Quote:
Originally Posted by Rainger99
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For my 11th birthday, I unwrapped what would become the soundtrack to my teen rebellion: a Juliette record player and Led Zeppelin IV. While I was busy trying to decode the album cover like it was some ancient wizard map, my older cousin Gus, 18, who to me was cool, mysterious, and wore a fringe vest, handed me a freshly minted copy of Paranoid by Black Sabbath.
That was a game changer.
I adored Zeppelin, sure. But Paranoid? That album crept into my brain like a sweet metal goblin and refused to leave. Gus and I must’ve played it so often that even the vinyl grooves looked dizzy.
Dad hated it. Like, dramatically hated it, complete with threats of throwing it in the trash and muttered warnings about “the devil.” Mom, however, would sit with me, nod along like she understood teenage angst through the lens of Ozzy’s vocal wail. That’s love.
It wasn’t just music for me, it was magic, it was rebellion, and frankly quality bonding time between a kid, his mother, and a record player that probably hummed louder than the speakers.
Rock on Ozzy and say hello to Mom!