Ozzy. ☝️

Montreal 2016. Black Sabbath's "The End" tour. 20,000 metal heads and I sang the first verse of "War Pigs." Ozzy didn't sing that verse that night, he just let all of us "Children of the Grave" have at it. I have goosebumps thinking about that night. The power of our collective voices. We were a force, pure energy. It was a moment that I will take to my grave. A concert truly is a communal experience.

There was no one quite like Ozzy Osbourne. He was known all too well outside of the heavy metal community for wild antics while under the influence. But yet he wrote lyrics like "Maybe it's not too late; to learn how to love and forget how to hate..." He was humbled at the presence of the Queen of England - at his best behaviour. Clearly he was a complex and often misunderstood individual. 

In my youth my music was my world. Still is a major part of who I am. There were times when music felt like my only friend. Many times I felt a lyric was written solely for me. After my Mom passed I couldn't listen to "Mama I'm Coming Home" without shedding a tear. When a musician whose music I loved passes I feel it. Deeply. Because it feels just like losing a friend. Through music I have formed solid friendships - most of which I am fortunate to say that I still have to this day. I can't thank enough the musicians I admire for pushing me through. 

Thank you Ozzy for being part of my story and my life's soundtrack. May you rest in volume and I wish peace for your family. 

"Flying High Again" ☝️

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