Just weeks after reuniting with his Black Sabbath bandmates and performing a massive farewell concert for fans, Ozzy Osbourne has died at the age of 76.
The July 5 concert, Back to the Beginning, was intended as a final chapter. Instead, it became a towering coda. It ended up being the highest-grossing charity concert of all time, raising over $190 million (more than FireAid and Farm Aid combined), and distributing funds equally to Birmingham Children’s Hospital, Acorn Children’s Hospice, and Cure Parkinson’s — the latter focused on the disease Ozzy had lived with since 2019. Forty thousand fans packed the venue; 5.8 million more watched online.
“It is with more sadness than mere words can convey that we have to report that our beloved Ozzy Osbourne has passed away this morning,” his family said in a statement. “He was with his family and surrounded by love.”
In 1968, the Birmingham, England native co-founded Black Sabbath with guitarist Tony Iommi, bassist Geezer Butler, and drummer Bill Ward. Ozzy’s accolades were many: five Grammys as a solo artist, two more with Sabbath, and a 2019 Lifetime Achievement Award from the Recording Academy. He was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2006 as a member of Black Sabbath.
But those statistics, like his many nicknames, only tell a kernel of the story.
A factory accident that severed the tips of Tony Iommi’s fingers led to detuned strings, makeshift fingertips, and something way heavier. By Paranoid, the masterpiece was sealed in steel, in its power, in its precision. And by the arrival of Sabbath Bloody Sabbath, the blueprint and benchmark were clear. It would be the beginning. It would be the end. It would be forever Sabbath.
“War Pigs” and “Paranoid” will never not hit like gospel for the disenchanted. Ask me again decades from now, and I will tell you the same. Those are not going anywhere. On the “Sabbath Bloody Sabbath” title track, Ozzy’s voice embodies the ache of disillusionment and the quiet rebellion of surviving it, delivering haunting reflections in lines like:
Nobody will ever let you know
When you ask the reasons why
They just tell you that you’re on your own
Fill your head all full of lies
Dig into deep cuts like “Fairies Wear Boots” and, whether you want to admit it or not, what you’re listening to is blues with sharp teeth. Sabbath twisted the familiar minor pentatonic blues scales and captured post-industrial dread. For the weird kids, the worn down, the waking dreamers, it was a landing strip after a long, mentally taxing day at school. Ozzy’s vocals on “A National Acrobat” were nihilistic and life-affirming at once – as if the abyss were worth shouting into. And it is, when it’s Sabbath lyrics and melodies you’re screaming into it.
And Ozzy’s career didn’t stop there. Just hours before hearing the news, I was driving to the sound of his solo catalog, wondering how he’d been holding up given his condition. I reached for it all: the Randy Rhoads era, the Jake E. Lee era, the Zakk Wylde era. “Over the Mountain,” “Flying High Again,” “Bark at the Moon,” “Shot in the Dark,” “Mama, I’m Coming Home,” “No More Tears,” “Time After Time.”
Here’s the thing I always come back to when Ozzy is coming through my speakers, whether Sabbath or solo: he’s so much more than the madman myth. Man could sing his British ass off with shrieking soul and metal venom in equal measure. That influence can’t and should not be understated or undermined.
This part might not belong in an obituary piece, but I’ll say it anyway because I’m me: An ex-boyfriend used to make fun of me for my obsessive love for Black Sabbath; not in a cute way, more in a sneering sort of way. But social media, ever the social experiment, reveals funny reversals. He wears the shirts now. Maybe Ozzy and I weren’t so crazy after all. Figures.
Rest easy, Great and Powerful Ozz. “I can’t stand to say goodbye.” You were larger and louder than life.
