He seems to have done a lot of good by stealth, especially donations to causes in his native Birmingham, not shouting about it but just quietly sending money. And, as you say, he had an endearingly baffled quality - his attitude was less "do you know who I am?" and more "does anyone know where I am?"
Funny, isn't it - Ronnie James Dio was the lead singer of Sabbath for around eight hundred years, but if you ASK anyone who the lead singer is...
This is VERY funny: "And, as you say, he had an endearingly baffled quality - his attitude was less "do you know who I am?" and more "does anyone know where I am?" :-)
People die every day. Where I live, they post small notices when someone elderly passes away. A simple announcement: this person has died. If you knew them, or if you want to spend a Sunday afternoon paying your respects to a stranger, come. I went. Why not? I was curious. I pictured the whole town gathering, everyone there, sharing the weight of loss. Six and a half people showed up. I'm counting the cat.
I talked to one of them - the part-time butcher who stocks shelves at the supermarket. He seemed glad to see a familiar face. He knew her well. "She was easy to talk to," he said. She gave to charity. She played guitar. She knitted sweaters - handmade clothes for her family, year after year. The newspapers didn't write about her. The Coldstream Guards didn't play her guitar riffs outside Buckingham Palace. But she had a good life. She lived among us. She mattered to at least six people - including me, now. Maybe I'm her newest, quietest fan.
_____
She wasn't Ozzy Osbourne or any kind of cultural figure with their contradictions and excessive ways of living. Her $30 to charity means the same as someone else's hundreds of thousands - maybe more, without the tax breaks. When it comes to death, everyone on earth perhaps deserves the same level of attention. Not the media circus, but the respect.
What a lovely custom. And I couldn't agree more — there should be such systems in place for people to mark the passing and resonance of the non-famous. Because in the end they're so much more important to both us and the community.
As a fellow midlander I can kind of relate to the Oz Man. There is certainly a lot of love for him here. Not so much during his early, off the rails days, though. The punch drunk reality star of his later years revealed a vulnerability that showed his early excess for what it was: chasing oblivion. And like you say, much of it was very, very uncool. He went to Hell and came back. (Or did Sharon drag him back?) His music tracks the journey so we don’t have to follow. A latter day wild man. Irreplaceable.
Just to be pedantic, Ozzy used to live next door to my Auntie Sylv in Ranton, Staffordshire and it was not cats, but a cockerel and the hens he shot when they woke him up. She recalls saying "back from tour then are you John?" as she was too shocked to say anything else!
Just reading these comments now and, yes, Ronnie James Dio had The Voice of Voices. Dear lord, could that man sing! He was and has always been one of my favorite singers. But Ozzy had by far the bigger cultural footprint of the two. As much as I love RJD, I can't think of a single "story" about him, but Ozzy had so very many. TV helped, of course. His impact here in the States was humongous. His fame was soaring during the Satanic Panic of the 80s. Every churchgoing parent feared him. And that was one of the reasons young people like me loved him. The 80s were too cheerful and clean, at least where I lived. We wanted something loud and scary and gritty. That said, I'm glad I didn't know the story about the cats until after his death. I would have had a seriously hard time enjoying his music knowing he'd done that. I think he's been up to a lot since I stopped buying his music about 30 years ago. But did his music ever have an impact on me for some time before then.
Wow, a great piece, Michael. I think you're spot on. And, I have all the same questions you do about Ozzy. I love your conclusion. Maybe we really do need such figures who bleed a little anarchical.
The often-played clip from that last concert struck me, because he said something I thought was characteristically honest, and not something you hear in such a direct way from massive rock stars generally: he said something like, your support has allowed us to live the lives we do.
It's overstating its significance to suggest it was a sort of drawing back of the veil - but it strikes me (others may disagree) that not many pop and rock stars so honestly acknowledge what everybody knows but isn't talked about much - how fans' financial support literally pays for their lifestyles and their children's education.
I probably haven't seen enough live music to know if that's commonplace, but for me It helped me understand why so many people might hold this shambling man who, I agree, wasnt a great singer, in high regard.
That thing he said really struck me too, when I heard it. As you say, a kind of frank directness which is so incredibly rare — saying the quiet part out loud. I've never seen anything remotely like that before, either live, or in print. Iconoclastic to the last.
Hard Rock as we used to call it, that became Metal, either Heavy or Light or Dark or Speed or White - add whetever adj. you like to Metal it's bound to exist, in some garage anyway, somewhere, was in many stances the white occidental boy or girl cry for... help? It was above all, something primal that drove like sensitive people together, into a weird mega family of which Ozzy was definitely the mad uncle Fester. And we were ok with Mad. Everything better than the normies. But at the same time, we felt excluded. Which is bound to happen when your religion deity is called Lemmy (cf Airheads 1994). It wasn't planned. It was simply felt. Why, aged 12, did i become a metalhead myself simply by miss-hearing "We are the Road Crew" belting out from behind my brother's room's closed door. Why did something simply connected into my brains (both the one in the head, and the one in the stomach). And why did every kid like me in school felt like weirdoes on another planet and enjoyed the same things, like horror movies or sci-fi, and played D&D? 2000 highschoolers in the playground, on the first day, waiting for the raw call for dispatch, 2000 nice and clean people. And within this colourfull mass of The Wall's rejects, 11 individuals that got scared from this impish and fiendish gathering of souls to be molded simply got attracted like magnets to each other, forming a sort of Napoleonic last circle line of defense against THIS world in the center of the playground. Simply because all of them 11 were wearing Iron Maiden, Deep Purple, Judas Priest or Motley Crew tee-shirts. Yeah, Misery love company (I'm your number one fan says Anthrax). And we're still friends 40 years later, and are still listening to the same bands and try as much as life permits to attend the Hellfest every year. And we are still watching B or Z movies. And still playing RPG and such. I think most of us shed a tear discovering Gojira playing live during the Parisian OG ceremony. Not because we particularily liked Gojira (very good drummer though), but simply because in France in 55 years, it was the first time ever i could watch Heavy Metal on the main channel prime time. Ok, maybe more than just one tear. But as usual i'm digressing. Ozzy was to us the symbol of a lost generation who didn't know it was. But he was also the guy the normies knew, for good or bad reasons. A reminder that the meatalheads are there. Not lurking. Just not giving a fuck. But there, watching. Dormant. And still within their heart a... rage... for lack of better word. I know now, that it wasn't indeed as much a cry for help than a way to simply not letting out our Rage and soothing it with that music. Rage against... i don't what. The system? The Machine? The world we were born in, early 70s, was very much a crossroad. Every generation has its slayer. We did too, with a capital S ; so long Horses of Instruction, we are the Tygers of Wrath if not the Angels of Death. Or maybe were we just too sensitive. I actually do know we were. But this music filled us with Hope. Not just the words, not just the notes, not just the theatrics... The whole shebang#! And this quest for Hope, the most resilient thing of all, was maybe the reason we all got into publishing or writing fantasy, or romance. Cause if these are literature of Hope, they are also literature of the Soul. And so is Hard Rock. And maybe, just maybe, for us, Ozzy was the Heart of the Soul. Not perfect, just like us, human with all them flaws. And we're not trying to be perfect. We're leaving that to the preachers of the Body, the priests of the Sight and the Knights of Suffering. Ozzy was the Prince of Darkness... yeah, as i told you, there was Hope.
Wow. That's an extraordinary piece of writing... and one which makes me understand the whole things ten times more strongly. Thank you — I really hope other people read this!
Ozzy’s was a redemption story, and how we react to it indicates something of our own aptitude for forgiveness and how we allow the deeply flawed to inhabit their new moral selves. ‘Shambles of a human being’? Father Ememess wags his finger.
And saying Black Sabbath weren’t a very good band is an outrageous claim: there’s a reason why rock and metal bands see them as foundational and the best ever to do it. No mere stepping stone.
He seems to have done a lot of good by stealth, especially donations to causes in his native Birmingham, not shouting about it but just quietly sending money. And, as you say, he had an endearingly baffled quality - his attitude was less "do you know who I am?" and more "does anyone know where I am?"
Funny, isn't it - Ronnie James Dio was the lead singer of Sabbath for around eight hundred years, but if you ASK anyone who the lead singer is...
This is VERY funny: "And, as you say, he had an endearingly baffled quality - his attitude was less "do you know who I am?" and more "does anyone know where I am?" :-)
Thank you! :)
People die every day. Where I live, they post small notices when someone elderly passes away. A simple announcement: this person has died. If you knew them, or if you want to spend a Sunday afternoon paying your respects to a stranger, come. I went. Why not? I was curious. I pictured the whole town gathering, everyone there, sharing the weight of loss. Six and a half people showed up. I'm counting the cat.
I talked to one of them - the part-time butcher who stocks shelves at the supermarket. He seemed glad to see a familiar face. He knew her well. "She was easy to talk to," he said. She gave to charity. She played guitar. She knitted sweaters - handmade clothes for her family, year after year. The newspapers didn't write about her. The Coldstream Guards didn't play her guitar riffs outside Buckingham Palace. But she had a good life. She lived among us. She mattered to at least six people - including me, now. Maybe I'm her newest, quietest fan.
_____
She wasn't Ozzy Osbourne or any kind of cultural figure with their contradictions and excessive ways of living. Her $30 to charity means the same as someone else's hundreds of thousands - maybe more, without the tax breaks. When it comes to death, everyone on earth perhaps deserves the same level of attention. Not the media circus, but the respect.
What a lovely custom. And I couldn't agree more — there should be such systems in place for people to mark the passing and resonance of the non-famous. Because in the end they're so much more important to both us and the community.
As a fellow midlander I can kind of relate to the Oz Man. There is certainly a lot of love for him here. Not so much during his early, off the rails days, though. The punch drunk reality star of his later years revealed a vulnerability that showed his early excess for what it was: chasing oblivion. And like you say, much of it was very, very uncool. He went to Hell and came back. (Or did Sharon drag him back?) His music tracks the journey so we don’t have to follow. A latter day wild man. Irreplaceable.
Very well put.
For me, he's another part of my childhood that's died. A part of me that's not coming back.
That's also so true. I'm braced for people like Keith Richards and have still not quite absorbed the idea that Bowie's gone...
Yeah, Bowie hurt...
Just to be pedantic, Ozzy used to live next door to my Auntie Sylv in Ranton, Staffordshire and it was not cats, but a cockerel and the hens he shot when they woke him up. She recalls saying "back from tour then are you John?" as she was too shocked to say anything else!
Apparently that's a separate incident, weirdly. An equal-opportunity slayer...
https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/entertainment/english/music/when-ozzy-osbourne-revealed-he-killed-17-cats-under-the-influence-of-drugs-described-it-as-a-turning-point-in-his-life/articleshow/122857061.cms
I didn't know that story, whereas the chicken story is family folklore!
And "back from tour then are you John?" is a fantastic line ;-)
Just reading these comments now and, yes, Ronnie James Dio had The Voice of Voices. Dear lord, could that man sing! He was and has always been one of my favorite singers. But Ozzy had by far the bigger cultural footprint of the two. As much as I love RJD, I can't think of a single "story" about him, but Ozzy had so very many. TV helped, of course. His impact here in the States was humongous. His fame was soaring during the Satanic Panic of the 80s. Every churchgoing parent feared him. And that was one of the reasons young people like me loved him. The 80s were too cheerful and clean, at least where I lived. We wanted something loud and scary and gritty. That said, I'm glad I didn't know the story about the cats until after his death. I would have had a seriously hard time enjoying his music knowing he'd done that. I think he's been up to a lot since I stopped buying his music about 30 years ago. But did his music ever have an impact on me for some time before then.
Wow, a great piece, Michael. I think you're spot on. And, I have all the same questions you do about Ozzy. I love your conclusion. Maybe we really do need such figures who bleed a little anarchical.
Thank you Brad! And maybe yes, whatever our basic stance, we need a back door open somewhere so as not to feel trapped...
The often-played clip from that last concert struck me, because he said something I thought was characteristically honest, and not something you hear in such a direct way from massive rock stars generally: he said something like, your support has allowed us to live the lives we do.
It's overstating its significance to suggest it was a sort of drawing back of the veil - but it strikes me (others may disagree) that not many pop and rock stars so honestly acknowledge what everybody knows but isn't talked about much - how fans' financial support literally pays for their lifestyles and their children's education.
I probably haven't seen enough live music to know if that's commonplace, but for me It helped me understand why so many people might hold this shambling man who, I agree, wasnt a great singer, in high regard.
That thing he said really struck me too, when I heard it. As you say, a kind of frank directness which is so incredibly rare — saying the quiet part out loud. I've never seen anything remotely like that before, either live, or in print. Iconoclastic to the last.
There’s lots of people like that. Moments of Only Forward genius and then you cling on hoping that it’s not just
He couldn’t really write. Yet he wrote. That’s important.
LOL fair
Hard Rock as we used to call it, that became Metal, either Heavy or Light or Dark or Speed or White - add whetever adj. you like to Metal it's bound to exist, in some garage anyway, somewhere, was in many stances the white occidental boy or girl cry for... help? It was above all, something primal that drove like sensitive people together, into a weird mega family of which Ozzy was definitely the mad uncle Fester. And we were ok with Mad. Everything better than the normies. But at the same time, we felt excluded. Which is bound to happen when your religion deity is called Lemmy (cf Airheads 1994). It wasn't planned. It was simply felt. Why, aged 12, did i become a metalhead myself simply by miss-hearing "We are the Road Crew" belting out from behind my brother's room's closed door. Why did something simply connected into my brains (both the one in the head, and the one in the stomach). And why did every kid like me in school felt like weirdoes on another planet and enjoyed the same things, like horror movies or sci-fi, and played D&D? 2000 highschoolers in the playground, on the first day, waiting for the raw call for dispatch, 2000 nice and clean people. And within this colourfull mass of The Wall's rejects, 11 individuals that got scared from this impish and fiendish gathering of souls to be molded simply got attracted like magnets to each other, forming a sort of Napoleonic last circle line of defense against THIS world in the center of the playground. Simply because all of them 11 were wearing Iron Maiden, Deep Purple, Judas Priest or Motley Crew tee-shirts. Yeah, Misery love company (I'm your number one fan says Anthrax). And we're still friends 40 years later, and are still listening to the same bands and try as much as life permits to attend the Hellfest every year. And we are still watching B or Z movies. And still playing RPG and such. I think most of us shed a tear discovering Gojira playing live during the Parisian OG ceremony. Not because we particularily liked Gojira (very good drummer though), but simply because in France in 55 years, it was the first time ever i could watch Heavy Metal on the main channel prime time. Ok, maybe more than just one tear. But as usual i'm digressing. Ozzy was to us the symbol of a lost generation who didn't know it was. But he was also the guy the normies knew, for good or bad reasons. A reminder that the meatalheads are there. Not lurking. Just not giving a fuck. But there, watching. Dormant. And still within their heart a... rage... for lack of better word. I know now, that it wasn't indeed as much a cry for help than a way to simply not letting out our Rage and soothing it with that music. Rage against... i don't what. The system? The Machine? The world we were born in, early 70s, was very much a crossroad. Every generation has its slayer. We did too, with a capital S ; so long Horses of Instruction, we are the Tygers of Wrath if not the Angels of Death. Or maybe were we just too sensitive. I actually do know we were. But this music filled us with Hope. Not just the words, not just the notes, not just the theatrics... The whole shebang#! And this quest for Hope, the most resilient thing of all, was maybe the reason we all got into publishing or writing fantasy, or romance. Cause if these are literature of Hope, they are also literature of the Soul. And so is Hard Rock. And maybe, just maybe, for us, Ozzy was the Heart of the Soul. Not perfect, just like us, human with all them flaws. And we're not trying to be perfect. We're leaving that to the preachers of the Body, the priests of the Sight and the Knights of Suffering. Ozzy was the Prince of Darkness... yeah, as i told you, there was Hope.
Wow. That's an extraordinary piece of writing... and one which makes me understand the whole things ten times more strongly. Thank you — I really hope other people read this!
And now it leads to the real thread: selfishness vs moral and cultural compass. This should rapidly escalate into insults and Godwin Law... ha ha
Ozzy’s was a redemption story, and how we react to it indicates something of our own aptitude for forgiveness and how we allow the deeply flawed to inhabit their new moral selves. ‘Shambles of a human being’? Father Ememess wags his finger.
And saying Black Sabbath weren’t a very good band is an outrageous claim: there’s a reason why rock and metal bands see them as foundational and the best ever to do it. No mere stepping stone.