SIDEWALKING: Diary Of A Madman


Ozzy, Borders, Market & Chestnut, 6 PM by JEFF FUSCO

i-am-ozzy.thumbnail.jpgTARA MURTHA: Thick as a bible, I Am Ozzy is a lightning-read account of one man’s journey into and out of the sludgy bowels of the rock and roll beast. Pensive now at 61, I Am Ozzy is a (mostly) sober account of a very drunk and deluded time fueled by the time-honored collision course of inflatable egos and endless cocaine (back in the day, Black Sabbath didn’t even know who was paying for or sending the unmarked vans stacked with tidy boxes of wax-capped vials of medical grade powder).  All the expected hijinks and rumors are there, from biting bats to snorting ants to the kerfuffles caused by a controversial stage show that included stringing up a small person, as they’re called nowadays, by the neck in a noose and catapulting bloody raw meat and entrails onto the crowd. But, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, like Tom Robbins books, the joy here, even for Sabbath fans, is less about the plot and all about the delivery. What I mean is, the book is hilarious. The Ozzy narrating the book isn’t the lunatic in a cape vacuuming drugs with his face or shooting chickens in a fit of paranoia, but more of a chilled out grandpa peering over those trademark dark Lennon-glasses, reading fairy tales aloud by the hearth. After all, Black Sabbath is a blokes’ Cinderella story of course, starring a motley group of misfits who escaped the factory grind by trying to make their 12-bar blues band “sound scary” after observing that people paid good money to see horror movies. MORE

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