Thoughts on Ozzy Passing…

I wanted to write a little bit about Ozzy Osbourne, after learning of his passing at the age of 76, just 17 days after his triumphant retirement concert in Birmingham. Honestly, it’s taken me a few days to collect my thoughts. When I heard, I was at lunch with my wife. My phone blew up, and I checked it. I wouldn’t usually check my phone while we’re eating; we have a loose guideline prohibiting phone use during personal time. However, the rapid-fire vibrations in my pocket concerned me. These types of rapid notifications are typically a sign that a client is in distress. So, I took a peek, not intending to open the messages. There were two messages, both from friends, not clients.

I didn’t intend to open them and figured they could wait till later. Then, I saw the preview text of one of the messages. It simply said “Ozzy died.” I was shocked. I quickly opened the message and replied before checking the second one. It was the same thing, this time with a link. I quickly copied the link and sent it to both of my brothers and another friend who was into rock and roll, before looking up and breaking the news to my wife. To her credit, even though she’s never liked Ozzy, she instantly replied, “Oh no! I’m so sorry!” She knew what Ozzy meant to me. But, strangely, I felt numb. I had been preparing for his inevitable death for some time, but now that it was here, I felt strangely empty. A few days later, while singing along to “Mr Crowley” in my car, the emotion would catch up with me. I guess it was the lyrics that talked about someone who his peers misunderstood, and how that reflected in real life with Ozzy, and how, at times, I too have felt this way. The lyrics struck a chord and released the emotions I had repressed deep within. I suppose that is the power and magic of music, that it can mine the depths of your subconscious and call back memories and moods long forgotten or suppressed.

I still remember when I first discovered Ozzy. It was the 80s, and we were amid the Satanic Panic that gripped much of the nation. I had heard the name, but growing up in rural North Carolina, I hadn’t yet heard his music. Ironically, it was my very religious, Southern Baptist Father who caused me to find Ozzy. My Dad enjoyed watching Professional Wrestling, particularly the NWA, and he encouraged me to watch it. I enjoyed the spectacle of it, and none were more enthralling to my young mind than the Road Warriors. Unlike the other wrestlers, who would enter the ring and politely wait for the announcer and the bell to begin their match, the Road Warriors’ entrance music would hit, an epic dirge with the lyric “I AM IRON MAN!” before running into the ring and pummeling their opponents. They were more like a force of nature than athletes, and I loved every minute of it. Even at a young age, I was very into music, so, of course, I was curious about the entrance song and where I could find it. It was such a driving, badass riff, and I wanted to hear more of it. I consulted with a friend who was more exposed to heavy metal than I was at the time, and he said his brother had the song on cassette. He explained it was Ozzy Osbourne.

The revelation set my brain abuzz. I was familiar with the name Ozzy Osbourne. I had heard my Dad and other grown-ups complaining about his Satan worshipping antics, such as biting the head off a bat. But, from what little bit of the song I had heard on wrestling, I didn’t hear evil. What I heard instead seemed cool, and I wanted to hear more. My friend brought me a copy of the live album, “Speak of the Devil.” I didn’t know at the time, but this was a rushed live album intended to fulfill an obligation Ozzy had to the studio, following the death of Ozzy’s friend and guitar virtuoso, Randy Rhoads. “Iron Man” was indeed on this record, but I wasn’t impressed with the version on here; I needed to dig deeper. My quest led me to another live record, “Tribute,” a concert recording from before Randy died. It was an epic record, and one that sold me on Ozzy. Eventually, on September 5th, 1987, I purchased my first Black Sabbath cassette, “We Sold Our Souls for Rock ‘N’ Roll.” The reason I know the date is that I still have the same cassette, and inside it, it contains the Record Bar/Tracks 1-Year Tape Guarantee. According to the rules, an employee was required to record the exact date of purchase on a small sticker inside the cassette case. I haven’t played it in years, but the last time I tried it, it still played perfectly. I like to think it’s because of the power of Heavy Metal.

Over the years, I stayed an Ozzy fan. He was my first big concert. The first three times I went to see Ozzy, I lied to my parents about where I was going. I know that’s such an 80s cliche, but it really happened. The first three times I saw Ozzy, I was spending the night at my friend Tony’s house. Speaking of Tony, he and I also skipped class to drive to Record Bar and pick up Ozzy’s “No Rest for the Wicked” on release day, making it back to school in time to slip back in after lunch recess. Another cliche, and probably makes me sound like a less-than-perfect student, but at the time, I cared more about Rock and Roll than being a straight-A student.

Speaking of concerts, I had so many great moments. Whether it was running into a young Zakk Wylde before the show or being exposed to amazing bands, it all fed into my growing love of metal.

I also recall attending Ozzy’s “final tour” in the early 1990s. Billed as Ozzy’s final tour, the tour supported his album “No More Tears” and featured opener Alice in Chains, who blew us away by debuting a new song, “Them Bones.” For his part, Ozzy put on a fantastic show, made more intense by the thought that this was the final time we would get to see Ozzy. We didn’t know it at the time, but the farewell tour would become such a recurring joke that even with the recent “Back to the Beginning” show in Birmingham, people still questioned whether this was actually the end.

In 2005, my brother and I risked dehydration and heat stroke to go to Blockbuster Pavilion in Charlotte, NC, for Ozzfest. The headliner was Black Sabbath, and in what was a recurring theme through Ozzy’s career, this was billed as their last tour. It was announced early in the night that Ozzy was having throat issues, but was still going to perform. I learned later that he allegedly received cortisone shots in his throat backstage between songs to continue performing. I think that kind of “give it everything you’ve got” attitude towards his shows and fans is what I remember most about Ozzy. At his final performance, he refused to use any painkillers, despite being in crippling pain from spinal surgery, because he wanted to be present in the moment. That doesn’t sound like a madman to me. It sounds more like a performer who would do anything for his devoted audience. I think that sums up his shows well. When you went, you had an audience that was devoted to the performer because the performer was just as devoted to them. He wanted to make sure the audience had a good time and got their money’s worth.

It’s no secret that in the early days of his career, Ozzy struggled with addiction, and it led to a lot of his over-the-top and controversial behavior that made him so infamous. However, I would argue that it was a compulsion to entertain that caused him to have most of his misadventures. That same compulsion to entertain also drove him, once he became sober, to put on the most entertaining shows possible. Anyone who has attended one of his concerts can tell you that he constantly asks the audience, “Are you having a good time?” and I believe he was sincere. Ozzy was a man whose audience had been with him through thick and thin, and whose devotion provided him with a career beyond his wildest dreams. How fitting was it that his last show ended up raising $190 million for charity? In the end, the misunderstood, demonic hellraiser seemed to do more for people in need than any of the evangelists he made fun of.

So, while it’s true that I never met Ozzy, in many ways, I felt like he was always there in my life, providing a soundtrack for a disaffected youth who never felt like he fit in. And even though his lyrics highlighted the struggles of mental illness and addiction, there was always hope.

“Maybe, it’s not too late to learn how to love and forget how to hate.”

Rest in peace, Ozzy. Long live the Prince of Darkness.

– Ryan