apanthropy

I was sitting at work when the notification hit my phone. Ozzy Osbourne had died.

I fought with wanting to grab my things and just leave; the same thing I did when I found out Dimebag Darrell was killed on stage. When the news of Dimebag’s murder hit, I stood up and left work. I Never bothered to tell my boss I was leaving, it was a fucking call center where I was making $9 an hour to get shit on by retards who couldn’t keep up with their interest rate payments on their credit cards, my boss was a lifer and a fat cunt who still works at a call center. I just didn’t care. My job wasn’t important. The money wasn’t important. The career ladder meant nothing. The only thing that carried weight was the mirror of mortality that was uncomfortably held up in front of my face.

I left and went to my brother’s apartment and got stoned. This was back in 2004, I was still technically a teenager, one year removed from high school with absolutely no direction and no idea what I was going to do with my life.

Now, I’m 40. And Ozzy has died. 21 years after the death of Dimebag Darrell, things are different. I’m married, I have a house, I have two dogs, I have an actual net worth that isn’t negative, I’m alive. I’m not directionless. Although I still have no idea what I’m doing with my life, I still make an effort, no matter how difficult it is at times.

Ozzy Osbourne had died. And here I was, 21 years later, ready to pack up and leave my job, like my 19-year-old self did decades ago. My job wasn’t important. The money wasn’t important. The career ladder still means nothing.

Heavy metal was something I got into at a very young age. And it stuck with me my entire life. The shitty days, the good days. The countless shows, the countless beers and shots, the horrible hangovers the day after. The countless stories I have with friends, recalling the wild times of our youth, where heavy metal felt like it was the only sane artform in a world where stupidity is a product and everybody is buying. What none of us knew back then, as teenagers, was that heavy metal was, indeed, the only sane artform in the world. The power, the fury, the fluidity, the narratives, the compositions, it was a haven for the disenfranchised and those that lived on the fringes of society. The church was the countless clubs that littered northern Ohio and the gospel was the eardrum-destroying volume that dozens and dozens and dozens of bands rained down on us from the stage.

Heavy metal, for us, and for millions of others, was, and is, a lifelong love. It was the soundtrack for the best and worst times, the days where one is stranded and lost on the beaten paths of youth, the days where one is certain that the world rests in their palm. I’ve seen my friends have kids, and their kids are growing up and becoming fans. In some cases, these are third generation heavy metal fans.

If not for Ozzy, for Black Sabbath, where would we be? Who would we be?

1969 was the ‘Big Bang’ for pop culture. It wasn’t heavy blues anymore. It was something more powerful, more hungry, more predatory. It was heavy metal. It was the knife that was plunged into the gut of Hippie culture. It was the existentialistic extension of human expression during the times of the Vietnam War. It was a three-note chord that revolutionized the power of sound.

The first chord ever played by Black Sabbath was the Devil’s Tritone. Up to that point, artists were expected to play music and chords that were pleasing and welcoming, consumers did not want something unsettling or surprising. The Devil’s Tritone – the diminished fifth – was neither pleasant nor welcoming. It was ugly, it was evil, and it was fucking heavy. The gravity of those three notes, coupled with blaring distortion, was the beginning of a movement that still exists today.

But it was the unique voice of Ozzy Osbourne that propelled Black Sabbath forward. An individual whose stage presence could be described as manic and unabashed in his early years. He was the unbroken stallion. He was a pioneer in execution and content. And he became something greater than a man.

He became a legend.

Surrounded by the trio of Iommi, Butler and Ward, he became the mouthpiece and lifeblood for 8 incredible studio albums that became the benchmark for traditional heavy metal, doom metal, stoner metal, and extreme metal as a whole.

Within in minutes of his passing, I read heartfelt posts from members of bands such as Crucifier, Perdition Temple, Archeron, and countless others in the extreme metal community. Proof that the influence of Black Sabbath runs incredibly deep in the music world. Even the most extreme of extreme bands paid homage to Ozzy Osbourne.

It wasn’t Ozzy that just died today. It was a part of our collective youth as heavy metal fans. We’re all getting older. And we can’t do anything about it. We can’t live forever. And we can’t do anything about it. One day, it’ll be me. One day, it’ll be you. You’ll bury your family members in time. You’ll bury your pets. And one day, somebody will bury you. And we can’t do anything about it.

Even legends die. And Ozzy Osbourne was a legend.

I ask you again, if not for Ozzy, if not for Black Sabbath, where would we be? Who would we be?

Without his influence on heavy music, where would it be?

We can’t recapture the magic that this artform brought to our youths, but we can live, and we can remember.

With heavy metal, in the grain of every tape, on the surface of every record, lives a bit of Black Sabbath and Ozzy Osbourne. In that sense, the mirror of mortality isn’t so unwelcoming. One can live forever with their art. One can create something from nothing that withstands the force of time itself.

Good night, Ozzy. Thank you for everything.

AJK