Read Online I Am Ozzy by Ozzy Osbourne;Chris Ayres - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ozzy Osbourne;Chris Ayres
Tags: General, Personal Memoirs, Biography & Autobiography, England, music, Entertainment & Performing Arts, Biography, Genres & Styles, Rock Music, Autobiography, Rock Musicians, Composers & Musicians, Heavy Metal, 1948, Composers & Musicians - General, Ozzy, Osbourne, Composers & Musicians - Rock, Genres & Styles - Heavy Metal
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Birmingham Fire Station's Christmas party. The audience consisted of two firemen, a bucket and a ladder. We made enough dough for half a shandy (beer mixed with lemonade), split six ways.
But that gig made an impression on me, because it was the first time I ever experienced stage fright.
And fucking hell, man, did I get a bad case of the brown trousers.
To say that I suffer from pre-show nerves is like saying that when you get hit by an atom bomb it hurts a bit. I was absolutely fucking petrified when I got up on that stage. Sweaty. Mouth drier than a Mormon wedding. Numb legs. Racing heart. Trembling hands. The fucking works, man. I literally almost pissed myself. I'd never felt anything like it in my life. I remember downing a pint beforehand to try to calm myself down, but it didn't work. I would have had twenty pints if I'd had enough dough. In the end I croaked my way through a couple of numbers until we blew out one of the speakers of the PA. Then we fucked off home. I didn't tell my old man about the speaker. I just swapped it with the one in his radiogram.
I'd buy him a new one when I got a job, I told myself. And it seemed like I would have to get a job, because, judging by the fire station gig, there was no way I was ever going to make it in the music business.
A couple of days later, I decided to pack in singing for good.
I remember saying to Geezer down the pub, 'I've had enough, man, this ain't going nowhere.'
Geezer just frowned and twiddled his thumbs. Then, in a dejected voice, he said: 'They've offered me a promotion at work. I'm going to be number three in the accounting department.'
'Well, that's it then, isn't it?' I said.
'Suppose.'
We finished our drinks, shook hands, and went our separate ways. 'See you around, Geezer,' I said.
'Take it easy, Ozzy Zig.'
Knock-knock
I poked my head through the curtains in the living room and saw a dodgy-looking bloke with long hair and a moustache standing outside on the doorstep. What the fuck was this, deja vu ? But no, despite the hair and the tash, the bloke didn't look anything like Geezer. He looked... homeless. And there was another bloke standing next to him. He also had long hair and a king-sized ferret on his upper lip. But he was taller, and he looked a bit like... Nah, it couldn't be. Not him . Parked behind them on the street was an old blue Commer van with a big rusty hole above the wheel arch and faded lettering on the side that said 'Mythology'.
'JOHN! Get the door!
' I'm getting it!
It had been a few months since I'd left Rare Breed. I was twenty now, and had given up all hope of
being a singer or ever getting out of Aston. PA system or no PA system, it wasn't going to happen. I'd convinced myself that there was no point in even trying, because I was just going to fail, like I had at school, at work, and at everything else I'd ever tried. 'You ain't no good as a singer,' I told myself. 'You can't even play an instrument, so what hope d'you have?' It was Self-Pity City at 14 Lodge Road. I'd already talked to my mum about trying to get my old job back at the Lucas plant. She was seeing what she could do. And I'd told the owner of Ringway Music to take down my 'OZZY ZIG NEEDS GIG' sign. Stupid fucking name, anyway - Geezer was right about that. All in all, there was no reason whatsoever why two long-haired blokes should be standing on my doorstep at nine o'clock on a Tuesday night. Could they be mates of Geezer? Did they have something to do with Rare Breed? It didn't make any sense.
Knock-knock
Knock-knock
Knock-knock-knock-knock.
I twisted the latch and pulled. An awkward pause. Then the shorter and scruffier bloke asked, 'Are
you... Ozzy Zig?'
Before I could answer, the bigger guy leaned forwards and squinted at me. Now I knew for certain who he was. And he knew me, too. I froze. He groaned. 'Aw, fucking hell,' he said. 'It's you .'
I couldn't believe it. The bloke on my doorstep was Tony Iommi: the good-looking kid from the year above me at
But that gig made an impression on me, because it was the first time I ever experienced stage fright.
And fucking hell, man, did I get a bad case of the brown trousers.
To say that I suffer from pre-show nerves is like saying that when you get hit by an atom bomb it hurts a bit. I was absolutely fucking petrified when I got up on that stage. Sweaty. Mouth drier than a Mormon wedding. Numb legs. Racing heart. Trembling hands. The fucking works, man. I literally almost pissed myself. I'd never felt anything like it in my life. I remember downing a pint beforehand to try to calm myself down, but it didn't work. I would have had twenty pints if I'd had enough dough. In the end I croaked my way through a couple of numbers until we blew out one of the speakers of the PA. Then we fucked off home. I didn't tell my old man about the speaker. I just swapped it with the one in his radiogram.
I'd buy him a new one when I got a job, I told myself. And it seemed like I would have to get a job, because, judging by the fire station gig, there was no way I was ever going to make it in the music business.
A couple of days later, I decided to pack in singing for good.
I remember saying to Geezer down the pub, 'I've had enough, man, this ain't going nowhere.'
Geezer just frowned and twiddled his thumbs. Then, in a dejected voice, he said: 'They've offered me a promotion at work. I'm going to be number three in the accounting department.'
'Well, that's it then, isn't it?' I said.
'Suppose.'
We finished our drinks, shook hands, and went our separate ways. 'See you around, Geezer,' I said.
'Take it easy, Ozzy Zig.'
Knock-knock
I poked my head through the curtains in the living room and saw a dodgy-looking bloke with long hair and a moustache standing outside on the doorstep. What the fuck was this, deja vu ? But no, despite the hair and the tash, the bloke didn't look anything like Geezer. He looked... homeless. And there was another bloke standing next to him. He also had long hair and a king-sized ferret on his upper lip. But he was taller, and he looked a bit like... Nah, it couldn't be. Not him . Parked behind them on the street was an old blue Commer van with a big rusty hole above the wheel arch and faded lettering on the side that said 'Mythology'.
'JOHN! Get the door!
' I'm getting it!
It had been a few months since I'd left Rare Breed. I was twenty now, and had given up all hope of
being a singer or ever getting out of Aston. PA system or no PA system, it wasn't going to happen. I'd convinced myself that there was no point in even trying, because I was just going to fail, like I had at school, at work, and at everything else I'd ever tried. 'You ain't no good as a singer,' I told myself. 'You can't even play an instrument, so what hope d'you have?' It was Self-Pity City at 14 Lodge Road. I'd already talked to my mum about trying to get my old job back at the Lucas plant. She was seeing what she could do. And I'd told the owner of Ringway Music to take down my 'OZZY ZIG NEEDS GIG' sign. Stupid fucking name, anyway - Geezer was right about that. All in all, there was no reason whatsoever why two long-haired blokes should be standing on my doorstep at nine o'clock on a Tuesday night. Could they be mates of Geezer? Did they have something to do with Rare Breed? It didn't make any sense.
Knock-knock
Knock-knock
Knock-knock-knock-knock.
I twisted the latch and pulled. An awkward pause. Then the shorter and scruffier bloke asked, 'Are
you... Ozzy Zig?'
Before I could answer, the bigger guy leaned forwards and squinted at me. Now I knew for certain who he was. And he knew me, too. I froze. He groaned. 'Aw, fucking hell,' he said. 'It's you .'
I couldn't believe it. The bloke on my doorstep was Tony Iommi: the good-looking kid from the year above me at
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