John Michael Osbourne—yes, that was his real name—has died at 76. But Ozzy Osbourne, the legend, will live on forever, not only as the iconic musician and personality he was, but as a pioneer of his musical genre, of reality television, and of a sense of humor that ranged from the rebellious, the macabre, and the familiar.
Birmingham was the place where it all began and ended, and it's almost perfect to know that just three weeks ago he stood with the surviving members of Black Sabbath in that same place, literally saying goodbye to his audience."Thank you for giving me a life I never dreamed of having. You're my family. I love you all. Stay crazy. God bless. Good night!" he said at the end of the concert.
Although he'd done"farewell" tours since the 1990s, this time we knew it was real. With his family's confirmation that he passed away"in peace and surrounded by love," the era of legend begins. One in which, along with Tony Iommi, Geezer Butler, and Bill Ward, he created the seed of heavy metal.
Censorship was always a driving force for Ozzy, who, through his macabre riffs, his play with witchcraft, his attacks on war, and an indescribable volume for his time, enjoyed upsetting the establishment and giving a voice to millions of young people who had felt alone since the late 1960s.
It wasn't an easy life. His excesses even led to his expulsion from the band in the late 1970s. His solo career after that took him to places that not only didn't exist, but that would have seemed impossible to reconcile with his"Prince of Darkness" image, especially during the era of reality TV.
That's where the whole world, even those who weren't fans, met the chaotic man behind the band: the distracted, loving father whose words no one understood. Sharon's husband, whose personality and strength kept him alive and doing what he loved through the toughest times. And there were many.
But the most important thing about Ozzy isn't the myth. It's that he survived. I'm sure he'll even survive death itself, because between emotions, unheard-of anecdotes, and an absolutely ruthless yet sweet sense of humor, we all have some kind of fond memory of the man who,"accidentally," once bit the head off a bat on stage.
On July 5, 2025, he bid farewell to the stages where he began: Birmingham. He sang"I Don't Know," "Mr. Crowley," "Suicide Solution," and, very emotionally,"Mama I'm Coming Home." Then, with the band, he couldn't miss War Pigs, N.I.B., Iron Man, and, of course,"Paranoid." He was joined by his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, along with several generations of fans who, with cell phones and even candles, sang with him until the very end.
Ozzy Osbourne has been on the brink of death so many times that it seems this is just another occasion where he mocks it. Just a few days ago, it was announced that this perfect closing of the circle, this concert with those who began it all, will be coming to theaters very soon. And we know it will be a brutal, emotional event, and, we hope, a volume that will overshadow even the dinosaurs and superheroes trying to occupy the nearby theaters.
So saying"rest in peace," while more than deserved, doesn't necessarily sound appropriate for someone who will continue to sing, shout, reinvent himself, and make us laugh. But being thankful that we had 76 years of the most full, chaotic, excessive, and unique Ozzy Osbourne is something that undoubtedly puts at peace all of us who loved him and those of us who accompanied us throughout our entire lives. It's hard to imagine a more completely closed circle and, between screams, crises, riffs, and laughter, a more surprisingly relevant existence for his millions of fans.
