The Gospel Coalition

Ozzy Osbourne marvels at his own success. When he was a child no one (but no one!) would have predicted that of all the kids in his class, of all the kids on his street, he is the one who would go on to worldwide fame and acclaim. Of course we know now that he would go on to build himself into one of the original heavy metal stars, one of the first of a whole new breed of bad-boy rock stars who would be much-imitated and much-idolized. Both with Black Sabbath and as a solo artist, Osbourne will always have his place in the rock pantheon.

But that was only a portent of things to come. At the peak of his storied rock and roll career, no one (but no one!) would have predicted that greater popularity would follow. Always a fringe success, popular in the world of hard rock but not much beyond, suddenly Osbourne was loved, laughed with and laughed at by men, women, boys and girls as they enjoyed his antics and the inner workings of his almost unbelievably bizarre family. The Osbournes is undoubtedly one of the strangest cultural phenomena this side of Survivor. Season after season, countless millions tuned in.

Osbourne’s lifelong commitment to the epitome of all it means to be a rock star is well-known. Year after year, he pursued the desires of the flesh, the allure of wine, women and song. He hoovered up unimaginable quantities of every conceivable narcotic and chased it with never-ending rivers of alcohol. He pursued endless lines of women or, as often as not, enjoyed their pursuit of him. He had all he had ever wanted when he set out to make a name for himself as a rock ‘n roller.

So here he is, on the far side of sixty, reminiscing about his life, his career as a rock star and his shorter career as a television star. There is little regret expressed here; mostly just fond memories of days gone by, though those days were given over to every kind of vice. There is no redemption since redemption would depend upon an admission of wrong. Sure he says he’s gotten off and stayed off drugs and he says he’s mostly gotten away from the booze. But that is far different than expressing true regret. Even after all these years, he’s just the same old guy. It doesn’t seem that he has learned a whole lot along the way.

If you have ever spent a few minutes watching The Osbournes you will know that Ozzy shows the effects of all of those years of partying, not to mention the effects of dyslexia and a strange Parkinsons-like chromosomal defect. In I Am Ozzy he says that he has barely ever been able to read through a book; and yet here he has managed to write one that is well-written and clear in its prose; he says his memory is shot and yet he seems to be able to recall in detail so many events that took place many years ago. Obviously the book was written by or with a ghost-writer; that will come as no surprise. But does he really remember all of these days, all of these events that happened forty years ago? Or is this just a compendium of could-be-true tales drawn from dim memories? I find it hard to believe this book could be consistently factual.

I can’t help but feel that in this book Ozzy is being presented in a very strategic, very careful way. It’s like he is a product just as much as his albums are. And really, it seems that much of his career was a show, a shell. Ozzy was known as a force for the dark side, an outright Satanist who bit the heads off bats and drove countless impressionable young people to the occult. But he never bought into any of the Satanism. It was all just a ruse, a way of making people sit up and take notice. It was all part of his mystique, his carefully-constructed persona. Satanism was just a handy prop that drew legions of fans to his side–fans who were eager to try something, anything, that would be rebellious, that would be an outright show of defiance against God, against parents, against everything.

In one telling moment he writes “Y’know, I used to get upset by people not understanding me, but I’ve made a career out of it now. I even ham it up a bit, ‘cos it’s what people expect of me.” And even in this book I think he is giving people what they expect of him. Whether it’s the honest truth or not seems beside the point. He wants to tell a good story and to entertain people. The book is entertaining in its own way, I suppose, thought the reader’s enjoyment may well be tempered by the profanity of his mouth and of his life. The book is as crass, as given over to vice, as his life has been.

Osbourne says that “whatever I do, I do to excess.” And ain’t that the truth. His life has been one of constant excess. The only thing he seems not to have found in exceeding measure is joy. As he enters his seventh decade, he offers little reason to think that he is really enjoying life, that he has found true joy and happiness. His best days are behind him and there doesn’t seem to be much ahead. He has been an idol to millions, an influence upon a whole generation. And yet the only way he has to measure his life is in things–fat bank accounts, album sales, popularity. As he revels in his years of partying, of desperately seeking life in the arms and adulation of others, you can’t help but detect the emptiness, the gaping void at the heart of it all.

Verdict: Read it if… Honestly, who am I trying to fool? I can’t think of a single good reason.