07/23/2025
When I was 14, my sister gave me a Christmas present that would change my life — a brand-new copy of Blizzard of Ozz.
I threw myself into that album. Every track, every symphonic detail, every note became an obsession. I’d hijack my sister’s record player, placing the speakers on either side of my head like headphones, completely immersed in the sound.
My parents owned a Wurlitzer church organ, and I taught myself to play Mr. Crowley. When the house was empty, I’d crank up the volume and perform like I was the Phantom of the Opera. My brother had an old acoustic guitar, and I learned every song on the album the best I could.
Eventually, I begged my parents for an electric guitar — and they got me one. That sealed the deal. I became completely consumed with music. I was a Randy Rhoads fanatic, and when he passed, it hit me very hard. I dreamt of making music for a living, but no matter how hard I pushed or what path I took, I never quite made it.
After Randy came Brad, Jake, and then Zakk. I even fantasized about auditioning after Jake left — but that was pure pipe dream. I was nowhere near capable of carrying the torch.
Fast forward to 1992. I was still chasing the dream, managing a recording studio in Hollywood. One day, Ozzy came in to record a tribute for James Brown’s birthday. We met and shook hands. I got to tell him what a massive influence he’d been on my life — that I wouldn’t even be standing there without him. He mumbled something I could barely make out… something like, “Thanks, mate. When are we getting started?”
The thing about Ozzy was that he never was the best singer. He wasn’t the most articulate. He wasn’t the best-looking or a candidate for knighthood. He was an unforgettable songwriter, an iconic performer, and the ultimate master of ceremonies. He was The Wizard, Iron Man, Paranoid, Mr. Crowley. He helped create an entire musical genre — twice.
He taught me something I’ve carried with me my whole life: You don’t have to be the best to be the greatest.
🦇R.I.P. Ozzy Osbourne 🦇
