I was never exactly a fan of Ozzy’s voice, but it would be impossible to ignore the magnitude of the figure he represented. I saw Ozzy Osbourne twice on stage — and even with my reservations about his tone, I walked away both times genuinely impressed by what he could still deliver. There was a kind of magnetism that’s hard to explain, a stage presence that seemed to defy the limits of the body carrying it.

Because that body had been fragile for quite some time. The falls, the Parkinson’s, the surgeries… In recent years, Ozzy seemed to be fighting against time itself. And yet, he came back. Again and again. He reinvented himself countless times — whether with Black Sabbath, as a solo artist, through unlikely collaborations, or even as an accidental pop culture figure thanks to his family’s reality show. He was a survivor — in rock, in life, and in the industry.

His farewell tour with Black Sabbath, The End, was symbolic: not only because it brought together the founders of heavy metal for a final goodbye, but because it proved that even under the weight of so many decades (and so many excesses), there was still a ritual to be fulfilled. And he fulfilled it. The riff of “Iron Man,” the heaviness of “Paranoid,” the cult of the dark sound born with them — all of that endured. And a large part of that is thanks to the figure Ozzy created: erratic and theatrical, but essential.

Ozzy wasn’t a singer I loved. But he was an artist I respected. And a symbol that will continue to resonate — with or without a mic in his hand.

Rest in peace, Prince of Darkness.