Roughly seven minutes into this second volume of footage from the late, great Dimebag Darrell’s life and times, a defining moment leaps from the screen. It’s a burst of visually rough butsonically punchy footage from Pantera’s early years, the camera focused on the headbanging guitarist as he peels off a ruthlessly precise but groovy riff and seems wholly, irrevocably lost in the music. The song ends and then, seamlessly, the band launch into the main riff from Ozzy Osbourne’s I Don’t Know and somehow make it sound heavier and sharper than the original. Seconds later, Dime is playing an extraordinary, melancholy solo, his guitar a simple extension of his pounding, slightly pickled Texan heart. It’s a wonderful snapshot of an extraordinary young talent.
It would be easy to be cynical about Dimevision, Vol.2, not least because we can confidently assume that it features material that didn’t make the cut first time round. In truth, this is essentially more of the same, deftly pieced together and smartly paced. As with Vol.1, it’s the live performances that will most delight the diehards. Every last one of them will blow your head off.
Slightly less enjoyable are the endless clips of Dimebag dicking about with his mates, talking absolute twaddle and doing lots and lots and lots of drinking. You’d have to be dead inside not to laugh at some of it, but at one point he puts a leather boot into a microwave and watches it cook with wild amusement while making homophobic remarks for no apparent reason. Quite how that helps to protect his legacy is a mystery. But despite a few similarly unfortunate moments, Dimevision, Vol.2 amiably supports the notion that Dime was a lovely guy that simply wanted everyone else to have as much fun as he was plainly having. And by Christ, he played the shit out of that guitar.
