I WAS A MONK FOR OZZY OSBOURNE!

I WAS A MONK FOR OZZY OSBOURNE!

Features

MY SECRET SHAME...

BY

J. KORDOSH

NOW IT CAN BE TOLD!

Backstage, in the dressing room, Joanie—who's in charge of wardrobe for the Ozzy Osbourne tour—found a suitable black, satanic-looking monk's robe for me. Somebody gave me a small, box-type thing that emitted a steady light. People were giving orders: "Keep the light right beneath your face"... "Remember to walk slowly and about three feet apart"... "Don't worry, you've got plenty of time." The band was already into "Centre Of Eternity," which was the monks' song...which made the monks nervous. The moment was near. I wasn't especially nervous, but there I was with all the rest, adjusting the peak of my hood, practicing with my light to make my face reflectively eerie, re-tying my rope-belt to keep my beergut at a minimum.

Yes, I was a monk for Ozzy Osbourne. Six or seven other amateur monks were on our team, which was headed (and ended) by a couple of stagewise monks who were doing this sort of thing every night. They were around to keep us novices in line; monkly stage-fright simply wouldn't do in front of 16,000 people. I wasn't worried,..actually, i wanted to be the best monk of all. I wanted to be bigger than Thelonius. I wanted to be the monk that held the attention of 32,000 eyes. In the realm of monks, I wanted my name to be synonymous with Alvin's.

But that was pride unbecoming a monk, real or phony. Our bit—which entailed walking very slowly behind Ozzy Osbourne during an instrumental break— didn't allow for a lot of personality. Or embarrassment, either, thank God. Just slow walking, which almost anyone—Ozzy's fans, rock writers, whoever—can do pretty naturally. Mostly, it gave us a chance to stroll past a couple of statues of bats (12-foot wingspans) and see what a couple thousand Bic lighters look like from the big stage. Too bad. I could've been a contender.

Well, Mrs. Kordosh didn't raise her boy to be a small-time monk for a big-time star. (Come to think of it, she didn't raise him to engage in meaningful conversation with Boy George either. Or did she? Please write, mom.) John "Ozzy" Osbourne, 35-yearold father of four (with a fifth expected in November or December), is the subject of our critical scrutiny. The man rumored to harbor a wanton disregard for the heads of bats and other small flying creatures. The man who shaved his head two years ago just for the hell of it. The man who offers the following advice: "If you want to be a rock star for 10 seconds, jump off the Empire State Building. When you land you'll have the biggest audience in the world." The man who made me a monk.

"If you want to be a rock star for 10 seconds, jump off the Empire State Building."

Now that I think of it, he's also the man who bumped our interview from the preshow dressing room to the post-show hotel bar. This comes to mind because we met briefly before the show and the man looked absolutely frightened. I mentioned it to Bob Alford, one of this magazine's adept photogs, but he didn't seem too interested. I was curious/ though—no way he was afraid of me—but I've rarely seen that kind of fear in anyone's eyes. After talking to him I think I've got an idea or two, and I feel bad that Ozzy Osbourne has to live with more than his fair share of fear. "I'm on the defensive all the time," he said. He's right. "I'm a very aware man. When I'm offstage I want to be offstage, but I have become larger than life. I have become the Mr. T of fucking heavy metal. It feels good, but sometimes it gets on my nerves. It's an occupational hazard. And I've got to have security people with me all the time because I'm frightened of some fucking guy going nuts one day, y'know? If it happens, I hope it happens right on the button...where I don't have to suffer with it." Well, that's one kind of fear. I suggested that he's only a singer, an entertainer, after all. "I also get more publicity than most politicians," he replied quickly. Yeah, he's got a point.

We all know (including and especially Osbourne himself) that he got himself into this peculiar situation, though. After fronting Black Sabbath for years, he was, to put it nicely, sacked. He was replaced by Ronnie James Dio (who was replaced by Ian Gillan) and thousands of bitter words (the majority Ozzy's) made the rock mags. Ozzy was left to start anew. "I was all alone and they had the name 'Black Sabbath,' " he said. "And at that point I wasn't sure if my act was going to work or not. And—when it did work—it was the biggest relief of my life. I'd proven a point then." Another type of fear, of course, and the great motivator in show business. When it works for you, it works plenty good.

Although he's an edgy cat, I don't want to make Osbourne look downright paranoid. His shows are so well-staged (with pyrotechnics virtually beyond state-ofthe-art) that they practically beg for a treatise on crowd manipulation. His record sales are more than healthy. He gets publicity—regularly—in the straight press. These are all indications that Osbourne's a pro, a money-maker, a good bet. Still, he's sent out some quirky signals. Bark At The Moon is—musically and lyrically—exactly what you'd expect from glancing at the cover, with the very notable exception of "So Tired," a lushly-orchestrated ballad that has nothing to do with anyone's idea of Ozzy Osbourne. Ditto for "Shake Your Head," a rap-song he guest-rapped for Was (Not Was) on their Born To Laugh At Tornadoes LP. His booze problems are not forgotten, even backstage, where his road manager had trouble finding me a beer because "We try to keep it away from Ozzy." He's been up, he's been down; he's a complex person. Picture yourself trying to make an honest living with the Humane Society all over your back.

When we finally met at the hotel bar, Osbourne—wearing a fur coat and remnants of his stage make-up—sipped iced tea as we tried to reconcile his situation. I ordered a beer and started in on his drinking.

"I like a drink every day." he said. "A few drinks at the end of a show, an occasional smoke of pot and that's it. I'd rather take a couple of shots of booze than a sedative, because then I walk around the next day like a zombie. I'm incoherent and I can't think. I don't wake up in the morning and start to hit the bottle." I ordered another beer. "Do you have a drinking problem?" Osbourne asked, rather wryly, I thought.

"I'll always live at a hundred miles an hour, 'cause that's what I'm here for."

"Of course I do." Which means probably, but who the hell knows?

"Do you enjoy drinking?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Then you ain't got a problem. Do you have to have a drink?" Not me; I'm a monk.

"Well, then you ain't got a problem," he concluded. Well, maybe not. At least I don't have people asking me about it every hour or so. Unlike the Oz and his image.

"It gets on my nerves," he said. I believe him; it gets on a lot of people's nerves as far as I can tell. "I find myself—even now, but more so last year—getting hassled by a lot of Moral Majority people and Animal Society groups and fucking Jesus fanatics trying to convert me. Leave me alone— that's all I ask them. Leave me alone. I'm a Christian guy, in my own way. Do you have to go around with the Bible and shove it down people's throats to be a Christian? I don't believe it—I believe Christianity's within you." Me, too. Still, I wanted to know how John Osbourne lived with his long-time friend Ozzy.

"It's showbiz. It's sensationalism," he said. "You create the biggest fucking ball of fire and somehow you've gotta get through it—and I'm getting through it pretty well. I work with a lot of nice people. I'm a nice person. I do a lot of nice things for people that I don't publicize—these people don't want to hear the good side of Ozzy. And I wouldn't want them to know,' it's none of their business. I keep a lot of things very private."

At which point I asked him to agree that he was happy to be seen as a lunatic who bites the heads off bats.

"Yeah," he acknowledged. But this is a sore and stupid issue that Osbourne addressed by making it sound sore and stupid. "I don't bite the heads off bats," he said, his voice rising a bit. "I bit the head off a bat by mistake. From bat it's bats, and from bats it's millions. It just goes to show how naive people are in this day and age—and how much they believe in the press. It's a game.

"It's a hard gig. People think I'm all bad and I'm not all bad. I'm the popcorn man, y'know? I give them the popcorn they want to hear. If they didn't want to hear it they wouldn't fill the halls."

To be sure. Aside from the public, though, Osbourne is slagged by musicians, as well. Kevin DuBrow, the lead singer of Quiet Riot, has said that Osbourne is a "putz" who "has problems"—and intimated that Randy Rhoads (who started Quiet Riot with DuBrow, but ended up with Osbourne) felt the same way. More grief for Ozzy.

"I ain't gonna say jackshit about that fucking DuBrow," Osbourne said, just before going on to say it. "He's got more mouth than a cow's got twat. He doesn't even know what he's talking about—how does he know I've got problems? I've only seen the guy for five seconds in my life and I told him to fuck off. That's why." (Or—if not—it's sure a good guess). "Great, {hat he's selling all these records. I think that's tremendous—but why doesn't he keep his mouth shut? I mean, it's like me saying— about you—hey, I met this guy, this writer, and he's an asshole. And I've only met you for five minutes. You can't make those assumptions. And how did DuBrow come to be the great authority of rock music all of a sudden? Somebody's gonna put his foot down his fucking mouth one of these days— preferably me." Whew. Those are the words of a man who says the most fun he's had in life has been "Getting married to my second wife and starting my family again."

But at least—and at last—they bring us around to his music, a topic discussed inversely proportional to his image. Osbourne gives Rhoads considerable credit in his professional rebirth, although he admits things were tough when he first split from Sabbath.

"I decided I was gonna take what I had with Sabbath as far—and farther—than Sabbath's ever gone. That's what I did. A lot of what I'm doing—,not so much now and not so much in the future—is the only thing I could do. I mean, if I'd've come out with, like, a Barry Manilow album, people would've said 'What the fuck?'

"And I'd met Randy Rhoads. Being a singer—and not playing an instrument— Randy would spend time with me, working out structures that would be easy for me to sing. Instead of jumping off the deep end, y'know what I mean? He spent time with me and he helped me out." Unlike Tony lornmi in Black Sabbath, Osbourne makes abundantly clear.

Osbourne's proud of his music since going solo—"I'd like to think Ozzy Osbourne records have nice surprises every now and again." They do—certainly the aforementioned "So Tired"—but more suprising, perhaps, is his statement that "I'm very much influenced by John Lennon and Paul McCartney." You remember them, they barked in through the bathroom window.

As regards his contemporaries, Osbourne is fairly profuse in his praise. "I think Culture Club are great," he admitted. "Boy George is my favorite star at the moment, 'cause he's gone out there and said 'Fuck you.' He writes good songs, as well, and he does interesting interviews." I can verify that last point, if anyone's dubious. In the realm of metal, Mr. O. says this: "David Lee Roth is fucking amazing. He's an amazing showman; that band is great. All he's gotta do is get up there and he looks like he's having fun." In general, though, he seems tremendously unimpressed by the type of fadmusic that sweeps his native England regularly. "I really like America—you can't give Americans bullshit," he said. "So many sterile bands play in England. I was in London and somebody said to me: 'You've gotta go see this Japanese band— they're phenomenal." The Yellow fucking Water Band or some fucking thing. There's more fun in watching ice melt, y'know? I thought: 'What's happened?' "

A thought we've all had at some time or another, no doubt. Osbourne may be a mainstream fad himself, a Friday The 13th of rock stage, the Popcorn Man—but who can deny this man his due? "If anybody thinks this is an easy life, I'll tell you what. This is an offer: if any of the parents (uh, you're talking about you 'n' me here, Oz) think it's an easy life, I'll invite them on the road for a week." Just don't write CREEM about this offer, OK, moms and dads? We'd rather indenture you to Rock 'n' Roll News for a couple thousand recycled paragraphs.

Well, stories—like musical careers—can digress, but fear never digresses. After talking with Osbourne for an hour or so, he startled me with a ridiculously simple question of his own...a question I haven't heard from some 40 or 50 stars over five years. "By what I've told you, what is your impression of me?"

"I like you."

"Do you think I'm out of control in what I'm doing?" Hmm, that sounds sort of significant to the theme of our rock essay of the day. The correct—and therapeutic— answer, of course, is "Why do you ask?" Who the hell cares? My answer: "I was one of your monks and I wondered if I knew what in the hell / was doing."

"Was it a rush?" Osbourne wondered. Well, sure, but not as big a rush as ending up getting interviewed by Ozzy Osbourne. I must.'ve been the star-quality monk I was aspring to be.

"Yeah, it was a rush, Ozzy. How about you? You still get off on the show?"

"Hell, yes. I'll neverhang it up. The thing is, I'll always live at a hundred miles an hour, 'cause that's what I'm here for." Hard to stay in control at that speed, I imagine. "I'm still here," he said. "I'm still alive. I'm still me. I'm still in control. I'm still doing it and I'm still getting plenty of enjoyment out of it."

Not only that, he made a monk out of me, at least for a little while. Next issue: I return to being made a monkey of, and is there a difference?