Ozzy Osbourne, the legendary Black Sabbath frontman and heavy metal trailblazer whose unmistakable voice and unhinged charisma helped birth an entire genre, has died at 76. The metal god recently took his final bow in his hometown of Birmingham, England—not with a whisper, but with thunder: one last set with Black Sabbath, followed by a solo performance that felt like both a farewell and a resurrection.
Born John Michael Osbourne in working-class Aston, Ozzy became heavy metal’s first true antihero, his sneering vocals and haunted wail the perfect foil for Sabbath’s doomy riffage. From the opening notes of “Black Sabbath,” with its tritone devil’s interval and its apocalyptic overtones, Ozzy and his bandmates Tony Iommi, Geezer Butler, and Bill Ward didn’t just invent heavy metal—they summoned it from the ether.
But Ozzy was never content to be just a cornerstone. After being dismissed from Sabbath in 1979, he pulled off one of the greatest second acts in rock history. Teaming up with guitar wizard Randy Rhoads, he unleashed Blizzard of Ozz, an album that fused classical flourishes with stadium-sized fury. Tracks like “Crazy Train” and “Mr. Crowley” weren’t just hits—they were mission statements.
Decades of debauchery and relentless touring followed. Ozzy became a paradox: the wild man who couldn’t be killed, the eternal underdog who outlasted his critics. He headlined Ozzfest, mentored younger generations, and opened his chaotic home life to the world in The Osbournes, becoming a pop culture icon far beyond the metal realm.
Still, his truest self was always onstage. That final show in Birmingham was less a curtain call than a coronation. As he blazed through “Paranoid” one last time, you could hear it: the sound of a man who gave his life to music, and in doing so, became immortal.
Ozzy Osbourne didn’t just wear the crown—he was the crown. And now, with his passing, the throne is empty. Long live the Prince of fucking Darkness.
