By J. Lee Austin, MD
Nervous wild Bats of the world can rest a little easier now that the Prince of Darkness, Ozzy Osborne has taken his last ride on the Crazy Train. At 76, the Godfather of heavy metal music finally succumbed to the ravages of Parkinson’s and the tragicomic undulations and perturbations of life in the Rock Star lane. What a ride, Mister O, what a ride.
While I credit the great Led Zeppelin for waking me (at the green age of 14) to the fact that I Love Rock and Roll, it was Black Sabbath who I first saw Live and Onstage. While the wacky Front Man didn’t bite any heads off that night, it was quite a show.
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I came away from it a different person, a little less naive maybe. I’ll never forget the look on the face of my dear Mother when I came home with the vinyl record that would change things at home, too. Having what was probably a normal amount of teen angst, Paranoid was my favorite track. Mom liked it least.
After my early, seismic eye-opening event in Dallas, I came to love the concert scene and would attend my fair share of them over the decadent decades. The thrilling energy of the crowd, the cacophony of planned and random noise and the overwhelming visuals were exciting on a level far above and beyond everything else in the routine existence of those meandering years. Plus it was just cool to be cool. Or to think you were.
The concerts ran the gamut … from Tanya Tucker to the Mother Truckers. From Grand Funk Railroad to Funky Cold Medina. But for my money, the absolute rockinest group of all was “That little ol’ band from Texas” … the incredible Z.Z. Top, who I saw more times than any other. Each time they blew the doors off the dump. Does anyone else think it’s funny that their only band member without a beard … is named Beard. Hi Frank!
I hesitate to mention it, but the worst concert I ever went to … was to see someone for whom I had quite the crush. But then, every guy my age had one for the doll-faced Linda Ronstadt.
That night she went through the motions, trudging through the playlist with nary a hint of passion and without acknowledging the crowd … at all. It was like we weren’t even there. I was disappointed to say the least, but eventually forgave her when I learned over the years what a rollercoaster-from-hell female hormones can be. Nevertheless, my crush was crushed. We both moved on.
Eventually the concert bloom came off the rose. I recall stuffing toilet paper in my ears at the last one I endured. Probably a miracle that I can hear anything at all. While I have lost some of the higher frequencies (small price to pay for all that fun I guess), I’m still rockin’ and dancin’. Just gotta be careful not to fracture my sacro-iliac or acetabular socket. Getting old is gonna be more fun than a month of drunk monkeys.
I guess that between the spleen-pounding sounds and the thoroughly unpredictable personality of the crowds, I finally had to quit the big shows, opting instead for less rambunctious pursuits … like swimming … and writing!
So here’s to Ozzy, whose personal life was way too insane for me, but whose music helped shape my perception of the world and alerted me to some crucial concepts. Things like the immense danger of rulers, which he sang about in his iconic gem for the cause of peace, War Pigs.
RIP wild man, you really rocked our world, ~~ j ~~
Time will tell on their power mind, making war just for fun. Treating people just like pawns in chess, wait till their judgement day comes. ~~ Black Sabbath
