The Sleeping Village owes a substantial debt to Black Sabbath…& not just because we blatantly lifted our moniker from their plunder-worthy supply of deep cuts. According to one contemporary review, Sabbath peddled "discordant jams with bass and guitar reeling like velocitised speedfreaks all over each other's musical perimeters, yet never quite finding synch--just like Cream! But worse.” This critic was, obviously, misinformed. Because we love to give credit where credit is due, we dedicate every Sunday (give or take0 to recounting the history of their own discography, or to highlighting a lesser-known band carrying the mantle of Sabbathian legacy. Today, it's a case of the former, as we discuss one of Sabbath's most monumental albums. Welcome to Sabbath Sunday: A Vol. 4 Retrospective.
Written by a groggy-eyed, highfalutin peasantry