Oh sure, many might believe they know him as the cartoonishly doddering old buffoon from the shamelessly exploitative reality show, "The Osbournes," but decades before he was reduced to a cruel self-parody, Ozzy Osbourne was the genuine goddamn article. As the original vocalist for Black Sabbath (the heavy metal pioneers' own Sean Connery, if you will), Ozzy forged the damn template. I had plenty of time for his successor, Ronnie James Dio (you can read my rapturous praise for "The Mob Rules" here), but Ozzy is, was and remains the heart and soul of that band, full stop.
While I'd taped a copy of the absolutely crucial Paranoid off of a friend of mine, the first Black Sabbath album I ever bought was Black Sabbath, Volume 4. I picked it out of the bargain bin at the long-since vanished Woolworth's on the corner of East 86th Street and 3rd Avenue. It may have lacked any of the band's big familiar tunes, but for the sheer inclusion of the cocaine-championing riff blitzkrieg that is "Supernaut," it became absolutely priceless to me. Still is. Go buy it and better yourself.
I followed Ozzy's solo career dutifully until the somewhat ridiculous Bark at the Moon album in 1983, after which I gradually tuned out. 1991's No More Tears, however, restored my faith in the great man (although his 2005 album of cover versions, Under Cover, should be avoided at all costs). His best work is inarguably behind him, but his best work flattens most of its competition.
Tomorrow is the man's 60th birthday. Celebrate accordingly. And if you don't own any Black Sabbath albums (and shame on you if you don't), you have no right to laugh at the man.
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