguably the nicest international rock star in the world, which must make life difficult for those who believe greatness requires behaving like an arse.

And then there is Mrs Olley’s photograph. In the red light, Tony is smiling broadly, relaxed and unmistakably enjoying himself, with his own name towering behind him. It captures the afternoon better than a thousand carefully arranged publicity shots could. The legend is present, certainly, but so is the man. I have used it as the foundation for the artwork because it contains the thing I came away thinking. Tony Iommi has every reason to behave like a monument, yet he remains recognisably human, funny, courteous and thoroughly Birmingham.

We went to support a friend as he launched something he had worked on and worried over for two years. We came away proud of him, not merely for the music he made half a century ago, but because he is still creating, still improving and still refusing to become an exhibit in his own museum. Tony Iommi is still just Tony. Considering everything he has achieved, that may be his finest trick.