Wednesday, July 23, 2025

Some Thoughts on Ozzy Osbourne

 

1948 - 2025

 

While I was never a real fan of Ozzy per se, I was a huge fan of Black Sabbath, the band that first brought him success in the late 60s and through the 70s. As a teen in the 80s who had absolutely no interest “80s music,” I rebelled by diving full force into such 70s rock bands as Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, The Who, and Sabbath. I never saw Ozzy live, but I did own most of his CDs with Black Sabbath. I also owned his groundbreaking first solo venture, Blizzard of Oz and his 1991 smash CD, No More Tears.

 

I kinda remember the first time I heard him, sometime around age 13: “Iron Man,” on one of the new classic rock radio stations. I have to say I was floored. Never before in my short musical life had I heard something like “Iron Man.” What a unique tune – deceptively simple, or, rather, a simple riff surrounded by more musically complex “choruses,” solo, and ending. It stuck in my mind for a few years. I also heard the lesser impressive but somehow more popular “Paranoid” on the dial.

 

The winter of my senior year one of my friends lent me his cassette tape of Black Sabbath’s greatest hits. Yes, there is such a thing – and I devoured it. I listened to it nonstop for weeks if not months. My family took a car trip out to Wisconsin and I, with a new driver’s license, took a late night shift behind the wheel and popped the cassette in and listened to the entire thing while the family slumbered in minivan.

 

Somehow I obtained a Black Sabbath songbook. How obsessed I was with that book! In the pre-Internet age, where nobody told you anything unless you paid for a tutor or read it in a magazine (Guitar magazine), the songbook unnecessarily complicated all these Sabbath songs I loved from their first four albums. First, it was in piano notation (not guitar tab). Second, I later leaned Iommi detuned his guitar 1.5 steps (low E string down to C# and all other strings tuned standard to that). Third, the piano notation was in C#, making all the riffs more difficult to play than if it was transcribed in E with a note to detune to C#. So I could not physically play all the songs, whereas now I can, albeit tuned 1.5 steps higher than the record.

 

Back to Ozzy.

 

Ozzy’s persona in the 70s was of a drug-addled unpredictable madman. Eventually his bandmates, fed up with all his excessive drug intake and personality swings, fired him in 1979. He assumed a “Prince of Darkness” persona which may have been shocking back then in the early 80s to Tipper Gore and her crew (I wasn’t too shocked as a teen listening to his solo stuff). But that persona quickly became cartoonish and sometimes buffoonish (to me, at least) only salvaged temporarily by his magnum opus, No More Tears.

 

In the summer and fall of 1991, when my band was playing out and partying and doing the recording studio and writing songs, No More Tears came out and was played a lot. A lot. It blew me away, particularly the eponymous tune. I bought the CD, put it into regular rotation, and became a proselytizer for 90s Ozzy. About a decade later I purchased the only other Ozzy CD I ever owned – his equally phenomenal debut, Blizzard of Oz.

 

Ozzy’s main superhero talent was finding superb guitarists to play with. Iommi is fantastic and was a pretty big influence on my guitar playing as a teen. But Ozzy also brought to the forefront Randy Rhodes, Jake E. Lee, and Zakk Wylde. Rhodes is a genius, perhaps the only guitarist to seriously challenge Eddie Van Halen in the early 80s. But I didn’t care for that style of playing. I much more enjoyed Zakk Wylde. If you are into it, go to YouTube and check out some of his solo videos – particularly those of him playing Sabbath songs in a parking lot and those of him doing a guitar solo live on tour. Phenomenal.

 

The wife was into Ozzy’s reality show in the early 00s. I watched a few. It was fascinating, if a little sad. When we learned of his death yesterday, we were – as many were – amazed that he made it to the ripe old age of 76. I texted her reminiscing that we both though he was teetering on the edge of death watching him on cable twenty years ago.

 

I also found it fitting – as just about everyone else in the know – that he died three weeks after the “final” Black Sabbath reunion show, where he performed the entire concert seated upon a black throne. The “Back to the Beginning” show was a benefit concert that took place in Birmingham, England – where Ozzy and the other members of Black Sabbath grew up. Something like $190 million was raised for charity, and part of the take went to Cure Parkinson’s, a disease which Ozzy was suffering from since at least early 2019, and which may have contributed to his death.

 

Well done and good show, old chap.

 

RIP.

 


Friday, July 18, 2025

Summer Moving Along

 

Haven’t had the energy or the will to post anything of interest. Not that it hasn’t been an interesting summer so far. But what is currently occupying my mind and my time are private thoughts, deep thoughts, self-directed thoughts which might not interest you.

 

The most I will say, however, is that I have been expending a great deal of effort trying to figure out how to proceed to a new career. For twenty-three years I have been handling people’s money, in the form of payroll or tax prep. To be honest, similar to the three years I spent in IT at the start of the century, I am kinda sick of listening to people complain. I’m trying to find a niche that hits the ikigai sweet spot: something I’ll enjoy, something fairly in demand, and something that pays. I don’t need nor want to be a multimillionaire, but my salary over the past few years hasn’t risen with the costs of just about everything else, and that scares me a bit. Haven’t had any breakthroughs yet, but I’m still working on it.

 

The girls are spreading their wings, testing the air above and around the nest. Little One is getting valuable experience running a classroom of twenty-three children ages five to nine full-time. Patch is doing lots of odd jobs and is getting ready for the drivers exam to get her permit. They and the Mrs. are currently in Pennsylvania with my folks while they investigate a couple of northeast colleges for Patch and visit old friends. I’m stuck here in Texas, working and babysitting the dog. The $1,000+ we’ll save that would’ve gone to a round-trip ticket for me and a dogsitter is going to the cost of their rental car.

 

This week my routine has been fairly, well, routine. Wake up, let the dog out, feed him, go to work, do my spreadsheets and chat to my small circle of workmates for eight hours, go home, walk the dog, feed him, then feed myself and watch a movie. This week I watched Knocked Up, The Meg, Dream Scenario, and The Mummy. Then I try to read a bit, play fetch with good old Charlie, then go to bed. Rinse and repeat. Much like my bachelor days in the 90s, but with no beer, no cigarettes, no band and no night school.

 

Oh, wait! I have been playing my electric guitar. I usually practice for about an hour every weekend; been doing so since February – by the end of the year I should be up to speed. I’ve been focusing a lot on Led Zeppelin; got down the solos to Whole Lotta Love, Stairway, Misty Mountain Hop, Living Loving Maid – simple stuff, but fun stuff. Might try to learn Gilmore’s solo to Another Brick in the Wall. And I also got down the little solo and heavy bridge break in Beck’s Bolero. Sometimes I play along with an album, such as AC/DC’s Powerage or The Cult’s Sonic Temple. I find it a great distraction from the stresses of life, and now that guitar playing has no stress associated with it (auditioning band members, hauling everything to shows, balancing egos and having to keep pace with bandmates, etc.) I’m having a blast.

 

One area I’m not having a blast with is my literary life. I finished a cheesy beach paperback the first week of the month – I think I’ll save that for a review – but after that, I’m striking out one after the other. I tried my hand at a new fantasy novel (got 45 pages in), a philosophical history of German idealism (got 30 pages in), and indecision over whether to crack open an unread physics book on deck or an unread World War II book on deck. Even Little One attempted to help me out by lending me her copies of The Merchant of Venice, History of the Peloponnesian War, a book on Catholic teaching, and another on the 300-year history of the Medici family of Renaissance Florence. I thumbed through the first few pages of the Medici book last night, and will try to break into that later tonight.

 

I’m scheduled to pick the girls up from DFW late Sunday night, so I have another two days to myself. I think I’ll do some long walks both days and relax with a book at the park one afternoon (it’s supposed to be a high of 95 this weekend). And I also plan on driving over to the used book store to pick up my 50th record. I’m hoping to score a Wagner, but since they’re all good, I’m not picky.

 

Enjoy the weekend!

 

Monday, June 30, 2025

June Recap

 

 

In light of the dearth of postings, you may surmise June has been quite the busy month. And you’d be surmising correctly. A lot’s been going on down here at Chez Hopper south-of-the-border (well, south of the Mason-Dixon line, if said line stretched to the midpoint of the United States). Some blog-worthy stuff, some stuff that’s too personal for the semi-anonymity being thrown around here, and some stuff I don’t even want to commit to the electronic page.

 

One thing’s for sure: we’ve been on the go somewhat constantly. Little One, elementary school teacher-in-training, has been working full time at a pre-school / summer camp, going crazy each day with different themes (movie day, wacky water fun day, bake bread day, etc.) managing a class of around 25 five- to nine-year-olds. To get to her job, though, she needs my car, which leaves me with no wheels. So I have to be dropped off and picked up from my place of business three days a week, and to this soul who loves regularity, that’s often stressfully unpredictable. I normally clock out at 4, and being picked up at as early as 3:15 or as late as 6:30 is not an uncommon occurrence.

 

Patch had a week of Yearbook Camp, but that only meant we dropped her off at the high school and picked her up in the early evening. They bussed all the high school yearbook students (we have something like eleven high schools in our own monster-sized town) to one of the local community colleges where they all learned the creative and marketing aspects of yearbooking, brainstorming, playing games and winning prizes, and socializing.

 

The Mrs. has been fairly solitary, only leaving on one short business trip down to Austin for three days. But she’s been busy and stressed as ever. Me, I’ve taken to working on the exterior of my home. Each weekend I’m mowing, cutting shrubbery, mulching, keeping the encroaching weeds at bay with Roundup, filling cracks in the ground and bunny holes with dirt, etc. I have a huge gardening hat (given to me by Patch on my last birthday) which keeps the anvil of the sun off my face and neck, but the mosquitos have been feasting on me, which can be quite unpleasant. Everything down in Texas is bigger, even the mosquito bites.

 

Speaking of gifts given to me, I had a great Father’s Day two weeks ago. The ladies treated me to a juicy steak, with sides of asparagus and home-made macaroni and cheese. Little One bought me a book Constantine and the Conversion of Europe (which I read the following week) and Patch got me L’Enfance du Christ, a double-album oratorio by the composer Hector Berlioz (my record collection is now up to 49). And to top it all off, we four watched Titan: The OceanGate Submersible Disaster, something I’ve been into off-and-on since following it closely in real-time Father’s Day weekend in 2023.

 

More importantly, my daily background radiation of existential dread has been shouting and gesticulating and doing angry cartwheels louder and louder, until I could no longer shut it out. While Little One and the Mrs. and, to a lesser extent, Patch, are all thriving down here, I have yet to hit my stride. The job is meaningless to me, a dead-end that merely pays the mortgage and some groceries. I have not connected with anything or anyone (not that I’m a connector by nature), but the girls are becoming adults and making strides to move out and start their own lives, and I’m a little frightened by the aspect of not having them around on an everyday basis, as they’ve been for the last 15, 20 years. Even the dog is getting older, having just surpassed the Mrs. in the dog/human year ratio and rapidly catching up to, and soon to pass, me.

 

So I decided to devote some time to finding meaning. Sounds suspiciously hippy, and I’m naturally suspicious of anything hippy. But as a first step I got some books and promised myself to do the exercises in ’em, which ultimately revealed nothing new to me. Though, to be fair, I haven’t finished everything I got. I suffer from a lot of psychological hangups, some innate and some from environmental causes, and even if I were to move past them, there’s always the financial vise of debt and obligation, as well as familial and social expectations, and all these and more conspire to keep me locked in unfulfilling routine. Not sure how to break out, but I have been giving it my strongest effort since moving down here to Texas four years ago. 

 

What does the immediate future hold?

 

Well, I took today off from work to take care of a few things, and I have a three-day remote week ahead. Then another three-day weekend as we celebrate the Fourth. The wife and girls are flying up to Pennsylvania for 10 days two weeks into July, as part of a vacation / college scouting trip for my youngest. The Mrs. will be doing a lot of driving, the farthest being a trip to a college in Buffalo that Patch is interested in. They’ve never seen Niagara Falls, so at least something positive will come of that if the school fails to check all the boxes. Me, I’m staying home with Charlie. The $750 round-trip airline ticket for me plus the $600 dogsitting charge will offset the cost of a rental car. I’ll be working and walking the dog, but at least I can watch a few science fiction flicks and feast on some Hawaiian pizza while dueling with that cartwheeling existential angst.

 

That’s the tip of the iceberg here. June, on the whole you were okay. Had better months, but had worse too. Now get outta here, and let’s get on with summer.