Ozzy Osbourne: Mama, he’s home!

"I still can't wrap my head around it," Raef Al Hasan said with a half-hearted chuckle, the kind that tries to mask something heavier. "I've always believed the world would end the day Ozzy dies…so I guess this is it."

He wasn't alone in that thought. I'd caught him barely ten minutes after the news broke—Ozzy Osbourne, the immortal Prince of Darkness, was gone. 22 July marked the end of an era, and the world suddenly felt a little less loud, a little less crazy.

The timing made it feel all the more surreal. Just over two weeks ago, Ozzy had roared back to life on stage at a packed Villa Park, proving—yet again—that heavy metal never ages, it just screams louder. And now, silence. The kind that doesn't sit right.

"I think he knew. Some part of him must've felt it—like he knew the end was near. And honestly, I'm glad it ended the way it did. It felt…poetic," Rafa said quietly, like he was letting the thought settle in real time. 

"From biting the head off a bat mid-show to going out with what might just be the greatest metal gig ever—every legend in the scene showed up for that one. It was like the universe gave him a proper send-off. You couldn't have written a better final act," he added.

And while his farewell felt almost cinematic in its perfection, Ozzy's beginning was anything but—it was messy, accidental, and yet somehow, totally fitting.

As the legend goes, Tony Iommi, on the hunt for a vocalist, wasn't exactly keen on Ozzy Osbourne. They'd gone to the same school, and Iommi remembered him well—not for his voice. Ozzy simply wasn't in the running.

But fate had other plans. Iommi and his band needed a PA system, and funds were tight. Then came a flyer that would change everything: "OZZY ZIG REQUIRES GIG. HAS OWN PA."

When Iommi realised it was 'that' Ozzy—the guy from school—he was hesitant, but the offer was too good to pass up. The kid couldn't sing, maybe, but he had gear. So they brought him on. And just like that, the myth of Ozzy—and the Black Sabbath we know—was born.

In a career that stretched across more than sixty years, Ozzy Osbourne did more than just survive in the world of heavy metal—he defined it. From laying down the blueprint of doom and darkness with Black Sabbath in the '70s, to launching a solo career in the '80s that gave us some of metal's most iconic anthems, to reinventing himself in the '90s as a heavy metal entrepreneur with the roaring success of Ozzfest rock festival—he never stopped evolving. And then, in 2002, he became a household name all over again as the foul-mouthed, bewildered dad on MTV's 'The Osbournes'.

But let's leave the bullet points and biography deep-dives to Wikipedia. Today feels more like a moment to just soak in the music—the raw, weird brilliance of it—and remember what Ozzy really gave to the world of heavy metal.

Arguably, his biggest impact wasn't just the music itself, but how he took the dark, theatrical world of metal and brought it into the mainstream. Ozzy wasn't limited to just performing heavy metal on stage; he packaged it, branded it, and made it accessible in a way no one else had. He turned the brooding, rebellious spirit of metal into something stadium-sized, something that could rival the stardom, popularity and accessibility of pop stars and other celebrities.

And maybe the best way to sum up that legacy is: if you're a fan of Metallica, Iron Maiden, or just about any metal band that came after—whether you acknowledge it or not—you're a fan of Ozzy's Black Sabbath. Because that's where it all began. This is true for multiple generations, musicians or even just mere music enthusiasts, who are, let's say…not from the 70s or 80s.

"My first exposure to Sabbath came pretty late, actually," said Jon Kabir with a hint of nostalgia. "I found them on this random mixed cassette tape—'War Pigs' was thrown in almost like a filler track. But the moment I heard it, it felt as if every band I'd ever listened to—Metallica, Soundgarden, all of them—had somehow grown out of that song. Like their roots were buried in Sabbath. War Pigs changed my life!"

Although Ozzy's legacy stretches far beyond just being a frontman or vocalist, there's still something to be said about that voice—and the way he carried himself on stage. It's why I brought it up with the two vocalists for a quick chat about the intricacies of Ozzy's singing and just how surprisingly brilliant he turned out to be behind the mic.

But I was quickly corrected.

Both Jon and Rafa were clear— Ozzy's essence wasn't really about technical perfection or vocal range. Sure, his voice was unmistakable—but it was never just about how he sang. It was who he was when he sang. That eerie, nasal tone, the almost hypnotic delivery, the way he'd command a crowd—it was all part of something bigger. Something that couldn't be measured in notes or scales.

"To me, Ozzy was never a Freddie Mercury," Jon said. "He was never just a singer. He was more of an expressionist—an entertainer in the purest sense. If he felt something and had a mic in his hand, he was going to express it. Simple as that."

He continues, "There was this raw, unfiltered energy he poured into every performance," he continued. "It wasn't about staying perfectly in tune or hitting every note. It was about creating a moment—injecting this electric burst of emotion that fans would carry with them for the rest of their lives. And that's what set him apart."

One of the most defining chapters of Ozzy's journey was his solo career—and, funnily enough, that's where I discovered him too. Long before I ever dove into Black Sabbath, it was the solo records that pulled me in. 

And honestly, you could make a strong case that his solo work had an even bigger impact on younger generations, thanks to its fresher, more evolved sound. Tracks like 'Crazy Train', 'No More Tears', and 'Mr Crowley' stood shoulder to shoulder with Sabbath classics like 'Iron Man', 'Paranoid', and 'War Pigs'. 

But if there's one thing about Ozzy's solo era that's undeniable, it's the sheer brilliance of the guitar work. The riffs, licks, and solos crafted by legends like Randy Rhoads and Zakk Wylde weren't anything short of timeless anthems, which became the blueprint for entire generations of guitarists. Among them would be our very own Oni Hasan.

"Ozzy Osbourne always had the flashiest guitar players. Randy was one of my heroes, which is why I also played with a 'Randy shaped' flying V guitar–I wanted to be like him. Ozzy is the godfather of the metal industry, and his music gave birth to so many legendary artistes and bands alike," said Oni. 

Before I end this obituary, my mind drifts back to the clips I stumbled across from his final show. Frail, visibly worn down by Parkinson's and a string of other health battles—not to mention whatever quiet understanding he may have had of his own imminent end—Ozzy stood under the lights one last time.

As he performed 'Mama, I'm Coming Home', with whatever ounce of power he had left in him, Ozzy sang it like he meant every word, like he knew this was his goodbye. And maybe, in some way, it was.

Thousands of fans stood there, teary-eyed, their voices cracking as they sang along to the words:

"You made me cry, you told me lies

But I can't stand to say goodbye

Mama, I'm coming home."

Now, he's finally home. Reunited with Randy. And somewhere beyond this world, the Crazy Train's rolling again. The afterlife just got louder, darker, and a whole lot more Paranoid.