BACK TO THE BEGINNING
By Ozzy Osbourne
Alright, you lot. It’s me, Ozzy. Yeah, that one. The madman, the Prince of f**king Darkness. And I’ve got something to tell you. It’s not every day I sit down to write anything longer than a text message, but this one’s different. I’ve gone and written a bloody book—yeah, a real one, with pages and everything. It’s called Back to the Beginning, and it’s out now.
This book isn’t just another rock ’n’ roll tell-all. It’s a love letter to the place where it all started—Birmingham. The real home of heavy metal, and my home from the very start. It’s where I was born, where I caused all sorts of chaos, and where I found my voice. Literally. I might’ve sung in every bloody arena on Earth, but Brum is the only place that truly feels like home.
Now, some of you might be thinking, “Another Ozzy book? Didn’t he already write one of those?” And yeah, I did—I’ve spilled the beans before. But this one’s different. This ain’t just about drugs and bats and all the mental stuff (though there’s still a bit of that—don’t worry). Back to the Beginning is about going full circle. It’s about ending where I started, standing on stage in Birmingham one last time, and finally saying goodbye—properly.
When I stood up there for my retirement show in Brum, with the crowd roaring like it was 1970 all over again, it hit me. Not just the nostalgia—but the gratitude. I thought, “Bloody hell, I’m still here. Still alive. Still breathing. Still standing.” I’ve had more lives than a cat on acid, and somehow, I made it back home.
So this book is about the journey. From working-class kid in Aston, growing up skint, nicking stuff to survive… to starting Black Sabbath with Tony, Geezer, and Bill in a smoky little rehearsal room. We didn’t have a clue what we were doing, but we had something real. And when we hit that first note of “Black Sabbath,” the thunder rolled, and the world’s never been the same since.
You’ll read stories you’ve never heard before—ones I couldn’t tell until now. Stuff about me and my old man, about the first time I realised I had something worth saying. About walking past the factory gates knowing I couldn’t spend my life behind them. About the first riffs, the first fights, the first gigs where everything clicked.
But it’s not just my story. It’s your story too. All of you who’ve been with me from the beginning, or jumped on board somewhere down the road—you’re all a part of this madness. And Birmingham, she’s the star of the show. She made me who I am. She gave me my roots and my rage. And when the time came to say goodbye, I knew it had to be there. No bloody Hollywood send-off for me. I wanted the soot, the soul, and the steel of home.
Writing this book was harder than I thought. I mean, I’m not Shakespeare, am I? But I dug deep. I laughed, I cried, I had a few drinks (just kidding—sort of). Sharon kept me on track, God bless her. Without her, I’d probably have written one page and wandered off to watch The Chase. But I’m glad I stuck with it. Because it felt good. Real good. Like therapy, but with more swearing.
There’s some pain in these pages too. I’ve lost mates. I’ve lost family. I’ve lost parts of myself over the years. But music—our music—was always there to pull me back. Sabbath saved my life. My fans saved my soul. And this book, weirdly enough, reminded me why I did it all in the first place.
I don’t know how many more tours I’ve got in me. My body’s had more hardware than the Millennium Falcon, and I walk like Frankenstein’s little brother some days. But my heart’s still in it. And even if I never step on stage again, this book is my way of making peace with it all. Telling the story one last time, in my own words, before the curtain truly drops.
So if you’ve ever cranked up “Paranoid” or screamed “Crazy Train” at the top of your lungs… if you’ve ever felt lost and found your way back through a riff or a lyric… if you’ve ever been kicked around by life but kept on swinging—this book’s for you. From the bottom of my bat-loving heart, thank you. For riding this wild train with me, all the way back to where it began.
And now, I’m off for a cuppa. Maybe even a biscuit. Or a nap. Probably all three.
All aboard one last time.
Love,
Ozzy
