Now Reading: Ozzy’s Last Bark at the Moon
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Ozzy’s Last Bark at the Moon
Byline: Ayeshah ‘Ice’ Somani
He raised his iconic hands toward the sky, fingers adorned with rings heavy from decades of rebellion. It was less like a concert and more like a slow-burning love affair reaching its intoxicating, inevitable climax.
Ozzy wrapped his last chapter just down the road from where he was born, because “Mama, I’m Coming Home” was apparently the spoiler alert for his whole finale. The man who cheated death countless times said his final goodbye with a ritualistic farewell that sent vibrations of a lifetime’s worth of passion, drugs and rock n roll. A farewell concert only good enough for a man who was truly the greatest and most influential artist to walk this planet.
His insanity was chased and sought after by every young artist on the scene, trying to get a taste of what he so naturally suffused both his life and his art with. There’s not a baby rockstar alive that didn’t want to be a part of what Ozzy was. He lived as if the rules of gravity, sanity, and mortality didn’t apply to him. To be part of Ozzy’s world was to step into the storm, and everyone wanted that baptism of chaos.
Everyone knew it, Elton John told Pitchfork he “secured his place in the pantheon of rock gods – a true legend,” and it’s impossible to argue otherwise. Ozzy’s presence was like a gravitational force, pulling artists and fans alike into his orbit, and they all tried to match his chaos, his power, and his fearless dive into every dark, thrilling corner of rock and roll.
He created the infamous crazed parties of the rock scene with his two bare hands, and everyone on the scene wanted to get a taste of what it was like to party with Ozzy. He turned hotel destruction into performance art. Furniture flew through windows, TVs crashed onto sidewalks, fires blazed. Each trashed room was a battle cry against convention, leaving thousands in damages and an indelible mark as rock’s most anarchic anti-hero.
It wasn’t excess for the sake of excess, it was just Ozzy being Ozzy. And then came the stunts: biting the head off a bat onstage, snorting live ants poolside in a drunken dare with Mötley Crüe; pissing on the sacred Alamo while wearing Sharon’s dress because his clothes were locked away. If there was ever a king of chaos, Ozzy wore the crown, and then set it on fire.
There’s never been a farewell like this, because there’s never been anyone like Ozzy. He went out exactly as he lived, loudly and larger than life itself, with a crazy closing scene. Saying goodbye to the world shortly after saying goodbye to the stage, Ozzy’s farewell was one last celebratory shot from the man who turned chaos into a lifestyle and made the world fall in love with it. So thank you Ozzy, for the culture, the insanity, and the sick harmonica riffs.
Photos by Jet Records & ImprovedWikiImprovment
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