IT has taken me nearly 2 weeks since the death of John Michael “Ozzy” Osbourne to be able to, in some way, put my feelings into words, and even then, just barely.
I, like so many others, got into Ozzy in high school — bootlegged tapes from a friend of his first two solo albums made my time mowing the lawn far more awesome in the Summer of 2000, and as time would pass I’d get my own copies of some of his solo albums and become at least somewhat familiar with his works.
While, of course, I was aware of him having been in Black Sabbath, beyond Paranoid and Iron Man I knew not much of that catalog and never did look into it further. Recall that I didn’t have much fo a budget for CD’s and the like as a teen, as my tastes were finally growing and I discovered my own… “talent” in music, I would garner a modest collection of mostly then-current and some classic albums of all types, with Ozzy at the time just being one artist among many who, I enjoyed what albums I could get.
Naturally, “The Osbourne” premiering in 2002 would be something I’d watch and enjoy — the antics of the family, be they staged or real, were enjoyable to me, and I appreciated getting a peek into the life of the living legend.
Incidentally, my high school had a high percentage of the typical “punk” fans of the era (read, Blink 182 and shit like that) and I recall vividly one saying “why would they give a show to the worst artist of all time.” Takes all kinds, I guess.
As time would pass I’d learn more about the man himself, his story and, likely most importantly of all, his friendship and closeness with Randy Rhoads, the incredible guitarist who made Ozzy’s first two solo albums a big part of what they were. A virtuoso, to say the least, the man put classical guitar elements into his playing in a way that is just incredible.
Tragically, Randy died in 1982, and from what I could gather Ozzy was never the same. He had lost his best friend and while his band and career continued, things were forever different. That, how he interacted with his family during The Osbournes, and how he would talk to the audience at his concerts showed me that beyond the more rough elements of his life — the drug abuse, the dark aspects of his first marriage, and so many other events that are, in one way shape or form, natural errors humans can and will make — that beyond it all he was truly a loving, caring person who appreciated his family, his friends, and his fans.
His fans, and the way he treated them… treated us, in his concerts, that’s what stands out of me the most in retrospect. With his wife, Sharon Osbourne, stressing that he “lives for the stage” it makes sense how he would be to us — constantly doing his best to just be himself on stage, with a jovial presence that honestly contrasted the sometimes rather dark and somber nature of many of his songs.
Then came… the end. Just a month ago from the time I’m writing this, the “Back To The Beginning” concert where he would perform for the final time. Ozzy, by this stage, was suffering from late stage Parkinson’s, and while he had continued touring and making albums into the 2010’s, the disease had taken a toll, but clearly, Ozzy’s mind was as sharp as it ever was, and his final performance was still, even in his weakened state, that of a consummate performer. A man who lived for the stage, who lived for his fans.
That…. that’s why this hurts so much. Why his passing, while inevitable, still shocked so many. It wasn’t because it happened, but because we knew we had lost someone in the entertainment industry who truly cared about the fans.
Ozzy worked with a great number of people throughout his years, and it would be a crime not a acknowledge that he always worked with individuals as equally talented as himself; band mates and friends helped in all aspects of music creation: Ozzy was, in a sense, a central hub around which all these skilled individuals linked up to create something wonderful — from Iron Man and Paranoid, to Crazy Train and Diary of A Madman, on to Perry Mason, Gets Me Through, God is Dead and, finally, to that last performance in his hometown, Ozzy was the nexus of something special in expression; something the world is now a darker place without.
Ozzy, thank you for the music. Thank you for the stories. The life you lived, the lessons that can be learned from your life, and the inspiration you have given to so many people over generations.
While I’m in no way, shape, or form, religious, it brings a smile to my face to think that, with Ozzy’s passing, he at least now can finally be back with his friend Randy.
Again, to the Prince of Fucking Darkness, thank you, and goodbye.
Maybe I’ll see you on the other side…
John Michael “Ozzy” Osbourne
3 December 1948 – 22 July 2025
