Flying High Again: A Tribute to The Ozzman
If I may borrow a cliché, metal forefather and rock icon Ozzy Osbourne was a man of multitudes. In addition to being arguably the most iconic frontman in most all of music, Oz was a trendsetter in alternative music, a larger than life figure in American pop culture, a macabre visionary, a notable reality television star, and a connoisseur of chiroptera cuisine. No matter how you slice it, Osbourne’s time in Black Sabbath, his solo band, and the public eye have widely changed the world; bringing young souls over to the dark halls of heavy metal and scaring losers into shitting their britches.
As such, it’s hard to think how one would attempt to tribute a figure of this size. After all, what is left unsaid about Ozzy Fucking Osbourne? I suppose all that needs to be said is that he was an iconoclast in 70s rock and a hero to metalheads everywhere after the fact. Not to discredit the many amazing musicians and artists he always surrounded himself with, but the Ozzman was the Ozzman for a fucking reason. I figured the best way to do this was to take a trip around the bowl, asking our many talented writers about the Ozzy and Sabbath tracks that meant the most to them. So, consider this a celebration of life and a dedication to the Prince of Darkness himself; a man who is no longer with us but still flying high all the same.
Sean Ghoulson – “Black Sabbath”
Many times before today, I have attempted to put myself into the headspace of a listener in 1970 who just purchased the debut LP from these Birmingham upstarts. Presumably fed a diet of Beatles or Vanilla Fudge singles, I can see myself putting the needle onto the black disc of vinyl and needing to stop after this first song to change my pants. After all, nothing at this time sounded like “Black Sabbath,” and very few metal bands can approach the terror at the heart of this song. We can attribute much of this bleak atmosphere to the harrowing composition that unfolds throughout the 6-minute run-time, going from a slow-burn atmosphere to a blasting doom metal track that makes Led Zeppelin look like Engelbert Humperdinck. Iommi’s sinister guitar lines carry through the air like a dark cloud of smoke before deep, rich bass tones from Butler and a tight-as-ever drum backing from Ward; this lurid buildup leads to one of the most fiery climaxes in all of ’70s rock, if not all of metal and rock alike. Yet, to be perfectly honest with you, this immaculate performance from the rest of the band is merely stage dressing for the star of the show: one of the most blood-curdling vocal performances of Ozzy Osbourne’s long, storied career. I’ve long maintained that when Ozzy sings on these classic records, he sounds like he really believes it. There is a “Hole in the Sky,” they are in a “Sabbath Bloody Sabbath,” and, in this case, Osbourne wails in true horror before the devil himself—pleading with God for mercy as he weeps before the flames of Hell. It’s a stark image painted by this track. I assume once my shit-covered underwear is disposed of, ’70s Sean would put the rest of this kick-ass album on, struck in awe of such massive music and immediate world-bulding. “Sweet Leaf” may be the best Sabbath track to spark up to; “Changes” may be the band at their most emotionally resonant, and other tracks may be catchier or better suited for regular listening, but there is no other song that represents Black Sabbath like “Black Sabbath.”
Rolderathis – “Planet Caravan”
I’ll never forget the first time I heard “Planet Caravan:” I was a shriveled husk somewhat depressed after getting my Bachelor’s in 2013 and instantly having to move back home to live with my mom. I had no income. I didn’t have a car (or a license, for that matter). To get to a therapist a few towns over, I had to start using a taxi service; the old-ish guy that regularly drove for me got on the topic of metal and played the song while telling me a wild-ass story. When he was younger, he was smoking some weed out in the woods at night with some friends, and the psychedelic rotary organs of “Planet Caravan” drifted from their tiny boombox out into the dark. Something swayed in the trees before them, and to their absolutely ZONKED horror, they discovered it was the dangling body of a suicide victim. Yes, that would create a strong visual/auditory connection, wouldn’t it? Was the story true? Who cares! (Of course it was true.) Throughout our drives together, I shared some modern doom metal—Pallbearer‘s “The Ghost I Used To Be” was met with particular enthusiasm—and we generally geeked out about the past, current, and future of the genre we loved. I don’t remember the guy’s name, but I’m glad to have found a friend during a tough time in my life. Ozzy, thanks for everything. Good night, sweet Prince of Darkness.
Stevo – “Electric Funeral”
Whenever I think about the word “doom” in metal throughout the years and besides Candlemass, I literally think of Black Sabbath. For me, “Electric Funeral” from their 1970 album, Paranoid, is the track that delivers the best that the band had to offer in that genre. The song perfectly gives out the sense and feeling of doom and it’s one of many reasons why Black Sabbath are the godfathers of that genre. The slow riffing from Iommi in the verses with the apocalyptic lyrics of nuclear war that Ozzy sings executes the sense of doom with immense depth. There is also another section that shows off more of a high bluster from Ozzy mixed in with Iommi’s faster and more bluesy riffs which adds another character, showing off Ozzy’s range. Even when you read the first two verses quoted below, you can feel the doom and gloom that the song talks about. It’s fitting this was written during the midst of the Cold War and felt like the perfect song to emphasize the despair that doom thrives upon.
Reflex in the sky warn you you’re gonna die
Storm coming, you’d better hide from the atomic tide
Iron Goddess of Mercy – “Killing Yourself to Live”
The first Sabbath CD I ever owned was Sabbath Bloody Sabbath, purchased used from a record store in the Brevard/Black Mountain area on a family trip in middle school. Years and years (and years) later—well after Master of Reality and Black Sabbath had become my be-all end-all Sabbath records—while listening to a beat-up vinyl copy in my room with a friend, the greatness of “Killing Yourself to Live” dawned on us. The riff at 2:44 is one of the grooviest moments in metal history. I have since watched their 1974 Summer Jam performance more times than there are numbers.
Falxifer – “The Wizard”
Never in my life did I ever think I’d see the headline “RIP Ozzy Osbourne.” There’s just no proper way to articulate the shadow this man cast over music for the last 50+ plus years, as both the original vocalist of Black Sabbath, his remarkable solo career and long standing as a pop culture icon. He was truly a man who did it all, and was one of the few elder statesmen of music to actually manage to say goodbye the only and best way he knew how: on the stage, with his family, his bandmates, the myriad artists he inspired and millions of fans around the world watching online, or live at Villa Park in Birmingham. It truly is just absolutely awe-inspiring and all the more sad; nothing Ozzy did was small, he always went big, and we loved him for it.
The world at large mourns Ozzy’s passing; as for my part, the only tribute I feel I can offer him is to point out the two records that basically started it all, Black Sabbath and Ozzy’s solo debut, Blizzard of Ozz.
For close to 40 years, a lot of music historians and metal pundits have endlessly argued about heavy metal music, its various characteristics, styles, etc. But the one, absolute constant is where this music we all love started, and it was Black Sabbath. Released in early 1970, the impact this record and Sabbath itself had are nothing short of monumental and revolutionary. There really is no limit to what Sabbath accomplished and their mark in history, and that itself is its greatest testament. While on an objective level one could say that this record has more in common with blues rock than what we today call “metal,” since a fourth of the material is covers—which was standard at the time—you still have to sit through the utter doom and gloom of the opening title track. Tony Iommi’s simple decision to down-tune his guitars due to necessity after losing the tips of his fingers may seem quaint, but hearing that tritone after the sounds of a rainstorm and a church bell is basically the musical equivalent of a big bang. The darkness of that title track still reverberates to this day, Ozzy praying for God to help him, Tony Iommi’s heavy as fuck riffs, Geezer Butler’s jazzy basslines and Bill Ward’s death march of doom can be heard across every single band listed on Metal-Archives and elsewhere. And the momentum doesn’t stop: “The Wizard” set the blueprint of fantasy lyrics and a love of Tolkien, “N.I.B.” turns the swagger and groove of blues into a love song by the devil and so on. Even the covers of “Evil Woman” and “Warning” are played within the context and niche Sabbath built for themselves, to the point some people might not even know they’re covers.
Suffice to say, the legacy, influence and impact of this record, and everything it preceded speaks for itself, and Ozzy’s unique voice is one essential pillar of that legacy that cannot be denied.
Fast-forward to the late ’70s, amid crippling addiction and mounting tensions, Ozzy left Sabbath and for a moment it almost seemed like that would’ve been the end of him. By all accounts, including self-admitted ones, Ozzy was an absolute mess. However bad you think his drug abuse was during the ’80s, during this period it was 10 times worse, until Sharon Levy, better known as Sharon Osbourne. While I won’t go into the specifics of Ozzy’s and Sharon’s famously chaotic personal and professional relationship, the one thing that’s an undisputed fact is that she saved his career and his life. Through her management of Ozzy she found the one and only Randy Rhoads and paved the way for Ozzy to get back in the studio, and the result is Blizzard of Ozz. This album, so firmly etched as a classic of heavy metal, was not as revolutionary as Sabbath’s debut, but it’s still a record that set a blueprint for many artists to follow when going solo or wanting to make a more commercially appealing style of fun yet still hard hitting metal music. But more importantly, this album’s immediate success and acclaim not only gave Ozzy a second wind, this was the building block of him becoming a pop culture icon. A lot of things (many of them not so good things) can be said about Sharon Osbourne, but her greatest achievement and something we can thank her for is saving Ozzy from becoming another all-too-young casualty of sex, drugs and rock and roll. Blizzard of Ozz is the record that sealed that fact, and of course, Ozzy’s iconic voice was perfectly paired and matched with the sorely-missed Randy Rhoads, who not only shredded on this record from beginning to end, but also co-produced it. It’s simultaneously a quintessential ’80s record and a timeless one, because it feels like an album that’s existed forever.
There’s definitely a lot more I could go into in terms of history and impact for both records, but that’s just the thing, it’s all too much, Ozzy was just that important and monumental, and the two major debuts of his career are monuments to it. No words will ever do justice, and the music both speaks for itself and lives on.
Eenzaamheid – “Crazy Train”
It’s 1979 and after spending a decade riding high, very high, in Black Sabbath, Ozzy is kicked out. Tossed to the curb. Dave Mustaine’d by his former bandmates and ready to hang it up. And then he nabs a solo record deal without even a band to back him. And then he lucks into discovering legendary neoclassical guitar-nerd-god Randy Rhoads, drunkenly hiring him on the spot. Now it wasn’t just a comeback; Ozzy, armed with the theory and talent and enough booze and drugs, was a force of nature. He drunkenly bit the head off a dove (two actually) during his record deal signing. He did the same with a bat the next year and, a month later, pissed on the Alamo. Peak creativity usually comes part-and-parcel with peak insanity for Ozzy. The image of a mad conductor on a crazed train going off the rails fit him perfectly. By showing off the whole of the F# minor scale instead of relying on pentatonic boxes, Rhoads was able to show off his short-lived virtuosity and position Ozzy front and center for the guitar-nerdery that defined ’80s metal.
I know you’ve heard this song a million times: at every professional sports game, on every classic rock radio station, in the supermarket, in the back of your dad’s Camaro when you were 4. But give it just one more listen. Listen to how the uptempo chords in the verse contrast with the ominous opening riff and the darker chords and frantic guitar fills in the chorus. Listen to how the guitar solo careens up and down the neck with Rhoads adding just enough texture to shape his manic slurry of notes, ending with a high bend ringing out. This solo alone cemented several tropes that future metal soloists has been aping for decades.
Being kicked out of Sabbath was a personal low for Ozzy, but musically it was a blessing in disguise. It allowed him to explore beyond the confines of Black Sabbath and continually reinvent himself. In Black Sabbath, Ozzy snorted cocaine—as a solo artist he snorted a line of ants. Jesus, “Prince of Darkness” is right.
Reliquary Tower – “N.I.B.”
Just last night I was watching Black Sabbath’s final performance of “N.I.B.” at their farewell show. As I watched The Prince of Darkness sing from his massive throne, I thought to myself “It’s a shame we probably don’t have much time left with him. Maybe another year or two.” Barely an hour into my shift at work today I got a message from a friend saying that he had passed. Seeing how that was the last song of his that I heard before his death (not to mention one of my favorites), I think it’s only fitting for me to talk a little bit about it.
Oddly enough, my first time hearing that song was not Ozzy, but Zakk Wylde’s cover of it that he did on an acoustic Hello Kitty guitar. Of course I had to compare and contrast. Ozzy’s voice made it feel like it was more than a song. Ozzy’s voice made it feel like a story, and the “plot twist” when the girl realizes that her lover is actually the Devil himself hit me like a truck, even though I had already heard Zakk tell the tale. As a pretty fresh metalhead at the time, it clued me in on the idea that maybe Sabbath really was just as good as everyone kept telling me and that I should give their albums a proper run-through. They were absolutely right. Geezer Butler’s bass solo at the beginning of “N.I.B.” would also have a major influence on my life as one of the three songs that would ultimately inspire me to pick up the bass guitar (the others being “The Druid” by Sleep and “Monkey Junction” by Weedeater, and I think it’s more than fair to say that neither of those songs would exist without Sabbath). I don’t think the human mind can comprehend how much music Sabbath and Ozzy have inspired, from punk to grunge to the entirety of the metal world; few bands have had such a massive influence on the history of music. Black Sabbath are not just an obligatory altar at which we all kneel—they’re some of the best to ever do it. Ozzy, rest easy man. Hope you found that dish that ran away with the spoon.
Aaron – “Changes”
It’s almost fucking impossible to approach “Changes” with a fresh perspective. In the minds of many it’s forever associated with a million bad cover versions—including the later father-daughter duet version Ozzy and Kelly performed, which was somehow a #1 hit in the UK—and even at the time of its release it was considered a weird, bizarre ballad on an already odd record.
But on its own terms, and especially in the context of Vol. 4 as an album? I think “Changes” is radically underappreciated. The disquieting mellotron completely juxtaposed next to the lyrics—ostensibly written to describe Bill Ward’s failing marriage at the time—that, in the context of Vol. 4 are a warped, fucked up depiction of the Californian rock scene, feel completely removed from relationships, love or anything like that. The “changes” feel like Ozzy is describing a life irreparably fucked by drugs, the actual reality of sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll laid bare. Considering how much of Ozzy’s legacy in popular culture was informed by his permanent state of stupor, by an outwardly comical perma-confusion, it’s just such a transformatively fucking sad song to me. I still think it’s the best vocal performance of Ozzy’s career, at least tied with “Solitude.”
