Ozzy Osbourne: The Farewell Show That Became a Last Goodbye

I wasn’t deep into rock twenty or thirty years ago. Still, I always felt connected to it – my first job was in radio, and I’ve stuck with it ever since, for more than 25 years now. Over time, I’ve learned to love them all, one riff and one story at a time. And today, I find myself shifting from celebrating yet another rock release… to mourning the passing of someone who felt like a friend. Bigger than the hits, louder than any chart position – Ozzy Osbourne was part of the noise that raised us.

A Life That Screamed, Even in Silence

I watched that farewell show on July 5 at Villa Park like I was watching the end of something mythic. Here’s this bloke in his seventies, seated on a throne, Parkinson’s gnawing at him, yet belting out some of his biggest ever songs. It felt less like a concert and more like a rite.

Three weeks later, on July 22, Ozzy Osbourne died, aged 76, surrounded by family and love. It’s odd – celebrating his last roar and then turning off the lights on that flame so soon.

A Working‑Class Kid Who Became the Prince of Darkness

Born John Michael Osbourne in Birmingham on December 3, 1948, he left school at 15, laboured menial jobs, even spent time behind bars for burglary. Fast forward: co‑founded Black Sabbath in ’69, took a damaged world head‑on with riffs from Master of Reality, War Pigs. He sold over 100 million records, solo and group, and earned a spot twice in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. I’ve always thought about that – how a kid from Aston turned personal hardship into the soundtrack of generations.

Ozzy Osbourne: Bat‑Biting and Bad Boy Stories

There was always a joke about Ozzy biting the head off a bat in 1982 – but he thought it was rubber . He’d shrug it off as “being the f‑ing clown that I am.” And yet, that raw instinct – flawed, foolish, unfiltered – that was him. In ’89, the darkest moment came when he strangled Sharon during a drugs‑fueled episode – a story he described oddly as “the calmest I’d ever felt” . I don’t defend that. I just note it was part of the man: messy, troubled, human.

Farewell: A Giant Voice, a Quiet Goodbye

On July 5, Back to the Beginning took place: original Sabbath line-up, 45,000 fans, a nine‑hour marathon of metal magic. Metallica, Guns N’ Roses, Pantera – names that echo his influences and friendships . I remember thinking: of course Ozzy had to go out loud. Then, three weeks later, he slips away quietly, “surrounded by love” . That feels about right.

I catch myself humming Crazy Train in the studio mid‑beat. I feel his rawness in every track I lay. His farewell show felt like graduation – not mine, not his, but ours. And as for today – well, it’s strange how grief shows up. You’re celebrating a career’s final note one minute, then learning of the silence that follows. It’s like losing an old friend you never shook hands with, but whose voice shaped chunks of your life.

Raising a glass to a working‑class kid who turned screams into gospel. Rest well, Osbourne. Ride on your own crazy train.