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Gonzo Report: Ozzy and Angus tributes rock out at the Ramona Mainstage
A bloody nose presaged a bloody good time
“Being in the military, and going overseas, I heard a lot of AC/DC and Ozzy music, and it kept the spirit up."
After Ozzy Osbourne was fired from Black Sabbath in 1979, he launched one of the most successful solo careers in music history. The stories of his rock-star antics — snorting ants, licking up his own piss, and biting the head off a bat — have passed into legend. Oh, and do you remember the time he was arrested (while wearing a green dress) for taking a drunken squirt on the Alamo? This move landed him a ten-year ban from performing at the historic site. If all that isn’t rock and roll, you explain to me what is.
But with the His Ozzness the Prince of Darkness set to play his final show this coming July, it’s hard not to wonder if it’s another sign of rock's long-rumored demise. Then again, maybe the truth is that great rock acts never die, not as long as there are tribute bands ready to catch the torch thrown by failing hands. I was fortunate enough to see tribute band Mr. Crowley play at the Ramona Mainstage on a recent Friday night. I had seen them at the same venue a few years ago, albeit with a different ersatz Ozzy. They played "Crazy Train" three times in one show. This time, they squared off against AC/DC cover band Noise Pollution in a duel that left my eardrums as trashed as a post-show hotel room.
I woke up the morning of the show choking on my own blood, thanks to a nose that tends to bleed when the air gets too dry. “It looks like I ate the head off a bat like Ozzy,” I thought as I cleaned myself up in the mirror. I smiled: it somehow seemed like a bright red portent of good times to come.
“I think I’m going to get a Buttery Nipple,” one woman told her two friends as we stood in line. The gals looked back at me and giggled. “Don’t mind us, we like to get a little crazy when we get together.” The woman then went on to tell me she and her friends had graduated from high school sometime in the ‘70s, and that she had a shrine devoted to Ozzy at home and a license plate referencing him on her car. Team Ozzy had gotten older, but they were not going gentle into that good night.
When I walked into Ramona’s crown jewel, my already-tender nostrils were freshly pummeled by the heavy smell of Jager-bombs and questionable perfume. In terms of band accoutrements, the bands were evenly matched. And although it was technically a battle, most of the locals seemed like they were just glad to be out listening to live music. The event was sponsored by Vettix, and a heavy grip of veterans were in tow. “Being in the military,” said Joe from Ramona, “and going overseas, I heard a lot of AC/DC and Ozzy music, and it kept the spirit up. That’s how I got into rock and roll, especially heavy metal.”
During the Noise Pollution set, pseudo-Angus Young ran around the stage, duckwalking in classic Angus fashion. Then he tore off his shirt and ran around the house, playing amid the crowd. Back on stage, he did the Dying Bug (a move that involves dropping to the floor and spinning around on your side like a mad, Raidsmacked cockroach). As he did so, his guitar strap broke, causing a small delay in the show. I wondered if that had ever happened to Original Angus.
Next to me, a dude heavily resembling Stone Cold Steve Austin who was wearing an AC/DC shirt kept shouting, “Louder! Louder! Louder!” as he guzzled a 32-ounce beer.
“That guy’s got the spirit,” frontman for Noise Pollution pointed out.
“Shut the fuck up and play!” Stone Cold Steve Austin barked back. I worried that if Angus didn’t get his strap fixed soon, it would be Stone Cold Stunners for all. I’d already spilled enough blood for one day, I thought. Fortunately, tribute Angus was able to secure another strap from tribute Zakk Wylde before the two bands got together on stage to play a combined medley of “Highway to Hell” and “Flying High Again." I looked back over at Stone Cold, who was happily banging away at a set of air drums. Everyone leave that man alone.
When I went to wash my hands in the bathroom before leaving, I found that only one sink worked and there wasn’t any soap. “Welcome to Ramona,” slurred the guy at the urinal. My sentiments exactly.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Gonzo Report: Ozzy and Angus tributes rock out at the Ramona Mainstage
A bloody nose presaged a bloody good time
Gonzo Report: Ozzy and Angus tributes rock out at the Ramona Mainstage
A bloody nose presaged a bloody good time
“Being in the military, and going overseas, I heard a lot of AC/DC and Ozzy music, and it kept the spirit up."
After Ozzy Osbourne was fired from Black Sabbath in 1979, he launched one of the most successful solo careers in music history. The stories of his rock-star antics — snorting ants, licking up his own piss, and biting the head off a bat — have passed into legend. Oh, and do you remember the time he was arrested (while wearing a green dress) for taking a drunken squirt on the Alamo? This move landed him a ten-year ban from performing at the historic site. If all that isn’t rock and roll, you explain to me what is.
But with the His Ozzness the Prince of Darkness set to play his final show this coming July, it’s hard not to wonder if it’s another sign of rock's long-rumored demise. Then again, maybe the truth is that great rock acts never die, not as long as there are tribute bands ready to catch the torch thrown by failing hands. I was fortunate enough to see tribute band Mr. Crowley play at the Ramona Mainstage on a recent Friday night. I had seen them at the same venue a few years ago, albeit with a different ersatz Ozzy. They played "Crazy Train" three times in one show. This time, they squared off against AC/DC cover band Noise Pollution in a duel that left my eardrums as trashed as a post-show hotel room.
I woke up the morning of the show choking on my own blood, thanks to a nose that tends to bleed when the air gets too dry. “It looks like I ate the head off a bat like Ozzy,” I thought as I cleaned myself up in the mirror. I smiled: it somehow seemed like a bright red portent of good times to come.
“I think I’m going to get a Buttery Nipple,” one woman told her two friends as we stood in line. The gals looked back at me and giggled. “Don’t mind us, we like to get a little crazy when we get together.” The woman then went on to tell me she and her friends had graduated from high school sometime in the ‘70s, and that she had a shrine devoted to Ozzy at home and a license plate referencing him on her car. Team Ozzy had gotten older, but they were not going gentle into that good night.
When I walked into Ramona’s crown jewel, my already-tender nostrils were freshly pummeled by the heavy smell of Jager-bombs and questionable perfume. In terms of band accoutrements, the bands were evenly matched. And although it was technically a battle, most of the locals seemed like they were just glad to be out listening to live music. The event was sponsored by Vettix, and a heavy grip of veterans were in tow. “Being in the military,” said Joe from Ramona, “and going overseas, I heard a lot of AC/DC and Ozzy music, and it kept the spirit up. That’s how I got into rock and roll, especially heavy metal.”
During the Noise Pollution set, pseudo-Angus Young ran around the stage, duckwalking in classic Angus fashion. Then he tore off his shirt and ran around the house, playing amid the crowd. Back on stage, he did the Dying Bug (a move that involves dropping to the floor and spinning around on your side like a mad, Raidsmacked cockroach). As he did so, his guitar strap broke, causing a small delay in the show. I wondered if that had ever happened to Original Angus.
Next to me, a dude heavily resembling Stone Cold Steve Austin who was wearing an AC/DC shirt kept shouting, “Louder! Louder! Louder!” as he guzzled a 32-ounce beer.
“That guy’s got the spirit,” frontman for Noise Pollution pointed out.
“Shut the fuck up and play!” Stone Cold Steve Austin barked back. I worried that if Angus didn’t get his strap fixed soon, it would be Stone Cold Stunners for all. I’d already spilled enough blood for one day, I thought. Fortunately, tribute Angus was able to secure another strap from tribute Zakk Wylde before the two bands got together on stage to play a combined medley of “Highway to Hell” and “Flying High Again." I looked back over at Stone Cold, who was happily banging away at a set of air drums. Everyone leave that man alone.
When I went to wash my hands in the bathroom before leaving, I found that only one sink worked and there wasn’t any soap. “Welcome to Ramona,” slurred the guy at the urinal. My sentiments exactly.
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