A Lot of Fuzz About Oz

Or: A tribute for people who don't care about tribute.

July 22, 2025. Ozzy Osbourne is dead. At first, I thought it was just another meme. But no – the world is crying, metal fans wear black – even blacker than usual.

Me? I was never into Ozzy. Not a Sabbath fan either. For me, it was always more noise than music. Too much fuzz, not enough drive, too slow, with no fun and no Rock'n'Roll.

Now everyone is mourning the "Metal Messiah" again – the man who supposedly "invented a whole genre," "breathed rebellion" and "ruled the darkness." Sorry to interrupt the ceremony, but: I was there. And I wasn't impressed.

I started listening to music seriously in 1974. Back then, Status Quo, The Rubettes and a bit of glam rock came through my turntable. And yes, I liked it – volume up and air guitar to “Caroline” or “Down Down” instead of “Iron Man.”

While others were worshiping doom riffs in their basements, my turntable was shaking to “Juke Box Jive,” “I Can’t Do It” or “Sugar Baby Love.” No Satan, no blood, no screaming – just falsetto harmonies, tempo, and a bit of hip movement.

Later came Judas Priest, Rainbow, Deep Purple, and Scorpions – the soundtrack of my teenage years. I wanted to dress like Judas Priest, sing like Dio, play like Deep Purple, and speak English like Scorpions. So… all totally impossible.

And then, in November 1980, "Ace of Spades" came out. Motörhead. Lemmy, Eddie, and Philthy Animal – that was the revelation. No magic, no show. Just noise, attitude, and whiskey.

While Ozzy was on stage in leather fringe jackets playing with bats, Motörhead stormed through punk and rock'n'roll like a loud, wild tornado. That was real. That was my religion.

Of course, you couldn't escape Ozzy. Just turn on MTV late at night, or go to Rockfabrik in Ludwigsburg or Adler in Oberstetten on a Friday. There he was, on those early big video screens in the metal discos – rolling his eyes, wild hair, and that “Help, I took the wrong pills” look.

For many, he was a legend.

For me? He was a meme before memes existed.

Ozzy was always too much theater, not enough soul. “Prince of Darkness”? More like the court jester of music television. By the mid-2000s, he was more reality show than rock star anyway. Sharon managed him through the camera while he tried to figure out if he was in the kitchen or already in the afterlife.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not denying his importance. I know Black Sabbath laid the foundation for heavy music – dark, heavy, like a lead weight. But my heart never beats in the slow rhythm of doom.

It raced at 180 bpm with "Overkill."

Ozzy is dead. The world is mourning. I'm not. I’ll make myself a coffee – black like Lemmy’s humor – and turn up “Ace of Spades.”