A Philly Tribute to Ozzy. RIP Prince of Darkness

I’ve gone crazy once. June 4, 1989. Location: Philadelphia, PA. The venue: The Tower Theater. The concert: Ozzy Osbourne.

I remember it as if it were yesterday. One tends not to forget one of the craziest moments in one’s life. That show is one of those moments.

Ozzy came into my life quite serendipitously. I think I was ten years old. My sister and I spent summer nights on our parents’ bedroom floor because they had an air conditioner. Fortunately, the seal around the air conditioner wasn’t quite air-tight, and street noise still found its way into the bedroom. One of those noises was Black Sabbath’s Iron Man. Twice a week at about 10:00 p.m. Iron Man seeped into the bedroom, much to the dismay of my parents.

A house across the street was rented out to a punk rock couple. The guy in that couple, Mike, sang for a Philly punk band called Circle of Shit. If my memory is correct, Mike had a mohawk with COS tattooed on the side of his head. COS rehearsed in Mike’s house twice a week. They played Iron Man every rehearsal—loudly. I’d hear that kick drum. The guitar would wail. And then Mike would utter those unforgettable words, “I AM IRON MAN.”

My parents hated it. I loved it. I’d talk music with Mike even though my parents warned me he and his friends were on dope. When I asked Mike about the song, he told me about Black Sabbath and Ozzy Osbourne.

Seven years later, I’m fourth row at the Tower Theater with my girlfriend, whom I had met five months earlier at the Roosevelt Mall—where all the Northeast Philly metalheads hung out. Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana played. Moments later, as the song wound down, Ozzy jogged onto stage, grabbed the mic, and yelled, “Let the Madness Begin!”

It was exactly that—total madness. Ozzy jumped, ran, threw bucket after bucket of water on us, and repeatedly instructed the crowd to “go crazy” for an hour or so. His energy was palpable. The crowd of 3,000 had to be one of the more intimate shows he’d played in the last twenty years. He commanded that crowd. It felt like he made eye contact with everyone in the venue. I felt like he looked into my soul several times. When he told us to “clap our god-damned hands,” we did. He was like the greatest cult leader, and we were his frenzied cult.

An hour and twelve minutes later, came the command, “We’re gonna do one more song, but you gotta make me a promise. You’re all gonna go crazy!”

The band kicked into Crazy Train. Ozzy jumped up and down, then started waving for the crowd to come up on stage. The first few rows obliged. And that’s when I went crazy. As if commanded by God, I felt pulled to the stage. Without checking in with my girlfriend, I bolted, climbed over three rows of seats, and pulled myself onto the stage.

Security pulled me down almost immediately. I barely remember it. The crowd kept me wedged against the security railing in front of the stage for the final song, Paranoid. Reuniting with my girlfriend after the show became a challenge as everyone filed out. We found each other, eventually.

I can say I shared a stage with Ozzy Osbourne—briefly. And, I have a witness to prove it, my wife. She forgave me for losing my mind and abandoning her.

As news of Ozzy’s death broke, I went right back to that Tower show. That night was special. I got to see him a few times after that, but nothing compared. His death is a big loss for the music world, but devastating to metalheads everywhere. He’s our John Lennon.

Thanks for the music, Ozzy. Thanks for introducing me to Randy Rhodes, Jake E. Lee, Zakk Wylde, and Aleister Crowley, Thanks for Ozzfest. And, maybe more importantly, thanks for pissing off parents and religious leaders everywhere.

Rest in Peace, our lovable Prince of Darkness.

P.S. You can watch this concert in its entirety here: