Heroes

Ozzy Osbourne

Hello Troubadourians! I wasn’t sure what I wanted to write about this time, but Ozzy has died, and everyone is talking about it. Not that this is the first time a famous musician has died while I’ve been writing this column, nor will it be the last… In full disclosure, I was never a fan of his music or of Black Sabbath either. But I recognize they were the OG Metal band and are deserving of all the respect that comes with that status. Ozzy was a legend, an all-caps ROCKSTAR, the Prince of Darkness… He lived far longer than many people who witnessed the beginning of Black Sabbath expected he would. He was never the “best singer” or the “sexy rockstar,” but there was something unique and dangerous about him. As he aged, he was routinely written off as cliché, over the hill, too old, done…. Even a reality television show couldn’t ruin him, not that he didn’t try. Instead, he continued to make music that people wanted to hear. Seemingly reinventing himself over and over, yet never actually changing, Ozzy systematically recruited the talents of new musicians along with steady, tested sidemen, and, in the process, he was responsible for the careers of several notable guitar players, such as Jake E. Lee, Zakk Wilde, and, of course, Randy Rhodes, just to name a few. Each of them having legendary status in guitar circles to this day in their own right.

So, what is it about our heroes that we are drawn to, forgive them their trespasses, and continue to follow them, even into old age, decline, and, ultimately, death? My best guess is we were impressionable youths and found in them something that moved us. We cared about them. Some of us were inspired to be like them, at least for a while, but they represented—or presented—a persona that we found intriguing. And we never let go of that essence no matter their aging or ours. That “them + us” connection sustains our devotion, gives us permission to forgive them for proving themselves to be human, and ultimately outlives our heroes when they pass from this earth.

This, of course, applies to all our heroes whether they are musicians, actors, authors, athletes, or any person who accomplishes something significant that we find “heroic.” They don’t have to be famous for us to consider them heroes, many of my heroes you’ve never heard of, but the point of this article is musical heroes, so I’ll leave it at that.

I’ve had many musical heroes. Some were dead before I knew about them. Some I learned about as a result of their death. But most of them I grew up with. From all of those categories, and in no particular order, here are some of mine: Chet Atkins, Hank Snow, Les Paul, Lionel Hampton, Glenn Miller, Floyd Cramer, Mike Nesmith, Glen Campbell, Chuck Berry, Pat Simmons, Duane Allman, Joe Walsh, Don Felder, Glen Frey, Bonnie Raitt, Larry Carlton, Robben Ford, Lee Ritenour, Eric Johnson… I could probably think of more, given enough time, but the significance of these musicians in my life has established who I am as a guitar player and as a musician. If you listen to my playing, at some point you’ll hear something from each of them. Sometimes I intend to do it, but usually it’s subconscious. And while I believe that I’ve established a style that is my own, such that I sound like me, sometimes something from one of the above players is exactly what is needed for a part or a song. Just the other day my daughter was listening to some songs from the new Doobie Brothers recording. She heard a particular guitar lick and said, “Dad, that sounds like you! I’ve heard you play that lick many times!” I said, “No that’s Pat Simmons. I sound like him…” “I’ve been listening to him play that lick since 1972. It was cool then and it’s cool now. Always steal the best stuff…”

Everyone on my list has been through it at least once, usually several times. Whether they were at the top of their game playing sold-out arenas, or playing “survival gigs” to keep going, they remained my heroes. Number-one records or total stiffs, they remained my heroes. Flashy and famous, or dealing with personal demons, they remained my heroes. Why? Because I bonded with their music and accepted them as people. Just as I would hope that the people who hear my music would do. We keep playing until we can’t, even if nobody is listening, and we’re always trying to play a little better today than we did yesterday. When you hear me—and I hope you do—I hope you’ll hear what I’m saying, whether they are my notes or some that I stole from one of my heroes.

So, Ozzy is gone but his music lives on. And whether he was your hero or not, he was everything a hero could be; famous yet flawed, larger than life yet profoundly human, a flame that burned bright but is ultimately extinguished. He leaves us his music, which we can embrace or ignore as we choose. It doesn’t matter… because a body of work establishes a legacy, critical praise establishes credibility, fame builds an audience, but to be a hero requires capturing hearts and imaginations. Ozzy definitely did all of that.

As long as we live, our heroes will never die.

Need to know? Just ask… Charlie (ask.charlie@hotmail.com)