Ozzy Osbourne, lead singer of Black Sabbath and godfather of heavy metal, dies at 76
'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. He was with his family and surrounded by love. We ask everyone to respect our family privacy at this time,' a family statement said. In 2020, he revealed he had Parkinson's disease after suffering a fall.
Either clad in black or bare-chested, the singer was often the target of parents' groups for his imagery and once caused an uproar for biting the head off a bat. Later, he would reveal himself to be a doddering and sweet father on the reality TV show 'The Osbournes.'
Black Sabbath's 1969 self-titled debut LP has been likened to the Big Bang of heavy metal. It came during the height of the Vietnam War and crashed the hippie party, dripping menace and foreboding. The cover of the record was of a spooky figure against a stark landscape. The music was loud, dense and angry, and marked a shift in rock 'n' roll.
The band's second album, 'Paranoid,' included such classic metal tunes as 'War Pigs,' 'Iron Man' and 'Fairies Wear Boots.' The song 'Paranoid' only reached No. 61 on the Billboard Hot 100 but became in many ways the band's signature song. Both albums were voted among the top 10 greatest heavy metal albums of all time by readers of Rolling Stone magazine.
'Black Sabbath are the Beatles of heavy metal. Anybody who's serious about metal will tell you it all comes down to Sabbath,' Dave Navarro of the band Jane's Addiction wrote in a 2010 tribute in Rolling Stone. 'There's a direct line you can draw back from today's metal, through Eighties bands like Iron Maiden, back to Sabbath.'
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Yahoo
42 minutes ago
- Yahoo
Mama, Ozzy Osbourne is coming home
Imagining rock 'n' roll without Ozzy Osbourne is impossible. He wasn't one of the music's originators—born in Birmingham, England, in 1948, he was too young for that—but as the lead singer of Black Sabbath, he created the sound, sensibility, and iconography that became known as heavy metal, a feat that earned him the nickname The Prince Of Darkness. Ozzy's reign as the king of heavy metal lasted well over half a century, ending only earlier this month when he played Back To The Beginning, a farewell extravaganza in his hometown, surrounded by disciples that illustrated his deep, lasting influence. Osbourne presided over a bill that gave equal representation to almost every strain of metal that Black Sabbath begat, its diversity illustrating how the band didn't just make a scene: They forged a subculture. Tellingly, apart from a reunited Black Sabbath, only two performers at Back To The Beginning were of Osbourne's generation: Aerosmith's Steven Tyler and Sammy Hagar, who once fronted Van Halen, the band that blew a haggard Sabbath off the stage in the late 1970s. From Metallica and Guns N' Roses through Tool and Rage Against The Machine's Tom Morello to Gojira and Rival Sons, everybody on the bill came of age during an era where Ozzy was a star in his own right, a madman known for his excesses as much as his music. Time has softened the memories of Osbourne's '80s debauchery, a process assisted by the singer starring alongside his family in The Osbournes, the pioneering reality TV program that reconfigured Ozzy as a beleaguered sitcom dad. The show highlighted Ozzy's frailty and foibles, along with a sense of humor that split the difference between accidental and purposeful. The genius of The Osbournes is how it tapped into a central truth about Ozzy Osbourne: Beneath the tattoos and pentagrams lay something human, even lovable. The notion that Ozzy Osbourne could be lovable was utterly alien when The Osbournes premiered in 2002, which is a testament to the power of his music. Like all great rock stars, Osbourne's art was inextricable from his persona. When Black Sabbath arose from the primordial heavy rock underground in the early 1970s, Ozzy sang with a piercing wail that suggested he was haunted by something intangible and unknown. He harnessed that gothic horror as a solo artist, lending a steely edge to his metallic rock that seemed alternately menacing and comical. Once he separated from Sabbath, the dangerous side subsumed Osbourne to the point that it was difficult to discern truth from fiction. During the 1980s, urban legends of Ozzy biting the heads off bats and doves rivalled the popularity of 'Crazy Train' and 'Mr. Crowley,' songs whose very titles teased an immersion in insanity and the occult. The idea of Ozzy Osbourne became greater than the music itself: Throughout the 1980s, he was the flashpoint for rock decadence, as much a guiding light as a cautionary tale. It also helped that Osbourne had a knack for picking guitarists, discovering legions of shredders that gave shape to metal in the 1980s. Chief among these was Randy Rhoads, the classically trained guitarist who died in 1982, just after he helped Osbourne make Blizzard Of Ozz and Diary Of A Madman, the albums that established Ozzy as a force outside of Black Sabbath. Those two records were so strong, they sustained Osbourne through a decade plagued by indulgence that slowly crept into the confines of the studio. They, alongside the first four albums by Black Sabbath, are at the core of Ozzy Osbourne's musical legacy, the albums that shaped the sound of heavy metal. Subsequent generations of rockers discovered new worlds lying within Ozzy's music, taking metal in places Osbourne never cared to explore. The definition of a rock 'n' roll lifer—he died less than three weeks after playing his final concert—he chose perseverance over innovation, sticking to the blend of high-octane rockers and power ballads he sketched out at the beginning of his solo career. Some hits came his way: In 1991, he even broke into the Billboard Top 40 with 'Mama, I'm Coming Home,' a reflective number whose vocal harmonies tipped a hat to his beloved Beatles. Most of the time, he played to the devoted, an audience thrilled at the simple fact that he survived the madness. 'Mama, I'm Coming Home' was part of Osbourne's solo set list at Back To The Beginning, the only song he played that dated past 1981. Thematically, it fits: Even in 1991, when Osbourne was just barely into his forties, it played like a summation. In the context of Back To The Beginning, its inclusion couldn't help but seem like a deliberate goodbye, especially with Osbourne confined to a throne due to health issues; the end seemed imminent, if maybe not quite as close as it turned out to be. Back To The Beginning didn't end there, though. Osbourne stormed through 'Crazy Train' before joining the rest of the original lineup of Black Sabbath for four songs, opening with the pummeling 'War Pigs' before closing strong with 'Iron Man' and 'Paranoid,' a pair of songs that seem impervious to death. All of Black Sabbath, all on the far side of 70, summoned their dark spirit, not so much sounding young as defiant. This was especially true of Ozzy, who still commanded attention even as he sat on his throne. The visual of the throne was a suitable final spectacle, playing into the horror movie element of Black Sabbath, emphasizing how Ozzy could treat his role as a rock singer as a bit of a carnival barker. Perhaps it didn't carry an element of danger, but it was savvy showmanship that stayed true to the Osbourne that became a beloved cultural figure. There was no more metal way to say farewell. More from A.V. Club Adam Sandler's at least shooting par with Happy Gilmore 2 E! News gets the axe again Resident Alien canceled after four seasons Solve the daily Crossword
Fox News
3 hours ago
- Fox News
Kelly Osbourne posts treasured moment with late father Ozzy Osbourne
Kelly Osbourne is sharing some of her favorite memories with her dad, Ozzy Osbourne, as she continues to mourn his death. The 40-year-old reality star took to Instagram stories on Saturday morning to share a sweet moment between the two of them while filming his A&E show "Jack & Ozzy's World Detour," per Page Six. In the clip, Ozzy can be seen jumping into the passenger seat of Kelly's RV, as she tells him "Morning, I got this song in my head I have to play it for you." The two then begin to dance together as they both sing along to "Paradise" by George Ezra. Kelly can then be heard telling her dad, "I love you," to which he responds, "I love you more." "One of the best Ozzy moments ever!" she wrote above the video. The Prince of Darkness died on Tuesday at the age of 76, just weeks after reuniting with Black Sabbath for a final performance with the band in Birmingham, England. "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," the family said in a statement provided to Fox News Digital. "He was with his family and surrounded by love. We ask everyone to respect our family privacy at this time." Kelly first broke her silence after her father's death on Thursday, writing on Instagram stories, "I feel unhappy I am so sad. I lost the best friend I ever had." Following his death, a source told People magazine the rock legend was "surrounded by family" before he passed and was at "peace" in the moments before his death. "[Sharon's] deepest hope was fulfilled, and this is her focus now," a source told the outlet. "Ozzy's final days were spent in England, surrounded by family, music and in the place he called home. He was in peace." In addition to Kelly, Ozzy is also survived by his wife of 43 years, Sharon Osbourne, and their children, Aimée and Jack Osbourne, as well as his three children from a previous marriage, Jessica, Louis and Elliot. Jack's ex-wife, Lisa Stelly, also paid tribute to the Black Sabbath frontman on Instagram, sharing photos of him with his grandkids, writing in the caption, "The world got Ozzy. We got Papa." "One of one. Larger than life. It hurts to say goodbye, but what a gift it was to have him," she continued. "We will never stop missing you."
Indianapolis Star
6 hours ago
- Indianapolis Star
Ozzy didn't corrupt America's youth. He exposed the hypocrisy of their elders.
Ozzy Osbourne is dead, and some Christians may believe that the devil ushered him straight to the gates of hell. Few pop culture icons were as important, or as controversial, as Osbourne. The British-born rocker became the avatar of American culture wars more than a half-century ago by attempting to showcase the hypocrisy of modern religion. Osbourne launched his career in the late 1960s. Sensitive to cultural currents, he recognized what was happening not just in music, but also in religion and politics. He used it to build on the image of rock as subversive and countercultural. From the start, Osbourne understood how to bring attention to his art. Calling his band Black Sabbath sent a clear message. He aimed to subvert, not honor, Christianity. He integrated crosses, demonic imagery and symbols of the devil such as bats into his performances to highlight what he saw as the absurdity of organized religion. Osbourne sang lyrics in his first album about a 'figure in black' that directed him, and in another song, he took on the persona of Satan himself: 'My name is Lucifer, please take my hand.' In Black Sabbath's "Paranoid" album, released at the height of the Vietnam War, he sang 'War Pigs,' a song in which Satan laughed and spread his wings as political and military elites led the Western world to the doorstep of the apocalypse. Opinion: How faith becomes a weapon: 'If I can't understand it, it's not Christian' Such allusions to the demonic continued in album after album. Osbourne's career developed parallel to a new understanding of Satan. In the post-World War II era, the devil assumed a more prominent role in American life. Anton LaVey's founding of the Church of Satan in 1966 celebrated Satan as a symbol of rebellion, individualism and secular liberation. In other words, Satan was the opposite of everything anxious Cold War parents wanted to instill in their kids. Artists drew on this revamped Satan in their work. Films like "The Exorcist" (1973) and "The Omen" (1976) brought Satan − and fears of Satan's ability to inhabit human bodies − into the imaginations of millions of people. Osbourne made those themes central to his music. In the 1980s, while Osbourne was still releasing albums, fears of satanic ritual abuse swept across the United States. Christian conservatives fretted that Dungeons & Dragons, Ouija boards and horror films were gateways to demonic influence. High-profile cases like the McMartin preschool trial and the publication of memoirs about escaping satanic ritual abuse fueled widespread panic. Law enforcement agencies conducted seminars on occult crime, therapists uncovered repressed memories of ritual abuse and talk shows amplified claims of underground satanic cults. The panic revealed deep anxieties about child safety, cultural change and the perceived decline of Christian values in American society. Perhaps, parents and religious leaders wondered, was Osbourne driving kids into satanism? Perhaps his music was brainwashing the nation's youth? Conservative Christians − including evangelicals, Catholics and Latter-day Saints − believe in a cosmic battle between angels and demons that directly influences human affairs. They believe that unseen spiritual battles determine real-world outcomes, particularly in culture, politics and morality. Opinion: Kan-Kan Cinema is elevating Indy's cinema culture Many of them also believed they had to protect children from music like Osbourne's. This framework encouraged social conservatives to interpret issues like abortion, LGBTQ+ rights and the de-Christianizing of culture as evidence of demonic influence, necessitating counteraction through prayer, activism and political engagement. Osbourne and the genre of hard rock that he helped to promote contributed to their fears. In their minds, Osbourne was encouraging youth to rebel. And he was. Osbourne's fans understood what the rock star was doing. They loved it. The more angry Osbourne could make their parents, and the more he could rile up moral crusaders, the better. And he agreed. Playing with the devil became a hallmark of his long career. Briggs: Born into Jim Crow, she lived to witness DEI debates From witch hunts in Salem to conspiracy theories driving QAnon, Americans have used Satan to facilitate a politics of fear. They have used him to justify persecution, fuel moral panics, shape political and cultural battles, and assess global crises and war. But there has always been another side to Satan, the one Osbourne captured. His devil wasn't the horned villain of Christian nightmares but a trickster, a rebel, a symbol of freedom from sanctimony. In Osbourne's hands, Satan gave a theatrical middle finger to hypocrisy and lifted up a mirror to a society obsessed with sin, and he laughed. His life reminds us that sometimes, dancing with the devil is really just refusing to march in lockstep with the saints.
