Ronnie James Dio died the other day, quietly succumbed to a relatively sudden onset of stomach cancer and up and left the planet in a blaze of stage fire, dragonsmoke and general metal awesomeness. Maybe you heard.
It was an abrupt end to a sort of stunning, nearly unprecedented 35-year career in hard rock megastardom, a shock that sent all flags of classic campy Bic-lighter rock n' roll greatness to half mast for at least a solid year, or until Ozzy Osbourne spontaneously combusts, whichever comes first.
It is quite possible you have no idea who Dio was, or you don't really care, or you think he and his various multiplatinum bands -- Rainbow, Black Sabbath, Dio -- were a bit of a long-haired crotch-rock musical circuslike joke. Or maybe you were all aswoon for Rick Springfield or the Go-Go's at the time when a post-Ozzy Sabbath 2.0 was cranking out some of the best hard-rock songs of all time ("Heaven & Hell," "Mob Rules," "Voodoo," "Die Young") circa 1980ish.
It's also possible you know just enough to know RJD was pretty much heavy metal personified, a tiny 5-foot-4-inch sorcerer with a mangy mane, demonic eyes and sly grin, all coupled to a simply huge, operatic voice, a diminutive powerhouse who prowled the stage like a feline elf and who was, it turns out, also finely intelligent and well spoken, an actual gentleman in a genre known all too well for its bombastic, monosyllabic doltbuckets. A rare thing indeed. ...
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