Transformer Trouble and Thunder Gods: Zakk Sabbath Light Up the Dark
Zakk Sabbath — Val Air Ballroom, West Des Moines, Iowa • November 12, 2025
Sound and performance
We made our way to the historic Val Air Ballroom at 301 Ashworth Road, the old dance hall that started life in 1939 as an open-air venue before being enclosed in the mid-1950s so Iowans could keep dancing year-round. After decades of shows, multiple closures, and a major restoration push, the Val Air reopened for a new era of concerts in 2024, its vintage bones polished up for another generation of loud nights.
Getting in was less glamorous. We hit a cringe-worthy traffic jam outside, cars completely stalled as everyone tried to snake into the parking lot at once. After a patient crawl, we finally parked, hustled inside, and grabbed our press passes with surprising ease for a night that already felt cursed by infrastructure.
Then the transformer made its presence known. The night started not with a riff, but with a blown transformer just outside the venue. Doors that were supposed to open much earlier didn’t let people in until around 6:50 p.m. At 7:10, a voice over the PA dropped the bad news: the building was running on one-third power. The good news came in the same breath — they were determined not to cancel, shooting for an 8 p.m. start if they could coax enough electricity back into the room.
Dark Chapel walked out into that half-powered limbo and went straight for drama.
Their first song opened with a grand, operatic metal intro that hinted at full symphonic territory, then slammed on the brakes and dove into heavy thrash and sludge, leaving those symphonic vibes in the dust. The four-piece lineup features a vocalist who also handles guitar, backed by a drummer who immediately stole focus — pounding the skins with wild, headbanging intensity, pure Animal-from-The-Muppets energy.
The second song pulled the same trick: a symphonic-style opening that abruptly gave way to pure sludge, redeemed by a surprisingly catchy chorus. I couldn’t stop staring at the singer’s guitar, etched with almost Celtic-looking designs that matched the occult-leaning aesthetic of their debut album, “Spirit in the Glass”, which leans into sludgy grooves, magnetic melodies, and ethereal vocals.
By the third song, the opera-metal hints were completely gone. They came out swinging with straight hard, heavy thrash and sludge from the first bar, opening with an especially long instrumental that felt more like a slow-motion avalanche than a song intro. Somewhere amid all the distortion, one detail kept shimmering: the lead vocalist’s seriously glorious long, shiny black hair, whipping under the backlights. The fourth track added one more twist, starting with unexpected horn parts on the backing tracks — no live horns onstage, but the extra color helped fill the sound in a room still shaking off its power issues.
Bonfire, second in the lineup, hit at 8:50 p.m. and looked exactly like the music they were about to play. The lead vocalist radiated Mick Jagger / Robert Plant energy, all wiry swagger and wide, dramatic poses, while the guitarist looked like the love child of Angus Young and a My Chemical Romance shredder.
Their sound leaned heavily into Led Zeppelin territory, and the front man moved with the bounding, mic-swinging energy of Roger Daltrey.
Then came Zakk Sabbath. Zakk Wylde popped out alone around 10:05 p.m. just long enough to film the crowd in his plaid kilt — pure tease — before vanishing again. The real start landed closer to 10:10, when he returned fully armored in that plaid kilt, a matching patched brown vest, and oversized boots, looking fine as ever and ready to drag the Black Sabbath catalog through a wall of Marshalls.
The sound hit exactly where it needed to: thick, singing guitar tone with Zakk’s signature sustain, a rhythm section that stayed heavy but swinging, and arrangements that stayed faithful to the originals without feeling stiff. His mic stand, wrapped in rosaries, turned his corner of the stage into a loud, glowing altar.
Setlist and pacing
The transformer delay reshuffled the entire night’s pacing. Everything started later, but nothing got chopped. Dark Chapel’s set became a tug-of-war between the symphonic drama implied by those big intros and the mud-thick riff worship they kept dropping into. Twice they teased me with cinematic, operatic openings only to swerve into thick thrash/sludge stomp. The second tune’s hooky chorus was the one place where melody and weight really shook hands.
By the third and fourth songs, the band had pretty much abandoned the symphonic side entirely. Long instrumental stretches led into hard, grinding pieces, and the horn samples in the closer felt like a last-minute extra flavor more than a structural element. The set favored impact over arc: a lot of weight, not much lift.
Bonfire’s pacing was the opposite: clean, direct, and built for maximum fun. They tore through AC/DC staples including “If You Want Blood (You’ve Got It),” “It’s a Long Way to the Top (If You Wanna Rock ’n’ Roll),” and closed with “Highway to Hell.” Each song hit that immediate recognition button. It could have felt like a bar-band jukebox, but they played with enough swing and conviction that it felt more like a small-scale arena show.
Zakk Sabbath’s set list pulled from the classic Sabbath well they’ve been honoring onstage for years, lined up with what you see across recent tour dates: “Snowblind” early, “Fairies Wear Boots,” “Children of the Grave,” “N.I.B.,” and a “War Pigs” encore you could feel coming from miles away and still scream for.
Given the late start, this could’ve turned into a slog. Instead, it built like a three-act metal play: Dark Chapel’s swampy heaviness, Bonfire’s high-voltage AC/DC worship, and then Zakk Sabbath delivering the full Sabbath mass in overtime.
Crowd and context
Inside, the Val Air was packed — shoulder to shoulder from rail to back wall, exactly the way this 2,400-cap room was designed to feel when it first started drawing dancers and fans in the late 1930s and ’40s. When the 7:10 announcement about one-third power crackled out over the PA, you could feel the entire crowd tense at the word “cancel,” then collectively exhale when the staff promised to push through.
In 2025, a Sabbath tribute lands with more weight than just nostalgia. Ozzy Osbourne’s death in July at 76 turned every Sabbath-related show into a kind of rolling memorial, and Zakk’s long history as Ozzy’s guitarist means Zakk Sabbath doesn’t just cover these songs — they carry a direct line back to the source. Add in the venue’s own rebirth after years of uncertainty and renovation, and this night felt like a convergence of ghosts, memories, and fresh paint.
You could hear it in the way people sang. This wasn’t mumbling through choruses; the room was yelling full verses, nailing kicks and stops in “Children of the Grave” and “N.I.B.” with the band. When Zakk led the “Ozzy! Ozzy!” chants later, it felt less like hype and more like roll call.
Standout moments
Zakk’s early tease — walking out alone around 10:05 to grab a quick crowd photo/video in his plaid kilt — set the tone. By the time he came back with the full band, the tension had snapped into pure joy.
“Snowblind” as the second song landed like a slow, frozen hammer, the band easing into that lurching groove while Zakk leaned into the mic, his rosary-wrapped stand catching the light.
“Fairies Wear Boots” marked the shift from “loud crowd” to “feral crowd.” Every break, every shout, every riff change hit like a call-and-response ritual. During “Children of the Grave,” staff or crew launched huge bouncy balls into the audience, and they turned the floor into a colorful war zone — fans punching, volleying, and head-butting them from one side of the hall to the other.
“N.I.B.” might have been the emotional peak. The packed house roared the famous verse back at the band — those lines about love being real and the way it’s going to feel — until it turned into one giant, ragged choir. It felt like the perfect closer… right up until the band came back for the only encore that made sense.
“War Pigs” closed the night, obviously. The entire room sang every word, from the first warning to the last judgment. Mid-song, Zakk stepped off the stage and walked deep into the crowd, playing for several minutes completely surrounded, at one point holding his purple guitar over his head and still nailing every note. Back onstage, he capped the solo with a mouth-played run, because this is not a man who believes in underdoing things.
As the final chords rang out, he dropped to his knees and made the sign of the cross, a gesture consistent with the way he’s openly folded his devout Christian faith into this tribute era. Fists were raised and pumping throughout the venue. Then he led the whole place in a rolling “Ozzy! Ozzy!” chant and signed off with one last wink at the legend, tossing a toy bat into the audience.
And yes: the plaid kilt absolutely looked sexy and fine the entire time. I stand by that line.
Openers and production
Given that the night started with a dead transformer, the production team should probably get a commemorative plaque. Keeping a three-band bill alive on partial power is not standard practice for anyone. The official event listings had a 6 p.m. door time and 7 p.m. start; instead, everything slid late, yet all three bands still delivered full-feeling sets.
Dark Chapel’s production stayed moody: low-key front light, aggressive backlighting, and tight spots that amplified the drummer’s chaos and the front man’s hair theatrics. The backing tracks — especially those horn lines in the fourth song — helped fill any subtle gaps left by a conservative early-night mix.
Bonfire’s staging was basic but right: strong front light, bursts of backlight and haze on the big AC/DC choruses, and plenty of room for the guitarist to stomp and strut. Their set didn’t need visual tricks; the combination of instantly recognizable riffs and that cartoonish Angus-meets-emo look did most of the heavy lifting.
Zakk Sabbath’s show leaned more on vibe than on toys. Light cues tracked the emotional temperature of each song — cold and ghostly for “Snowblind,” hellish reds and shadows for “Children of the Grave,” deep, ominous hues for “War Pigs.” The most effective “effect” was still Zakk himself, roaming through the room with that purple guitar and turning the GA floor into a live, moving stage extension.
Counterpoint/limitation
The main musical frustration of the night came early. Dark Chapel’s repeated pattern — beautiful, symphonic intros abruptly chopped off in favor of straight thrash and sludge — felt like a promise made and then yanked away. Knowing from their album and press materials that they’re capable of blending heaviness, melody, and atmosphere more organically, it was a bit disappointing to hear the orchestral side used mostly as a short intro trick instead of a true structural pillar.
The other limitation was the clock. No one onstage caused the transformer problem, but starting the headliner after 10 p.m. on a Wednesday, after two full openers, meant some people were quietly doing life math between songs — work shifts, kids at home, long drives back. The energy in the room stayed high, but the lateness hovered at the edges.
Close
My special evening with Zakk Sabbath at Val Air Ballroom started with a parking-lot snarl and a blown transformer and ended with a toy bat flying over a sea of exhausted, ecstatic metal fans. Dark Chapel brought a swamp of riffs with flashes of something more symphonic trying to claw its way out. Bonfire delivered straight-up AC/DC worship with enough swagger that “Highway to Hell” felt like a victory lap, not a cover-band obligation. Zakk Sabbath turned the whole night into an extraordinary, guitar-heavy Black Sabbath tribute that felt less like a cover show and more like a pilgrimage for Ozzy in a freshly resurrected Iowa landmark.
Representing Ain’t Life Grand Photography and Beyond Media Entertainment, Igor and I were already planning to attend this show. Once the press passes came through, we got to gift our original tickets instead of eating them. One of them went to one of my best friends, Carissa Kuehl — lead vocalist of Des Moines 90s-cover band Blanket Fort — who locked in on the front row with me all night. The end of the concert turned into a small personal legend when Zakk handed Carissa his sweat rag and she also snagged one of Joey Castillo’s drumsticks.
The whole venue buzzed with the energy of people we knew. This night stopped feeling like a simple press assignment and turned into a loud, joyful social thing — hugging friends we hadn’t seen in a minute, trading stories between sets, spotting familiar faces at every turn. Somewhere in the chaos, I may have even lined up a local guitarist to fill an open slot in one of the bands I work with. Special shout-outs to Wishbone Armani (and entourage) and Tyler Nepper for making the night better with familiar faces and good chaos.
By the time the bouncy balls had settled, the last “Ozzy!” chant faded, and the purple guitar disappeared backstage, I was completely, gloriously fried. So much guitar shredding. So much Sabbath. I was so mind-blown I may have genuinely fan-girled like a teenager.
Press disclosure: Huge thanks to Kate at First Fleet Concerts for working us into the press rotation and providing both a review ticket and a photo pass for this show for our killer correspondent photo-and-review team,
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