Prince of Darkness Ozzy Osbourne, who led Black Sabbath, dies at 76
Ozzy Osbourne, the dark prince of heavy metal and unmistakable voice behind Black Sabbath, has died at 76. The legendary frontman passed away peacefully on Tuesday, weeks after what he declared would be his final concert.
Ozzy Osbourne, heavy metal icon, dies at 76
John Michael Osbourne grew up in the industrial sprawl of Birmingham, where factory smoke and hard graft shaped his early years. They called him Ozzy long before the world did. As a teenager in Birmingham, he was more likely to get into trouble than onto a stage. By 1969, Ozzy had stumbled into something seismic. He stepped into the spotlight with Black Sabbath — a band that didn’t ease its way in so much as tear the door off its hinges. Their first album was dark, heavy and unsettling, a complete break from the wide-eyed optimism still echoing through the end of the '60s. Where others were singing about love, Sabbath leaned into dread. It didn’t offer comfort; it offered confrontation. And for plenty of listeners, that was exactly what hit home.
Then came Paranoid. Tracks like Iron Man and War Pigs didn’t just stick — they shifted the ground under rock music. Sabbath wasn’t playing for the radio. They were spelling out the cracks in the world, loudly and without apology.
When Ozzy was fired in the late '70s, few expected a comeback. Getting kicked out in the late ‘70s could’ve ended things, but Ozzy had no plans to disappear. Blizzard of Ozz and Diary of a Madman marked a new chapter, one that matched — and sometimes outdid — the ferocity of his early years. With blistering guitar work behind him and his chaotic energy intact, he proved he didn’t need a band to make noise. The hits stretched well beyond the '80s, proof that Ozzy wasn’t just part of a moment — he was the moment, again and again.
But it wasn’t just the music that made headlines. Ozzy’s live shows were chaotic affairs. He wasn’t above the bizarre — most infamously, the night he bit the head off a bat mid-set. The stories became legend, feeding into his wildman image, but there was always more going on beneath the theatrics. His fans disagreed — they saw honesty, even vulnerability, beneath the theatrics. He outlasted the criticism, creating Ozzfest in the '90s and becoming a mentor to younger bands who grew up idolising him.
And then there was The Osbournes. The MTV show pulled back the curtain and showed a different Ozzy — pacing around the house in slippers, mumbling at his telly, trying to keep up with his kids. It was strange and oddly touching. The Prince of Darkness, it turned out, was also a dad trying to figure out how the DVD player worked. The show turned him into a pop culture institution, a far cry from the satanic bogeyman he was once painted as.
Ozzy kept recording even as Parkinson’s disease slowed him in recent years, and earned Grammy nods and scoring hits with collaborators like Elton John and Post Malone. He is survived by his wife Sharon and children Kelly, Aimee, and Jack. For all his demons, Ozzy never lost the love of his fans or his gleeful defiance of what was expected.
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