Tech enthusiast and writer with a passion for exploring emerging technologies and their impact on society.
“Listen up, man,” reflects the late Ozzy Osbourne in his recently released memoir. “Why would anyone want guidance from me?”
Indeed, he gave us Planet Caravan and so many other iconic rock songs. But, by his own admission, Osbourne was also a criminal, a cheat and an addict, who often risked his and others’ lives and decapitated a bat. (In his defence, he says, he believed it was a toy.)
Despite his errors and wrongdoings, however, Osbourne is portrayed positively in Last Rites: introspective, rational and hilariously blunt, and not just by rock star standards.
Osbourne died in July aged 76, less than three weeks after taking the stage with the original Black Sabbath. As if a message from beyond the grave, Last Rites documents his battles behind the scenes with a neurological condition, high-stakes spinal surgery in 2019 and ongoing complications.
But it wasn’t entirely negative, Osbourne notes, typically self-effacing: he also voiced King Thrash in Trolls World Tour, and made a song with Post Malone.
Considering his golden rule as the “Prince of Darkness”, he writes: “I had 70 great years, which is a lot longer than I thought possible or probably deserved.” Here are 10 takeaways.
Osbourne credits his career to his dad, who bought him a sound equipment on installment plan for £250 – £2,000-3,000 in today’s money, and an “huge sum” for a blue-collar father-of-six in Birmingham.
Ozzy’s biggest remorse was that he failed to express gratitude: “Without that PA system, I’d would still be in Aston.”
At nineteen, and fresh out of prison (for burglary), Osbourne put together his first band: the Polka Tulk Blues Band, inspired by his mum’s preferred brand of talcum powder. But they were consistently metal, in essence if not yet in name.
Tony Iommi, the guitarist and “unofficial leader” of Black Sabbath, lost the tips of two fingers in an industrial accident. Undaunted, “He just invented himself a set of new fingertips using an old Fairy Liquid bottle, then retrained himself how to play,” Osbourne writes.
Later Ozzy showed the same determination and resourcefulness to get high, befriending every crooked medical professional who’d write him a prescription. “At one point I had more friends who were dental anaesthesiologists than the average dental anaesthesiologist did.”
As a “top-tier” drug addict and alcoholic, Osbourne’s tastes had a tendency to intensify. One pint of Guinness led to nine more, then cocaine, then pills; an effort to quit smoking ended with him smoking 30 cigars a day.
His only saving grace, Osbourne writes, was that he had “never, ever wanted to shoot up … Needles just terrify me, man.” Virtually everything else was acceptable, narcotic or no.
Ozzy describes being addicted to various drugs, of course, but also sex, fame, fast cars, Yorkshire Tea, English sweets, doodling, wordsearch books, “texting funny shit” to his mates and Peter Gabriel’s album So, which he played so much upon its release that his security guard was forced to take stress leave.
At one point, Osbourne was eating so much ice-cream (vanilla and chocolate only, “sometimes strawberry”), he thought it would be more economical to hire a chef to make it for him. “Big mistake … After a few weeks, I became at risk for diabetes.”
Even his better routines became excessive. In Los Angeles, Osbourne got hooked on apples, and “none of that granny smith bullshit”: they had to be pink ladies, carefully chosen from the uber-expensive LA grocer Erewhon. At his peak, Osbourne was eating 12 a night. “I guess I’m a former apple-a-holic now.”
Osbourne’s last bender was in 2012. “The first sign of trouble,” he writes, was when he purchased a Ferrari 458 Italia, then a second Ferrari 458 Italia, then an Audi R8 – despite not knowing how to drive.
He took the exam in LA: a “piece of piss”, Osbourne writes. “All you’ve gotta do is drive around the block at this place in Hollywood and not crash into anything. They don’t even make you park, never mind do a hill start.”
But once back in Buckinghamshire, the Californian driving licence made him overconfident. He started driving under the influence to High Wycombe to buy coke. “To this day, I have absolutely no memory of ever going to High Wycombe.”
Sharon – still in LA, making her TV Show The Talk – eventually got wind, sold all of his cars and got him into AA. “That one bender cost me north of half a million quid.”
In 2018, Ozzy was clean for half a decade, a few months off turning 70 and busy preparing for his farewell tour, No More Tours II. (The first No More Tours tour, in the 90s, had been marketed as his farewell “before I realised there’s only so much time you can spend in your back garden wearing wellies”.)
Life was good, as evinced by his hi-tech bed. Osbourne describes it as having “a “bigger brain than ChatGPT”, with two remotes for him and Sharon to each control their separate sides and “motors, wires and gear wheels”.
From he was a boy – and through his marriage, much to Sharon’s displeasure – Osbourne had always leapt into bed with a running jump. One night in 2018, he got up to relieve himself before returning to bed with his usual stage-dive. This time, however, he landed on the floor, hard.
“To this day, I don’t understand how the fuck I could have missed it … It’s like having a Sherman tank parked in the middle of the room.”
In 2003, while filming The Osbournes, Ozzy had crashed his quad bike, broken his neck and spent eight days in a medically induced coma. The failed stage-dive into bed, 15 years later, shifted the metal holding his shoulders and spine together, requiring intrusive surgery.
Though Osbourne was recommended to get a second opinion about having surgery, he wound up going ahead with a specialist he dubbed “Dr No Socks … ’cos he didn’t wear any”. For years after the procedure, he had a difficult recovery and suffered serious illnesses such as sepsis and pneumonia.
Together with the Covid-19 pandemic, this forced the delay, then the cancellation, of No More Tours II, fueling online rumours of Osbourne’s death. At one point he was in intensive care. “I’d never taken so many drugs in my life, which was quite a statement.”
Though Ozzy did not blame Dr No Socks, he was sorry about not getting a second opinion, he writes. “It’s hard to imagine it could have ended up any worse.”
Osbourne’s other major mistake was not checking the small print of his first contract with Black Sabbath. Not comprehending the term “in perpetuity” cost the band their publishing rights, which were transferred to “a bloke called David Platz, who died in the nineties”, and since then his children.
Once Osbourne asked his accountant how much that mistake had set him back. The accountant replied reluctantly, and only after being pressed, that it was roughly £100m. “I had to go and sit down.”
Ozzy is conflicted about Black Sabbath’s devilish reputation, and his own as the “Prince of Darkness” (“not that I knew who the fuck John Milton was”).
His first musical love was Cliff Richard; later, he was awestruck meeting Phil Collins. Of the teenage girls who used to run out of Sabbath gigs screaming, he writes: “You’ve gotta remember, a lot more people went to church back then.”
Nonetheless, when asked by Sharon to “make an impression” at a big meeting with his American label in 1980, Osbourne’s response was to pull a live dove out of his jacket pocket, having hidden it there for a poorly planned stunt about peace – and bite its head off. “The place went completely insane. People shrieking. Crying. Vomiting.”
Osbourne adds that he was 36 hours into a 72-hour bender. “The poor dove didn’t deserve it,” but it did help with the marketing drive for his solo album, Blizzard of Ozz. “People thought I was an absolute fucking lunatic.”
Decades later, when Covid hit, Osbourne was shaken by the risks he’d run with the dove and then the bat in Des Moines (though, again – he thought it was a toy). “Of all the bullets I’ve ever avoided, not catching some deadly disease … has gotta be right up there.”
For all its dark stylings, Black Sabbath was “the kind of band that went on stage in our jeans and leather jackets”, Osbourne writes – “a male band … for male audiences”. They struggled when metal started to shift towards spectacle.
Picking Kiss to open for their mid-70s tour was a mistake, Osbourne writes, remembering their Spandex jumpsuits, bared nipples, extravagant facepaint and “half a ton of explosives”. Sabbath bassist Geezer “almost had a heart attack” at Gene Simmons, 7ft tall in platforms, flashing his tongue.
Meanwhile, “The closest I got to a sexy album cover was me in a werewolf costume,” Osbourne writes. They thought they’d learned their lesson: “You wanted your support act to be good, but didn’t want to overshadow yourself. You wanted Status Quo, basically.”
Instead, for their 1978 tour, Sabbath ended up hiring a little-known LA outfit called Van Halen. After he watched 20,000 jaws drop at Eddie Van Halen’s futuristic performance of Eruption, Osbourne recalls “going back to our dressing room in silence and just sitting there, staring at the fucking wall”. Every night of the tour, Van Halen “just destroyed us”.
Osbourne met Sharon through her father, Don Arden, Black Sabbath’s early manager. When Paranoid came out, in 1970, she was about 18 and working as his receptionist.
Sharon’s first memory of Ozzy, he writes, was when he came into the office “with no shoes on”. His first memory of her was thinking, some time later, “Wow, what a good-looking chick.”
They finally wed (after Osbourne’s divorce)
Tech enthusiast and writer with a passion for exploring emerging technologies and their impact on society.