‘Laughing and out of breath, he thanked us for the snowball fight': fans on the magic of Ozzy Osbourne

The Guardian

3 days ago

I interviewed Ozzy in 1997, for Kerrang! magazine. We met in a hotel on the Champs-Élysées in Paris, where he proceeded to drink gallons of Diet Coke, and take the piss out of himself. He was the least pretentious rock star I ever met, and during my decade in the industry, I met hundreds.
By the time I met Ozzy, I'd had enough of music journalism. I decided he should be my final interview because how do you beat that? I'd interviewed everyone I'd ever wanted to, including Nirvana, so it made sense to end my music journalism career by chatting with Ozzy.
Ozzy was so self-effacing and hilarious. He told me about becoming partially deaf while working in a factory testing car horns, how he'd thought Spinal Tap was a documentary about Black Sabbath, and how the band named themselves after a horror movie for a joke. He was already shaking back then, and seemed very small and frail, but he had this gorgeous twinkling quality, which I certainly hadn't expected to encounter in the Prince of Darkness. And he clearly couldn't do a thing without Sharon, which he was more than happy to admit. Liz Evans, Tasmania, Australia
My first ever gig was Ozzfest 2002 at Donington. I was so excited, I dyed my hair black and carried a wallet chain thick enough to tie up a ship. When I arrived, a guy in a top hat with a voice like the devil said I'd be 'lucky if I made it out alive'. I'd largely wanted to go because of System of a Down. But Ozzy was the show stealer. I'd become familiar with him due to the The Osbournes, then got into Black Sabbath. There was no other performer like him over the weekend. This – what I thought at the time – old guy had more energy than the younger bands put together. Needless to say, I was hooked on metal from that point onwards. Because of that festival so many bands got their big breaks. He not only invented metal with Sabbath but continued to support the genre the rest of his days. James, Cambridge
I was a fairly obsessive heavy rock fan in my teens, and first saw Ozzy live when I was 16 at a one-day heavy metal festival at Port Vale's football ground in Stoke-on-Trent in 1981, alongside a few other bands including Motörhead. A couple of years later I was at university in Sheffield, and saw him for a second time at the City Hall. Afterwards, a friend and I got tipped off about which hotel the band were staying in, so we gatecrashed the residents-only bar and ended up spending an hour or two in the company of Ozzy, Sharon, and the rest of the band. He was an absolute gentleman, happily putting up with a bunch of geeky 18-year-old fans asking him loads of questions, and he insisted on buying multiple rounds of drinks for everyone in the bar. Before we departed he also decided to sign our foreheads 'Ozzy was here' with a Sharpie, as per the photo – earning us a huge amount of credibility when we finally got back to our hall of residence. What an absolute legend of a man – definitely one of a kind. Nick Payne, St Albans
As teenagers in the early 1980s we all used to go to venues early and hang around the loading areas and back-stage entrances, on the off-chance of picking up an autograph or seeing a rock star. We did so during the Blizzard of Ozz tour, which were his first UK appearances since being sacked from Sabbath. We got there very early, around 2pm, and turned the corner to find guitarist Randy Rhoads and Ozzy himself, sat quietly having a cup of tea. We gathered tentatively and joined him.
Rhoads and Ozzy gave off an air of openness and gentle bonhomie. This wasn't the Prince of Darkness, but a slightly apprehensive man who was hoping that the fans would accept his new musical incarnation. He was humble, communicative and very patient. It was like sitting with a mate's older brother, shooting the breeze for 20 minutes. After he and Randy went back in to sound check, we all remained stunned for a few moments. We'd had a cup of tea with the Prince of Darkness, and it turned out he was a really nice bloke. It's a real shame that successive generations only know him as the sometimes incoherent, grumpy old man of the TV show, The Osbournes. As in his heyday, he was the funniest and most disarming of all of the 1980s rock gods. Van Norris, Hampshire
I was lucky enough to see Black Sabbath at Download festival in 2012. Ozzy was already a huge legend but hadn't done a show in a while and we went genuinely thinking that it may be the last chance to see him. When he wobbled out on to the stage, clearly a bit frail, I was worried. Oh no, I thought, this is a cash grab and he's really not up to it anymore ... but then he opened his mouth, and wow. His voice was still all there – it was like listening to him in his heyday. I'm still agog at how good he was. And he was clearly enjoying himself immensely. We've lost a great. Coral Pearce-Mariner, Norfolk
In February 1972, during the Master of Reality tour, my father was due to pick me and my mates up after the gig at De Montfort Hall in Leicester, but was delayed by the bad weather. We hung round the back stage door and eventually the band came out. We spoke to all of them but it was Ozzy and Bill who gave us the most time. Ozzy threw the first snowball at us. We then had an amazing snowball fight with Ozzy and Bill which seemed to go on for ages. Ozzy, laughing and out of breath, thanked us for the fight and left with Bill covered in snow. For four kids from a small rural town it was magical. The gig was incredible. Gazza, Leicester
I saw Ozzy when I was 17, at one of the very first gigs they played as Black Sabbath, at a mini festival organised by the Midlands Arts Centre for Young People in Cannon Hill Park, Birmingham, on bank holiday Monday, 1 September 1969. They'd originally been billed as Earth, but by the time they went on stage, they had become Black Sabbath. Rumours abounded that they had played at a school dance at the Convent of the Holy Child Jesus school in Edgbaston, where they had performed with a huge inverted crucifix on the stage behind them, much to the outrage of the nuns who ran the school. Because we knew most of the security crew at the festival, we watched them from backstage. Though they didn't have top billing, it was clear even then that they were the best band on stage that day, and that Ozzy had incredible charisma.
That autumn, before they became nationally famous, I remember they occasionally used to turn up in the coffee bar at the arts centre where I and my friends hung out. Did I ever dare to speak to the Prince of Darkness? I doubt it, but he might once have asked me for a light ... When their first album came out the following year, I decided to model my own look on the spooky proto-Goth lady, dressed all in black, on the front cover. To my mind, that's still their best album, and I have it still; it sums up for me the cusp between the 60s and the 70s, and the awkward but euphoric liminal space between my adolescence and adulthood. Jenni Mills, Wiltshire
The importance and significance of both Ozzy and Sabbath only truly sunk into my brain during the Back to the Beginning gig on 5 July, which I saw on live stream. It was a wonderful day seeing so many of my favourite bands pay tribute. The nail was finally hit on the head seeing Ozzy at the end. Some members of the crowd were in tears to see him performing well despite his physical deterioration. I wasn't sad for him at all – he looked like he was having the time of his life. I've also seen plenty of Ozzy live and am blown away by his stage persona. Thanks for everything, oh Prince of Darkness! George Heron, Liverpool