Booze-free Ozzy has nothing on batshit-crazy Ozzy
It wasn’t the kind of thing anyone wanted to hear from the self-proclaimed Prince of Darkness: “I would like to apologize to Sharon, my family, my friends and my band mates for my insane behavior during this period, and my fans.” And sadly, there’s been nothing to to atone for what is a serious breach of rock ’n’ roll etiquette since then.
For those who haven’t been following the coke-dusted, bourbon-soaked script, the above bit of contrition came earlier this year from one John Michael Osbourne, better known to reality-television junkies and Black Sabbath disciples as Ozzy.
At the risk of dwelling on old history, over the course of his life Osbourne has famously done some beyond-crazy things. To the utter and complete outrage of bat fanciers, dove breeders, and those who probably eat at KFC three times a week, he’s bit the heads off live animals. Evidently unaware that the official State motto of Texas is shoot first and ask questions later (especially when a long-haired foreigner is emptying his bladder on a state monument of independence), he’s literally pissed on the Alamo. (Note to Justin Bieber—that’s where real men pee, you spoiled puke, not in restaurant mop buckets). And he’s insisted on continuing to tour with Black Sabbath, despite the fact that the only person on earth he sounds halfways-presentable to are Marlee Matlin, Heather Whitestone, and that kid who kept causing shit on The Amazing Race.
But this year, he did one of the craziest things yet. Suggesting that he’s gotten soft in his old age, the 64-year-old former hellraiser came out and apologized for acting “insane”. Saddest of all was his definition these days of what “insanity” is. We’re talking about a man who has sniffed live ants through a straw while the drug addicts in Motley Crue stood watching too stupified to speak. We’re talking a man who once showed up at a press conference so out of it that he couldn’t process any words, forcing his Sabbath bandmates to move his arms and jaw like he was a lifesize puppet. And we’re talking a man who famously trundled into his living a room in his ginch back in ’89, casually announced to his wife “We’ve come to a decision—we’re very sorry but you’re going to have to die”, and then attempted to strangle her. Sure he was out of it, but you know what they say about drinking: it gives you the courage to do things that you don’t have the balls to attempt while sober.
All that, folks, is crazy-train shit, the kind of stuff that separates the weekend warriors of rock’n’ roll from the full-on unrepentant lunatics. And that brings us back to that above quote from the man who’s made John Bohnam, Keith Moon, and that guy from the Brian Jonestown Massacre look like the most serene and enlightened musicians this side of Cat Fucking Stevens.
You know what Ozzy was apologizing for? That would be for falling off the wagon and spending good chunks of 2012 and 2013 doing the things that rock stars are supposed to do: drinking the likes of Sailor Jerry under the table and drugging enough to make the staff at the Betty Ford Clinic blanche. For Christ sakes man, even if your wife makes you sit backstage in front of a soothing bubble machine like some pathetic pussy from Poison, you’re still the goddamn Prince of Fucking Darkness.
A disappointment to your fans? You know what’s a disappointment to your fans? As Black Sabbath’s current tour rolls across the continent (including a stop at Rogers Arena on Thursday [August 22]), the big fucking disappointment is that you aren’t an out-of-control wildman. Instead you’re like some pussy-whipped senior citizen so afraid of being kicked to the curb by your wife that you’ll play obedient choirboy.
Do you know what being out of control for 2012 led to? The answer would be the writing and recording of 13, the first-ever Black Sabbath album to go number one in the States.
There’s a message there, namely that—no matter how much your wife, bandmates, and local parishioner will attempt to convince you that drugs and alcohol are evil—it leads to great things.
When was Paul Westerberg the most fun? When he was on a mission to destroy his liver.
Unless you happen to be a German, you aren’t likely to argue the point that David Hasselhoff’s finest moment wasn’t 1985’s Night Rocker, but instead when he couldn’t pull his piss-drunk head out of a hamburger bag back in 2007.
What was better? Coke-hoovering/Jack Hoovering Motley Crue, or 12-step Motley Crue. Alright, the answer is neither, but that’s not the point.
The point is that a cleaned up Ozzy is nowhere near as entertaining as a fucked-up-six-ways-to-Sunday Ozzy. Stop apologizing, man, and get back on the crazy train. We’ve got some Columbian ants, and you’re just the man to snort them.