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Ozzy Osbourne 1948 -2025

At thirteen, I went from neighborhood pest to disturber of the peace, and all it took was Black Sabbath and a boombox. Sabbath was my absolute favorite band, a gift from a friend who wanted to keep his Led Zeppelin obsession for himself. To do that, he put Black Sabbath’s Paranoid on his record player and dropped needle on “Electric Funeral.”

Of course, I was hooked. Massive riffs, huge wah-wah, doom, gloom, some crazed-voiced toad telling us we are “going to die” – what thirteen-year-old boy wouldn’t smoke that shit and get high?

It was down to the Rasco-Tempo, an off-brand K-Mart that had a small record and tape section that almost always had absolutely nothing good in it. But that day, in the cassette rack, was a copy of We Sold Our Souls for Rock n Roll, Sabbath’s “best of” collection. I looked around. No one was watching, so I slipped the tape into my pants and slid out the door. Let there be noise!

And there was…once I got home to my cheap Sanyo all-in-one stereo. I pressed play and for thirty-nine seconds I hear the sounds of a rain storm cut with the clanging of a church bell and then at the 0:00:40 mark I hear the biggest, baddest riff I ever did ear, a world-rattling, guitar karrangggg backed by an equally heavy bass and the strong primitive thud of drums. The band gets louder, subsides and it’s that crazed-voice toad with a sinister “What…is this…that stands before me?” Oh, my lord, or devil, seriously, what is this that spins before me??!!! Hooked again! Time to march down the streets with my boombox and mates, blasting “Black Sabbath” for a neighborhood that was asleep and fine not getting rocked awake by our gang.

This scenario would replay nearly every time I heard a new-to-me Black Sabbath song. The introductory riff would hit and my mind melted. No one wrote riffs like Black Sabbath, not then, and no one wrote them as good, not then or now. They are simple riffs, riffs that a teenager can copy on the E string of a bass or guitar. At the same time, that simplicity is not an easy thing to achieve, not intentionally, not over and over and over again. You not only have to know music and songwriting, you have to know when to hold back, when not to play notes, when to let sound ride, and when to share empty space. You must know the blues.

When that riff-knowledge is shared by your bandmates, guys as equally skilled at their instruments as you are yours, and when you pay with the pack-mentality of a street gang and the efficiency of a machine, and then you turn it up loud, real real loud, loud enough to shake the world, you have something special.

Now, add a singer, who by the mainstream definition of “singer” cannot sing. He can warble, moan, scream, slither, and caterwaul, but he can’t La-De-Da a Do-Re-Me, not like Frank Sinatra or Dorris Day or even Elvis. There’s something new here, the bastard mutant of the son of Reg Presley and Sky Saxon abandoned like an unwanted mutt in one of the dirtiest steel towns that ever was. The singer is Ozzy Osbourne.

Ozzy’s voice is a remarkable thing. It is unique, expressive, and completely his own. While most rock & roll vocalists never get past just singing words atop the music, Ozzy uses his voice as an instrument equal to guitar, bass, and drums. It’s another blues thing, a James Brown thing, the singer as melody maker, harmonizer, riff master, and percussionist. And because his voice is so much his own and so “non-singer” like, Ozzy is a democratic invitation for teenagers to sing along or become lead singers themselves.

My first band wasn’t really a band and my musical participation was nil, if that. The friend who turned me onto Sabbath was also my concert going buddy. If there was a rock show at the Sacramento Memorial Auditorium, we were there. If a big band or Day on the Green fest hit the Bay Area, we’d scrounge up a ride.

One of our rides was a high school guy with a Trans-Am, who “made us” drink Jack Daniels with him as we sped down I-80. Why? I have no idea, because, inevitably it was the guy who had to play sitter for at least one staggering drunk junior high kid.

Anyway, this guy had a younger brother, a thirteen-year-old guitar player who also loved Black Sabbath and was in a Sabbath cover band that didn’t have a singer. Though I was fourteen and not part of their little kid crowd, I knew the words to every Sabbath song and I wanted to sing in a band like my hero Ozzy. I could snarl and sneer like Ozzy, or at least me and my friends thought so. I’d been class clown, so I knew I could hold a classroom, which is what a frontperson does. No matter that I never practiced with the band. I would show up at Saturday’s party and become a rock star.

We hop a ride with Mr. Jack Daniels Trans Am to some house in the suburbs. It’s not one of those parents-away parties but eighteen-year-old party house/scourge of the neighborhood parties. There are a ton of guys and gals in their teens and twenties, along with a few older heads, hanging out inside and outside. Once the noise starts, it will be twenty minutes before the cops pay a visit.

I’m handed a red cup with beer in it and shown the garage. The room is dark. The band is set up in the back. I say hello to the guitarist and nod to the rest of the band. Our first song – my first song! – will be “Black Sabbath.” I get behind the mic stand, speak into the mic, and freeze. “That’s my voice?” I’m scared, I’m sweating, hell, I might be having my first panic attack. I have to get out of this place, but how without being dubbed a pussy?

I “speak” into the mic again and pantomime that the mic isn’t working. I unplug and plug the the mic chord, and continue my pantomime while I twist the cord, hoping to break the connection before the PA guy “troubleshoots” what’s going on and I have to sing. Just as the PA guy steps up, I flick the mic on, speak into it for real, and…nothing. I’m free! I go outside while the band plays instrumentals.

For a few months, my dreams of being a rock singer went underground and it was there I heard Johnny Rotten, another “can’t singer” with a unique and powerful voice. The first time I hear the Sex Pistols, I’m convinced that Rotten was influenced by Ozzy, the pudgy everyman, can’t dance, not-pretty, thumb-shaped toad. My desire to sing in a band came from Ozzy, the courage to do so with a fuck-it-fuck-you attitude came from Johnny Rotten.

I went from bedroom bands to getting kicked out of bands to playing shows with bands that I idolized to touring in bands to putting out records by bands – lots of bands, side-projects, musical jokes, and all the fun and fucked-upness that comes with a garage band life…and it all started with hearing Ozzy Osbourne, one of the best and most unique frontmen in music. Thanks Ozzy!

Here’s my top ten vocal performances by Ozzy Osbourne in Black Sabbath (no order):

Black Sabbath. It’s gotta start here, where it started. Very, very few singers or bands are able to establish who they are, without error or reservation, as Sabbath did on the opener of their first album. And it is a damn blessing that the band was able to equal this moment many times over. (Black Sabbath, 1970)

Thrill of It All. From the opening “Yeah” to the moment Ozzy starts to swing, “Thrill of It All” is one of several great Oz songs from Sabotage, an album the band recorded in the midst of lawsuits and addiction. That “Thrill of It All” is considered a “minor” hit on this album only comments on how fantastic Sabotage is. (Sabotage, 1975)

War Pigs. There’s a good reason you’ve heard “War Pigs” a zillion times. It’s one of the best Sabbath songs ever, best protest songs ever, best heavy metal songs ever, best songs ever, and best Ozzy performances ever. The formula is nearly the same as “Black Sabbath” – massive, moody riff drops into minimalism, this time though the minimalism is a high-hat slapping up and down, a guitar/bass accent, and Ozzy. This is the moment that Ozzy went from curiosity to OZZY. When I first heard “War Pigs,” I got chills. Listing to it right now, I’m still flustered. (Paranoid, 1970)

Sabbath Bloody Sabbath. Not my favorite Sabbath song from my favorite Sabbath album – that would be “Killing Yourself to Live,” which also is great Oz – but an all-timer, not just because the riff at the bridge changed rock & roll, but because Ozzy gets to do everything he can do in the song. He’s tough, he’s soft, he’s threatening, he’s sinister, he grunts, he groans, as with “War Pigs,” he is as much a part of the song as the rest of the band. Extra points for Ozzy’s voice nearly cracking in the bridge. (Sabbath Bloody Sabbath, 1973)

Sabra Cadabra. Boogie Woogie Sabbath with a Rick Wakeman piano part that sounds like Jools Holland! Two things make this great Oz. The verses are total sing-a-longs and singing-a-long with Ozzy is always fun. Second, the vocals in the second part of the song lets Ozzy stretch out and the finish has Oz improvising, which is always great fun. (Sabbath Bloody Sabbath, 1973)

Junior’s Eyes. The album Never Say Die has never been considered as good at the first six albums, even though first side is near perfect, the good songs are great, and, despite a few six-minute songs, it feels like punk had its influence. Not only punk, but funk, which was a major influence on the band. “Junior’s Eyes” is one of Sabbath’s funkier songs, and it gives Ozzy room to play, which he does. I’m trying to limit this list to two from an album, so it was a toss up between this one and “Johnny Blade,” which is damn great. Seriously, if you haven’t obsessed over Never Say Die, please do. It is as good as Masters of Reality and Sabotage, and better than Vol 4. Don’t argue. (Never Say Die, 1978)

Megalomania. My second selection from Sabotage could have been “Symptom of the Universe,” “Hole in the Sky,” or “The Writ” – all are great. I’m going with “Megalomania” and an introspective, possessed, troubled Ozzy – his tenor before sliding into a second part which sounds like it was lifted from Sabbath Bloody Sabbath. Ozzy also has the demented blues singer thing going on. (Sabotage, 1975)

All Moving Parts (Stand Still). More Sabbath funk. Stand out track from Technical Ecstasy, the only crappy album of the Oz era, a song that they should have saved for Never Say Die (while canning Technical Ecstasy). While Ozzy’s vocals are double- and triple-track, as with Sabbath funkier songs, Oz gets to stretch out a bit and, again, I like Ozzy in full stretch. (Technical Ecstasy, 1976)

The Warning. Sabbath closes their first album with another great Ozzy performance. As with “The Wizard” – another contender – “The Warning” is a heavy blues song and it shows that though his voice is unconventional, Ozzy can sing, and, guitar showcase that this is, when he sings ears gravitate towards his voice. (Black Sabbath, 1970)

Swinging the Chain. Don’t know if Ozzy knew that this would be the last time we heard him on a proper Black Sabbath album, but this album capper has Ozzy singing an octave or two deeper than normal, with a few highs and plenty of great improv moments and interjections. (Never Say Die, 1978)