Metal fans flash the horns for Heaven and Hell

Fateema Sayani, “He changed his name to Iommi,” so sang Furnaceface in their ’94 song, The Ballad of Richard Iommi. It’s a song about a kid so devoted to Black Sabbath that he wants to change his last name to that of his hero, guitarist Tony Iommi. There were plenty of “Richards” in the crowd at the Civic Centre Wednesday to see the Ozzy-less version of Black Sabbath, re-christened Heaven and Hell after the 1980 album of the same name.

It was the first album to feature Ronny James Dio on vocals. Legal issues with Ozzy Osbourne are to blame for the name skirmish, meaning the band could only call themselves Black Sabbath in the fine print and Sabs favourites such as War Pigs, Paranoid and Iron Man were off limits as well. Original Sabs Iommi and Terry “Geezer” Butler (bass), along with Vinnie Appice (drums) and Dio, the elfin frontman with the monstrous vocals didn’t go near any of those stadium-rocking, fist-pumping classics instead opting for Dio-era songs.

But it was of no concern to the 4,000 fans who thrashed their heads and made goat horns with their hands in a sign of banger unity. They were suitably revved by openers The Down, featuring former Pantera vocalist Phil Anselmo, and rusted thrash heroes Megadeth — two acts that could hold their own as headliners — not to mention the skunky smell of weed. By the time Heaven and Hell took the stage; it was pure theatre.

The brightly lit stage was made up to look like a castle with a gated front, which was perhaps a winking reference to Ozzy’s home, as seen on his reality TV show. The band moved through The Mob Rules, Children of the Sea, Lady Evil and into The Sign of the Southern Cross, Voodoo and The Devil Cried. From there, Appice launched into a solid drum solo; then the band returned to launch into Falling Off the Edge of the World and Shadow of the Wind.

A woman in the crowd felt suitably inspired to toss her black bra at Iommi. Dio quickly scooped it up from the stage, paraded it around to each band member and hung it on his mic stand, all the while never missing a verse. Stunts aside, it was the looming presence of the much-anthologized Iommi that made the show.

He was made large by his doom-heavy, guitar-god tricks, blue-tinted specs and blingy gold crucifix. From there, the band launched into Die Young (incongruous when sung by middle-agers) and a blistering finale of Heaven and Hell, replete with red-tinted smoke-shooting machines meant to look like flames. The band returned for an encore with the song Neon Knights.

If you give credence to last week’s report by British sociologist Stuart Cadwallader that says heavy metal music makes you smart (roll over, Beethoven), then we were all becoming brighter with every dirty riff. Smart or not, the genre will always be beset by silly symbolism of goblins, dragons and longhairs. Either way, this show serves as a condensed history of heavy metal; a genre impressive for its technical prowess.

A night like that is bound to send all those Richards into guitar stores by the piles and hatch a dozen grisly rock bands.