Ozzy
Farewell to much-loved madman
I wasn’t going to write abut Ozzy, and I’m not going to write about Ozzy, but I loved - love - Ozzy and it feels as if we’ve lost a member of our family. I guess that’s normal when you’re born and bred in Birmingham, and have been around Black Sabbath’s music and Ozzy’s solo career since childhood; when you have watched the TV footage and concert footage and interviews and VHSs back in the day when YouTube and the internet didn’t exist, and when you have laughed at “The Osbournes”, celebrated at the concerts, and cried at his passing.
(Some of the Black Sabbath murals in the city. I took these photos two evenings before Ozzy passed away).
I feel so fortunate to have seen Black Sabbath twice in concert, and when I say Black Sabbath, I mean the original line-up of Ozzy, Tony Iommi (flawless), Geezer Butler (a fucking genius), and Bill Ward (“there’s only one Bill Ward” goes the chant): on the final night of The End of the Millennium tour, which was billed as “the final ever Black Sabbath performance” at the time, on 22 December 1999 at the NEC and then again at a “secret” gig at The Academy in Dale End in February 2001. Both times with my Dad, and the latter with my Mum - and as a family we sat down to watch “Back to the Beginning” mere weeks ago. We were saying how frail Ozzy looked and wondered how much time he had left; it turned out to be seventeen days. We didn’t expect it to be so very soon.
We’re very much a Black Sabbath family. Ozzy was (is?) my Dad’s hero, for reasons that are obvious if you know me or have met the man who shaped my taste in music from when I was tiny, and by a weird coincidence, I was the one who had to break the news to my folks, something I hoped I would never have to do.
Ozzy’s death is a very Birmingham loss that seems all the more painful for those of us from around these parts; Ozzy and Black Sabbath are part of our DNA, rooted in our streets, culture, local history, and lives. As Frank Skinner said on the most recent episode of his podcast:
“And it was like being punched in the stomach. And I can't really explain why, but it's to do with Birmingham…it's to do with loving him…But, oh man, it was, I was so sad that we'd lost Ozzy…So yeah, anyone who loves Ozzy and his music will know the feeling, but I felt I had to mention it.”
It was meant to be “Summer of Sabbath” in Birmingham to herald the Aston boys’ homecoming, but now it’s turned into something very different - still “Summer of Sabbath”, but now the city is in mourning. Still, underneath the tears and flowers strewn over the city, spilling over onto Black Sabbath Bridge, and in true Brummie fashion, the mood remains celebratory: for the music, for the memories, for everything. Farewell, Ozzy Osbourne. We love you.
Crazy, but that's how it goes
Millions of people living as foes
Maybe it's not too late
To learn how to love
And forget how to hate
Beautiful tribute.
Have only just noticed that the mural outside New Street is punctuated by "DANGER - HIGH VOLTAGE" signs. Seems appropriate, somehow. (Lovely, heartfelt piece, btw!)