"Can you fathom I'm standing in Ozzy's hometown tonight?" It's 9:45 PM, and Lita Ford, now 66, finds herself behind the scenes at K.K. Downing's club in Birmingham, encased in leather, amidst an atmosphere thick with anticipation and the mingling scent of sweat. She's on the cusp of delivering what promises to be an achingly poignant live rendition of "Close My Eyes Forever" — her heart-wrenching 1989 power ballad, a collaboration with Ozzy Osbourne that marked his sole Top 10 hit. "The emotions are going to be overwhelming," she admits. "I didn't start to tear up until I turned and beheld the stunning stage setup dedicated to Ozzy. That's when it all hit me. I keep reflecting — how did we arrive at this juncture? How could Ozzy have left us so soon? And now, here we are in Birmingham, of all places — the very city where it all began."
This uncanny convergence mirrors the song's genesis. It was 1987. Ford, then 29, was in search of her identity post-Runaways; Osbourne, 39, was lost in the throes of addiction. Yet, on one alcohol-drenched evening at Record One Studios in Los Angeles, the two rock legends retreated into a claustrophobic room equipped with a keyboard and an amp. By dawn, they had crafted something poignant, fragile, and timeless.
Ford reminisced with Rolling Stone about that fateful night, the significance of Black Sabbath to her, and an Easter dinner that culminated in a harrowing scene where Osbourne wielded a carving knife, prompting a collective realization, slightly too belated, that this was hardly a prudent idea.
Tonight feels like an unforgettable evening, one that reverberates with the echoes of our origins, Ozzy's journey, and our collective past, all encapsulated in the music that pulses through our very souls. I预见 the audience will be deeply moved when "Close My Eyes" echoes through the air. Ozzy has been an inseparable part of my life journey, shaping it in myriad ways since I was a little girl.
I grew up immersed in the haunting melodies of Black Sabbath, strumming their guitar riffs as I wandered through the house. My very first concert experience was Black Sabbath in 1972, when I was still a wide-eyed teenager. Though my parents didn't always approve of everyone in my life, they had a special tolerance for Black Sabbath and steadfastly supported my passion. My mother, a die-hard fan, would often urge me, "Oh, Lita, play some Black Sabbath!" And so, I'd launch into "War Pigs" or another favorite, delighting her with every note. Both my parents adored Ozzy and Sharon, their admiration boundless.
Once, during Easter dinner, the scene was set in a quaint, middle-class neighborhood. Imagine the surprise when a luxurious limousine rolled up, discharging Ozzy and Sharon. The neighbors were absolutely beside themselves with excitement.
Sharon entered my bedroom, where I still resided, a vestige of my pre-Runaways days in 1975. Sitting cross-legged on my bed, she looked up at me and asked, "Do you like my belt?" I replied, "Yeah, it's fantastic!" She beamed, revealing, "I haven't worn this belt since I was 14." Her joy was palpable, a radiant glow that filled the room.
Meanwhile, Ozzy occupied a corner of the living room, methodically consuming an entire bottle of wine. We offered him a glass, but he dismissed it, grasping the bottle instead, slowly sinking into the sofa's embrace. After draining the bottle, my father inquiries if he'd like to carve the Easter lamb, a succulent leg of lamb roasted to perfection by my mother. "Yeah, I'll cut it," Ozzy agreed. My father handed him the knife, and with a flourish, Ozzy began his task. But fate had other plans; the knife slipped from the table, plummeting to the floor beneath. My father stood there, doubled over in laughter at Ozzy's antics. He found Ozzy endlessly entertaining, and rightfully so. Then, Ozzy looked up at my mother and casually announced, "I don't eat meat."
Ozzy was always the epitome of style, adorned in the finest clothes, jewelry, and footwear. Sharon played a pivotal role in this, but Ozzy's natural charm and flair were undeniable. Sometimes, it takes wealth—copious amounts of it—to achieve such a dazzling appearance. But other times, it's simply about putting yourself together with whatever resources you have. It's about discovering those magical pieces, embracing them, and wearing them with confidence, embodying your true self.
The night we penned "Close My Eyes Forever" followed shortly thereafter. Sharon had visited the studio, bearing a housewarming gift: a life-size replica of Koko, the magnificent gorilla. After her departure, Ozzy lingered, and we retreated to a small room adjacent to the control room, equipped with a keyboard and guitar. We began to play, Ozzy's voice soaring as my guitar riffs complemented his melodies. It was a magical night, and by the time we emerged, the sun was already casting its golden rays upon the world. We were slightly elevated, if I may say so, our creativity soaring.
Sometimes, that's what it takes—losing oneself in the creative process. I indulge in my own vice occasionally, seeking an attitude adjustment. For me, it's whiskey—I adore it. Artists as visionary as Ozzy, who honed their craft in Black Sabbath, often require something to ease the edge. Ozzy savored drinking and indulging in drugs—he genuinely enjoyed it. And when he did, his creativity flourished, though it sometimes led to a subsequent slumber.
During the creative process, a touch of vice can sometimes birth a masterpiece like that. These songs are imbued with a certain toxicity, and it's precisely what draws people in. It's what makes them relatable. That morning, we emerged with a gem of a song, and I drove home with Koko securely fastened to the front seat of my Jeep. Ozzy, on the other hand, took a taxi over Laurel Canyon, as I couldn't make the roundtrip. When he arrived home, Sharon was less than pleased. She called me, scolding me roundly, and I'm sure Ozzy received a similar dressing down. She was not amused. But hey, the result was a Top Ten hit single, so I'm more than content.
"Close My Eyes Forever" is a song often played at funerals, its beauty resonating with many. In Ozzy's honor, let's continue to rock. Great rock stars never truly fade away; they live on in the music they created.
