Colby Cosh: The tortured vulnerability of Ozzy Osbourne

National Post

4 days ago

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Sharon has become a global celebrity in her own right, and you can underline those last four words if you like, but that's not Sharon on 'Crazy Train' or 'Mr. Crowley,' either. It almost feels like a category mistake for Ozzy's obituaries to emphasize heavy metal per se, because most metal vocalists aren't anything like Ozzy and can't do what he did, even though many of them have far more pure singing talent.
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The accepted model of the metal frontman is a strutting peacock of a man, an avatar of imperative power and toughness. On his best records Ozzy is more of a mad prophetic conduit, someone lifted onto a higher plane and brought back to Earth in an obviously damaged state, raving in Blakean riddles as the music thunders ominously around him.
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In other words, he possessed a tortured vulnerability that really suited the Sabbatarian horror movies. Nobody else could have represented quite the same attitude while singing of being lost in the wheels of confusion or looking through the hole in the sky. A particularly fine example occurs on 'Snowblind' from the album Black Sabbath Vol. 4 (1972). 'Snowblind' is a song about cocaine, written (by Butler) for the single most cocaine-influenced record ever made in a heavily cocaine-dependent musical genre. Cocaine is thanked in the liner notes of that LP. And the song starts off with a shimmering Sibelius quality that kind of makes you want to try cocaine:
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But a few minutes into the track, Bill Ward pulls his boots on, the stillness lurches into a pell-mell boogie, the schoolboy snow metaphor is dropped, and all of a sudden Ozzy becomes a whining alleyway junkie, defending himself exasperatedly — perhaps in the face of what we would now call an intervention.
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Ozzy, who continued struggling with drug use for three more decades, must have said stupid self-justifying words like these with total conviction a thousand times. They ring so true that you wonder whether Geezer Butler transcribed them directly. And they can only have been addressed to a concerned loved one, to a parent or sweetheart or comrade who had said something like 'Hey, ease up, I don't want you to die.' Notice how every line strikes a different note about drug addiction. 'You think you're better than me?'; 'You don't understand how bad I need it'; 'To hell with all you squares anyway'; 'It brings me a peace I've never known when sober.'
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Somehow this stanza fell into a love letter to cocaine made by cokeheads while on industrial amounts of coke. Are these words in earnest, or are they an ironic acknowledgment that Black Sabbath has cornered itself in a bad place? Ozzy's pleading vocals preserve the priceless ambiguity, the sense of fragility: 'Snowblind' would never have turned out that way at any other time or with any other singer. It's not a coincidence that Lester Bangs, the magisterial drug-abusing critic who had previously complained of Sabbath's leadenness, suddenly started comparing them to Dylan when Vol. 4 came out.
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