Jazz Sabbath has returned with The 1968 Tapes, their third album and perhaps their most impressive one yet. Fronted by Adam Wakeman, son of keyboard great Rick Wakeman and a longtime Black Sabbath and Ozzy Osbourne touring and studio ally, the trio reimagines seven classic Sabbath tracks as smoky, sultry jazz standards. But this isn’t all just about the music, it’s a tale told with intrigue, irony, and no small dose of creative myth-making. According to the album's liner notes, these songs have been trapped in the shadow of plagiarism and personal tragedy for over 50 years. The 1968 Tapes claims to be the long-lost masterpiece that never saw the light of day, recorded at the height of Jazz Sabbath’s prominence in the UK jazz scene. The story goes that the record label deemed the album "too experimental," shelving it and pushing the band toward more accessible fare. This lost session, the band insists, holds their most vital work, songs that mysteriously "inspired" a certain heavy metal band from Birmingham.

Could it all be true? Well, that depends on your taste for satire and ridiculous revisionist history. Jazz Sabbath gleefully blurs the line between fact and fiction, but the music itself is no joke. On The 1968 Tapes, Wakeman and company transform Sabbath staples into sophisticated jazz odysseys, where ominous riffs and brooding melodies become sinuous basslines and playful piano runs. The opening track, “Fairies Wear Boots,” trades its crushing guitar for a swinging groove, showcasing Wakeman’s deft touch on the keys. “Iron Man” becomes a smoky, after-hours lament, its infamous riff transformed into a serpentine bassline that slinks snake-like through the song. Even “Paranoid,” probably Sabbath’s most well-known anthem, gets a surprising makeover as a frenetic bebop explosion.

Beyond the music, the album is laced with the kind of tongue-in-cheek storytelling that has become Jazz Sabbath’s hallmark. The idea that Sabbath's rise to metal glory came on the back of stolen jazz tracks is so outrageous it’s fun to take it seriously - for a second, anyway. Wakeman plays the straight-faced narrator with aplomb, lending the fictional backstory an air of authenticity that’s almost convincing if it wasn’t so silly. But all jokes aside, The 1968 Tapes is a masterclass in musicianship. Wakeman’s piano work is inventive and expressive, while his bandmates lay down a foundation that’s both tight and freewheeling. The interplay between the trio captures the spirit of live jazz, proving these "lost" tracks are anything but a gimmick. Jazz Sabbath may revel in rewriting rock history, but their reinterpretations make a strong case for these songs’ versatility and staying power.