All that stuff about heavy metal and hard rock, I don't

Hear the voice of Ozzy Osbourne, a figure born in the fire of sound and shadow, who proclaimed: “All that stuff about heavy metal and hard rock, I don’t subscribe to any of that. It’s all just music. I mean, the heavy metal from the Seventies sounds nothing like the stuff from the Eighties, and that sounds nothing like the stuff from the Nineties. Who’s to say what is and isn’t a certain type of music?” In these words he strikes down the walls of categories, declaring that what matters is not the label but the sound, not the name but the spirit.

He speaks as one who stood at the dawn of heavy metal, when Black Sabbath’s thunder shook the world and critics sought to name what they could not fully understand. They called it “metal,” “hard rock,” “doom,” yet to Ozzy, such words mattered little. For he knew that music was alive, ever-changing, defying the neat boxes that men tried to force upon it. He saw that what critics called metal in the Seventies grew into something new in the Eighties, more polished, more aggressive, and then again transformed in the Nineties with grunge and alternative currents flowing through it. To him, each age brought forth its own voice, yet all were bound by the same eternal pulse—sound.

This truth echoes across history. Consider Beethoven, whose early works were steeped in the classical tradition of Haydn and Mozart. But as his spirit raged, his compositions broke beyond those borders. Some called it romanticism, some called it madness. Yet Beethoven himself did not care for the labels—he cared only that his music spoke what words could not. So too with Ozzy: the artist’s duty is not to fit a mold, but to create, to pour forth truth through sound, even if it defies every name given to it.

Ozzy’s words carry also a warning: that categories can become prisons. When one clings too tightly to what is “metal” or “rock,” they risk missing the living essence of the art. The seeker of purity may sneer at change, but change is the very breath of music. The Seventies were not the Eighties, nor the Nineties, nor today—and yet each era speaks to its people with power. To say, “this is not real metal” or “this is not true rock” is to deny the freedom of creation. Ozzy, who has lived through all these eras, reminds us that the point is not to define, but to feel.

And what is true of music is true of life. Men and women often seek to name themselves, to fit into categories given by society—“this is who you are, this is what you must be.” But identity, like sound, shifts and evolves. To cling only to labels is to betray the fullness of being. Just as metal and rock have many forms, so too does the human spirit. Ozzy’s wisdom is that of freedom: allow yourself to change, to grow, to merge influences until what emerges is wholly your own.

The lesson, O seekers of tomorrow, is radiant: do not be enslaved by names. Do not let others dictate what your art must be, what your life must look like, or what category you belong to. Create boldly, live authentically, let your song shift with time. If in one season you sound like the Seventies, in another like the Eighties, in another like the Nineties—so be it. The labels will fade, but the truth of your expression endures.

So take Ozzy’s words as a torch for your own journey. Remember that music—and life itself—is not about boundaries, but about expression. Do not fight to be called “true” this or “real” that. Instead, fight to be true to yourself, to let your art, your voice, your being resound. For in the end, the world will argue about what to call it, but you will know it for what it is: life made sound, spirit made song. That is the eternal thing.