A Crazy Motherf-ing Ride Till the End

You could feel it back in 2019, when they first started canceling gigs. The slow but quite certain slide. I thought for a while they'd reschedule, as promised, though even then I had a na-huh feeling. Like this was where it ended. Slinking into old age, immobility, losing yourself. You don't want your heroes to lose themselves.

When they announced Back to the Beginning, the final Black Sabbath and Ozzy Osbourne show ever, I admit I was a bit skeptical. I worried it was a money thing. That maybe he would let himself be made a fool of somehow when he was so great.

Even the faithful are tested, no?

But then, the day got nearer. Hype began to build. The search for tickets, of course, but things tend to work out as they should. I don't believe I'm meant to be in Birmingham right now, and if there's one thing I've learned from my mom, other than the love for rock'n'roll, it's not to fuck around with regrets.

Instead, I started to get hyped. And of course, there were many more like me who watched the live stream from anywhere, everywhere, all the world over. Waking up at crazy hours or going to bed late. It's pushing 4 AM, but that's alright. It was a monumental day. A once-in-a-lifetime thing. Besides, how could I tell my kids I lived through the final Black Sabbath show and missed it?

The line-up was all-star, so it was worth tuning in early. I marveled throughout at people's willingness to bitch about seemingly anything. Poor audio. Bad singers. Crap bassists. Shit organizing. I kept thinking - it's happening right there, and you were only charged like, what, thirty quid? Less? Chill the fuck out and enjoy the ride.

It was an interesting mix, the line-up. I think the youngest performer was some fellow by the name of Yungblud who, at only 27, performed a killer rendition of Changes. The oldest, I couldn't say, but obviously many of the stars on the poster were in their 60s and 70s, like Black Sabbath themselves. Well, technically, the youngest performers were Tom Morello's and Scott Ian's sons who rocked a version of Mr Crowley with none other than Jack Black himself.

But obviously, it was more interesting to watch for the "old guys". I was immensely thrilled Steven Tyler performed (and what a rad, killer performance), since he also has recently retired from touring. It's fair to say Aerosmith was the first band I ever loved, and it was just so much fun watching him (and all these other crazy, wonderful, talented people) rocking out like they were kids again.

Of course, the biggest moment of the night was Ozzy's appearance. Frankly, I was a bit wary. By this stage, the audience was dead-tired, and seeing Ozzy immobilized on his throne didn't seem like a good omen. Oh ye of little faith.

Unable to move much, racked by a long list of faulty operations and incurable illnesses, the Prince of Darkness still, at 76, fucking rocks. He had everyone in tears with Mama, I'm Coming Home, a personal favorite, of course, and (I thought) a nice nod to Lem. Just like he had everyone jumping and going fucking crazy the next minute with the iconic Crazy Train. I grew up riding that crazy train as, I suspect, did most of the audience.

And it was so unbearable, a mixture of joy and tragedy, to see Ozzy sitting in his chair, waving, tapping his left foot frantically. Wanting so badly, so obviously to get up. These kinds of shows ain't made for sitting down, and the body knows it. A man who's lived at Ozzy Osbourne's intensity definitely knows it. And yet. A seated send-off was better than none.

I could watch him, frankly, for hours, this brilliant man raging against the dying of the light. In the hours before she died, my grandmother kept getting out of bed frantic to go somewhere, to still be busy on this Earth. This reminded me of that.

Even though it was clear how tiring the show was for him, what a beautiful, big, bold Fuck You to illness and old age Ozzy delivered tonight.

For me, though, the most moving one of his solo set was I Don't Know. Released in 1980 on Blizzard of Oz, this is an anthem of a man at a vastly different point in his life. In 1980, Oz was in his early 30s. Wild. Crazy. Not giving a shit. Not having a clue. What floored me tonight was you could still see that same wild, young man in this Ozzy, the one who couldn't very well stand up, or move the way he used to, or go for too long without needing oxygen.

He still, at his core, was just a kid who didn't know. And I fucking loved it.

Naturally, the Black Sabbath set, which closed the show, was fantastic, too. I was particularly grateful they included NIB, which was the song that introduced me to Sabbath many, many years ago. They killed and ended the night (And their careers) with a proper bang. I imagine a lot of artists wonder what their last show will be, especially since you never can know.

But if you get a choice, this marvelous thing that happened tonight, this isn't a bad way to go, all things considered.

What a bit of luck to have caught it.