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There have been a lot of Black Sabbath tribute albums over the years, and even more scattered covers of random Black Sabbath songs floating around in the ether, but there’s one that I think flies way too under the radar for how good it is. And that’s Sacred Bones Records’ 2020 compilation What Is This That Stands Before Me?.

Sacred Bones put together this compilation to celebrate the 50^th anniversaries of Black Sabbath‘s game-changing debut album Black Sabbath and its equally iconic follow-up Paranoid. Instead of going the obvious route of modern metal bands covering Black Sabbath, Sacred Bones tapped into their own label roster and pulled together artists who on paper might not seem like natural fits to cover Black Sabbath’s generally doomy, blues-soaked heaviness.

And that’s what makes this so interesting. This is Black Sabbath as filtered through Sacred Bones’ kaleidoscopic lens.

This is Black Sabbath reframed through the lenses of post-punk and psych rock and folk and noise and experimental pop. You can still recognize the bones of the original songs, but they’re dressed in completely different clothes, and that’s what makes this so special.

The Soft Moon kicks things off appropriately with the song that started it all, “Black Sabbath”. The Soft Moon opts for a pitched-up funeral bell that heralds the classic opening riff of “Black Sabbath”, and when it enters, it hits with extra fuzz married to some very Type O Negative-styled chorus effects and heavy electronic percussion that marks every single downbeat. It’s less doom and more of a mechanical death march. Rather than recreating the original note for note, The Soft Moon trims the fat and leans into the song’s most ominous sections. The doom-laden heart of the track takes center stage, but just when you think that’s all it’ll be, The Soft Moon sneaks in fragments of the rest before letting everything collapse into this wall of distorted chaos.

It really sets the tone for the rest of the compilation, in that you should not expect direct mirrors of the originals. Molchat Doma‘s take on the Dio-era classic “Heaven and Hell” stands out as one of the most inventive and memorable covers on the entire compilation. Staying true to their very signature 80s-inspired post-punk sound, Molchat Doma transforms the track into something that could easily slot into their own discography. The pounding drum machine, the icy synth layers, and the Russian-language translation of the lyrics give the song a fresh yet unmistakably Molchat Doma identity.

It’s a seamless reimagining that respects the original’s spirit while reframing it through the band’s own moody, minimalist lens. One of the boldest moves comes during the song’s iconic guitar solo, which Molchat Doma replaced entirely with these sharp, plucky synthesizers.

It’s a deliberate and confident choice that reinforces their no-compromise approach to this cover. Rather than blending styles or making concessions to the source material, they fully absorb “Heaven and Hell” into their own sonic world.

Thou‘s cover of “Supernaut” stays remarkably faithful to the original arrangement, but they drag it deep into their own world of oppressive sludge and filth. The riffs remain instantly recognizable, yet they’re delivered with the weight and filth that feels worlds away from 1972. It’s heavier, it’s slower, and it’s dripping with distortion.

It’s a raw, unpolished interpretation that amplifies the song’s primal energy while smothering it in the dense, suffocating atmosphere that Thou is known for. Staying true to the original’s sense of otherworldliness, the band threads in space-travel-themed audio clips throughout the track, and these cosmic interjections give the cover an almost cinematic quality, as if the classic Sabbath groove has been launched into orbit and is now echoing through the void.

Much like Thou, Marissa Nadler‘s cover of “Solitude” stays pretty true to the original composition, but it is definitely Marissa Nadler‘s version of this song. Her version drapes the song in deep reverbs and sustained guitar drones, creating a sense of vast openness that stretches far beyond the intimate melancholy of the original.

The space between notes on Nadler’s cover almost feels tangible, as if each sound is suspended in the air before dissolving into just nothing. If the original’s “Solitude” was a lonely reflection, then Nadler‘s interpretation pushes it even further into the wilderness.

Hilary Wood‘s rendition of “N.I.B.” takes a bold turn by completely disregarding the song’s iconic wah-heavy bass intro and reshaping the Sabbath classic into a slow-burning, droning meditation. Sparse percussion occasionally pulses faintly in the background, while layers of atmospheric texture stretch the song into something very shadowy and hypnotic.

The familiar swagger of the original is gone, and it’s replaced by a creeping sense of stillness that feels both intimate and vast. On its own, Wood‘s version stands out for its originality and haunting restraint, but placed immediately after Marissa Nadler‘s somber “Solitude”, it becomes part of this perfectly paired sequence.

Together, the two tracks form roughly nine minutes of wandering through barren soundscapes, where melodies drift like distant shapes in the fog, and time itself just feels kinda suspended. It’s a one-two punch that trades heaviness for haunting beauty, and it’s every bit as gripping as the loudest moment on this compilation.

Then you’ve got Zola Jesus‘ “Changes”, which might be one of the best covers I’ve ever heard of this song. It’s definitely up there with Charles Bradley‘s 2016 cover and Yungblud‘s more recent rendition.

First and foremost is that Zola Jesus strips down the piano part way down to its bass elements and forgoes any of the melodic flourishes that set the stage in the original track. Then there’s the fact that Zola Jesus is essentially playing this massive cavernous reverb as an instrument throughout the entire song.

Every sung line and every struck chord is allowed to bloom into this massive, echoing expanse, with the reverberations intertwining until they form this towering cathedral-like presence, and then eventually just dissipate. The space between the sounds becomes as important as the notes itself in this cover, and it creates this enveloping, almost meditative experience.

It’s beautiful. Moon Duo‘s take on “Planet Caravan” starts off as if it’s going to play things close to the original, but before long they slip into this down-tempo beat and layers of very lush synthesizers.

Moon Duo largely steers their cover with a hypnotic, almost Krautrock-inspired groove that’s draped in the airy, spiritual sheen of Enigma and then grounded by a subtle undercurrent of stoner rock. It’s one of the more unconventional interpretations on this compilation, and that adventurousness pays off. The result is mesmerizing, it’s spacey, and it’s just so effortlessly cool.

Dean Hurley‘s bar band version of “Warning” delivers exactly what it says it’s going to deliver. It’s easy to imagine hearing it in a dimly lit dive bar with wood panel walls and a haze of chatter and a guy in a trucker hat complaining about how he can’t smoke inside no more.

And while it might be intended as a nod to the raw early days of Black Sabbath and Earth once carried out in plenty of bar settings I’m sure, the execution feels a little flat compared to the adventurous spirit running throughout the rest of the compilation.

It’s competent, it’s good-natured, it’s fun, but ultimately it is the one track on this compilation that feels skippable.

Uniform closes out the compilation with an absolutely ferocious rendition of “Symptom of the Universe” and turns the already heavy Black Sabbath classic into a full-on industrial assault. I really like the guitar tone on this track too, it’s got this real buzzsaw filth to it, the kind of scorched abrasive crunch that you’d expect from a dimed-out practice amp. And that’s happening as a drum machine pounds relentlessly, keeping the track locked in a punishing forward momentum, while bursts of synthesizers slash through the mix to keep everything surging in pretty violent feeling.

I’ve always thought that “Symptom of the Universe” was one of Black Sabbath‘s heaviest cuts and Uniform‘s version only reinforces that belief. By stripping away any breathing room from the original and leaning way harder into the song’s darker undercurrents, Uniform amplifies its most sinister qualities into something truly massive.

The result is a closing track on a compilation that’s unrelenting, it’s menacing, and it’s impossible to ignore. It’s a steamrolling finale that makes sure this compilation goes out swinging hard.

Over five years out from its release, What Is This That Stands Before Me? remains an impressive and daring tribute, and one that I don’t think got nearly enough credit. What Is This That Stands Before Me? stands as both a celebration and a reinvention, proving that Black Sabbath‘s influence can be stretched across genres, atmospheres, generations, all different kinds of talents across the musical board, and it won’t ever lose its power.

Now in 2025, as the world reflects on the life and legacy of Ozzy Osbourne, there’s no better time to revisit this record. It’s an experience that moves seamlessly from moments of headbanging catharsis to stretches of deep introspection, and even the occasional tearful pause.

Whether it’s the ferocity of the heaviest tracks or the haunting stillness of the most stripped-down interpretations, What Is This That Stands Before Me? offers a fitting, multifaceted tribute to one of rock’s most enduring voices.