By
Wil Forbis
May 1st 2002
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Oddbournes art by Daniel
Gordon
Click graphic for larger version. |
So apparently
there's this new show on MTV called "The Osbournes" and it's
a big hit. I say apparently because I have yet to actually see it, and
I staunchly refuse to believe in things unless I see them - hell, there’s
still quite a few things I have seen that I still refuse to
believe in – like zebras, leprechauns and Ralph Nader. But there's this
new show, and it's got Ozzy Osbourne and his family chillin’ in their
cribs up there for everybody to see, and word on the street (of which
I am closely connected to) says the show is a monumental
success. "Biggest out of the box hit in MTV's history"
or some shit.
But really,
that ain't the best part. The fact that Ozzy, who's played the clown
prince of rock for decades, might make an amusing sit-com star ain't
all that surprising. In the many interviews I've read with the dude
throughout the years, Ozzy has come across as a humorous, vivacious
entertaining chap. But he's also been someone routinely dogged by the
media; a guy the suits and ties at Rolling Stone and People have snidely
made fun of for being too drunken, too loutish, and too indicative of
the lowest of the low on the totem pole of music genres - heavy metal.
But dig it – Ozzy’s a crossover success now, not just someone festooned
upon a teenager's bedroom wall, but a dawg firmly entrenched in mainstream
public eye. There ain't no escapin’ him. And the concept that these
same critics might have to pull their heads out each other’s asses and
at least acknowledge Mr. Ozz is richer than Bill Gates throwing lucky
sevens.
Now, if you're
one of the few motherfuckers who actually taken Ozzy seriously over
the years then we are brothers in the same cause, and brother, the cause
is just! But it's been an uphill battle. Even in the late eighties when
Ozzy was riding at his highest (until his new hit show) there was many
a verbal battle in which I'd have to defend Ozzy from the faux-intelligentsia
who were spouting off about R.E.M (thusly named cuz they put you to
sleep) or Fugazi (straight playas in their own right, but they seem
to attract a fan base of know-it-all elitists.) Wearin’ an Ozzy shirt
in those days was the equivalent of wearing a Scarlet Letter in that
infamous book by Nathaniel Hawthorne... you know the one, what was it
called?
Truthfully,
there's always been two camps of Ozzy-Infidels practicing their infernal
jihad against our doddering wizard. First, there's aforementioned alternative
hipsters, now safely entrenched in their record reviewing jobs at Rolling
Stone and Spin. To them it was unthinkable that Ozzy might have at least
some self awareness of the goofy hell-spawn image he presented; it was
incomprehensible that he might have some understanding of the black
arts of marketing. (Though, in all honesty, cred for that should probably
go to his wife, Sharon. “Behind every great man…” etc.) And right next
these scum were the more mainstreams crits, the scribes for Time mag
and The New York Times who didn't even see the Ozzmaster as worth a
second glance while they blew their load over Tracy Chapman, Michael
Penn, and other "artists" who've since faded into yesteryear.
(You could argue there was third attack dog on Ozzy - the Tipper Gores,
but at least Tipper genuinely believed in her (nonsensical) cause, as
opposed to wrapping herself in the ironic sneer so comfortably worn
by the 90's generation of cultural critics.)
Now don't
get me wrong, there's a lot to make fun of when dealing with Ozzy. He
stammers, he mumbles, he eats bats, he has a perpetual glaze of farawayness
- and Lord, I know the whole genre of heavy metal is hard to defend
at times, as it seems so intent on swathing itself with scrotum-bursting
testosterone and trite lyricism (Though I've always considered Ozzy
one of the better lyricists of the past twenty years. Boo-yaah to him
and Bon Scott.) Hell, I'd be willing to laugh along with the alterna-scum
who make jest of Ozzy, if they were willing to turn their critical eye
upon themselves. Are you gonna tell me there isn't just as much to mock
at a Yo-La-Tengo concert? (We could start with their almost primitive
musicianship - Oops, I forgot. Hack is hip.) Am I supposed to believe
the tangential lyricism of Michael Stipe isn't worth a jab or two? Kurt
Cobain mumbles his lyrics and he's some sort of profound genius - Ozzy
mumbles his lyrics and he's just a guy who mumbles his lyrics. (Sure,
Ozzy maybe never blew his head off but he did one better and convinced
people listening to his albums to blow their heads off! You tell me
which is cooler.)
So what's
so cool about the success of the "The Osbournes?" It's this:
the same self-righteous media who've been dissing Ozzy all these years
have to start giving him his due. Why? Dig it: Rock critics are the
sorts of fuckers whose interest in Western youth is only surpassed by
Catholic priests, and kids today like Ozzy. They like OzzFest, they
like Black Sabbath and they like “The Osbournes.” If those greying and
beer bellying guardians of pop culture wish to stay relevent, they're
gonna have to do a 180 on the road to hipsterville and get on the Ozzy
Bandwagon. They're gonna have to concede that a guy who's sold millions
of albums, who's had a career in the public eye for over thirty years,
might be on to something worth taking note of. They’re gonna have to
tear off that Guided By Voices shirt (sorry, Saleeby) and don a faded
sleeveless from the "Bark at the Moon" tour. They're gonna
have stop reciting verse from Public Enemy in their suburban white boy
squeak and start moaning out lines from "Crazy Train." They're
gonna have to overwrite that tattoo of Che Guevara with a picture of
a bat-eating demon spitting out blood and dwarf-brains. (Not all that
hard really - just work Che's nose a bit.)
Damn... victory
taste good!
Dokken still
sucks though.
