What kind of crazy fucked-up world do we live in where Ozzy Osbourne releases his best new track in eons and no one knows?
One in which Ozzy has become so overexposed with story as opposed to music he’s become a cartoon character, and one in which culture washes over you in a tsunami to the point where nothing is important, to where everything can be ignored or marginalized, despite the hype machine.
Today I woke up and I hate myself
This usually happens deeper in the day for me. But if you’ve never hated yourself, you’re not human. Life is about inner dialogue, you’re yourself all day long, and sometimes it hurts.
Death doesn’t answer when I cry for help
Suicidal? It’s a tendency many of us have. Especially in this world of “winners,” where we’re judged by likes and followers, where if we raise our head we’re denigrated by self-appointed executioners, we’re taught to keep our noggins down, licking our wounds, feeling bad with no means of expression.
No high could save me from the depths of Hell
Drugs. Cool. Unless you take them. Maybe it’s because they’re illicit, maybe if we legalized them their outlaw image would dissipate. Then again, drugs offer escape when life is just too hard, like when you’ve got an endless string of one-nighters, when you can’t sleep, when you experience adulation but feel ever more removed.
I’ll drown my mind until I’m someone else
This is when you know the drinking is out of control, when you use it for escape as opposed to good times.
My misery owns me
It’s hard to escape, it’s hard to be optimistic, we all experience losses, we all get caught in traps, this is why music resonated, it spoke to our humanity, whether it be soft singer-songwriter tunes or metal. We wanted to know someone else was on the same page. That’s why the musicians were our heroes, not because they were rich, not because they were brands, not because they sold clothing and perfume and had endorsement deals.
I don’t wanna be my enemy
If we cry for help oftentimes our exclamations go unheard. Everybody’s so self-centered, they don’t want to understand us, they just want us to buck up, when we’re incapable of that.
Now the last great work Ozzy did was almost thirty years ago, with Zakk Wylde and “No More Tears.” Since Zakk has been gone, Ozzy’s missed the target. But somehow the inclusion of Duff and Chad, from the Peppers, and youngster Andrew Watt has lifted him higher. That’s what happens when you’ve fallen from the mainstream, when you’ve become the sideshow, you reach down deep, you want to triumph once again. And in metal/hard rock, a too-insular world, this is possible, because once you’re a member of the club…you are so for life.
Black Sabbath became even bigger in the decades after Ozzy left. People finally understood it. They weren’t afraid of it. Kids killing themselves because of songs? No, that’s today’s bullies on social media, songs you identify with, hopefully they keep you alive.
We all now know that Ozzy is not dangerous. Just troubled. A child in a man’s body…isn’t that what rock and roll always promised, eternal youth, even if it was only in your mind, isn’t that why we go to see the shows of the oldsters?
On that long ago MTV show, Ozzy was seen drawing. He is an artist. He needs to express himself.
As we all do. But oftentimes we don’t have the words, we depend upon artists to delineate them.
And the funny thing is despite the downbeat lyrics, “Under The Graveyard” is uplifting, it’s the anti, to our winner take all world, if you don’t fit in where are you supposed to turn? This loud music, with its riffs, with its darkness, actually puts a smile on your face. You feel like someone is on your page.
“Under The Graveyard” makes me feel like Ozzy Osbourne is on my page.