“Well, it's one louder, isn’t it?” – Nigel Tufnel

Alright, now pay attention.

You didn’t wash up here looking for comfort. You’re here because there’s still static in your veins, because your heart kicks every time a needle hits wax and the world tilts sideways. You’re not chasing safety—you’re chasing that primal roar, the one that rattles your ribs and sets your blood on fire. The Attitude isn’t here to hand out participation ribbons. We’re here to blow the doors off, summon the ghosts, and yank the ugly, beautiful truth out by its frayed, sparking guitar cable.

We don’t shine trophies—we smash ‘em. We’re not here to curate the museum of rock—we’re here to torch mediocrity and dance in the ashes. This is a syringe full of distortion straight to the vein, a bare-knuckle brawl between history and heresy. With Damone riding shotgun, the bar isn’t just high—it’s dangling from the rafters, and the only way up is to climb, bleed, and howl.

Sure, we tip our hats to the giants—Zeppelin’s thunderstorm strut, Van Halen’s sugar-rush pyrotechnics, the punk kids turning church basements into riot zones and flipping the bird to every corporate handshake. But we don’t light candles in the mausoleum of rock. We break in, shatter the glass, and steal the flame—because we know there’s still something in there that burns.

You want the guts behind the grooves? The sin behind the solos? The reason every cracked snare and shattered tooth matters more than a million empty streams? That’s what you get here. Not the myth embalmed—the myth on fire. No PR gloss. No algorithmic gruel. Just the raw, unfiltered truth, from alleyway confessions to backstage brawls.

If you still believe a song can hit like a car crash and save you like a midnight confession…

Pour one. Light whatever you’ve got left to burn.
And crank it until the walls shake.

Because this isn’t a blog.
This is your front-row ticket to the only thing that ever mattered.

That’s The Attitude.

Wussies. —Damone

Concert poster featuring Tom Petty with a guitar, with text for "Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers" and "Damn the Torpedoes."

Illustration of a woman with blonde hair wearing a red shirt and jeans, riding a skateboard, reaching out with one hand, in front of a brick wall with a record player and guitar in the background.

Illustration of a rock musician with curly hair passionately playing an electric guitar on stage, with the text 'VAN HALEN' below.

🦇OZZY OSBOURNE: I ATE A BAT

🦇 Here’s the deal, kid

Some stories get told at you; Ozzy’s stories jump off the stage, bite you on the neck, and ask if you’ve got any more. And now the Prince of Darkness has left the building for good—RIP Ozzy Osbourne (1948–2025). Official word says a cardiac arrest took him on July 22, 2025, with coronary artery disease and Parkinson’s riding shotgun. He went out surrounded by family, the streets of Birmingham flooding with mourners like a final crowd-surf across a whole city. That’s not a curtain call—that’s a legend closing the bar.

🦇 The Story

1982. Ozzy’s onstage, the amps are hot, the night is weirder than usual. A fan tosses what looks like a rubber bat. Ozzy, being Ozzy, treats it like a prop — and then there’s the unmistakable flavor of not rubber. Head comes off, venue loses its mind, rock history gets another chapter written in blood and disbelief. Rabies shots followed. So did the myth: the day a man became a species of his own. (And yeah, he always said he thought it was a toy until it wasn’t.)

🦇 Published Accounts

He’s retold it in docs and interviews for decades, always with that half-shrug, half-grin that says, “Kid, I was there and I still don’t believe it.” But the book on Ozzy doesn’t end with the bat. The death certificate says cardiac arrest; contributing villains: acute myocardial infarction, coronary artery disease, and Parkinson’s with autonomic dysfunction. Final show with the Sabbath originals landed July 5, 2025 in Birmingham—one last thunderclap before the silence.

🦇 Why It Sticks

Because Ozzy turned excess into ethos. The bat, the ants, the bans, the reality TV chaos—every misadventure just reinforced the central truth: he was all in. No half-measures, no safe mode. The myth holds because the music backs it up: a voice that sounds like midnight learning to sing, riffs that made entire neighborhoods heavier, and a cackle that told you the fun part was the danger.

🦇 Damone’s Take

Here’s the gospel: lots of frontmen act immortal until the lights come up. Ozzy made mortality blink first. Even in the end, the man stages a farewell with his old crew, tips his crown to Birmingham, and exits like a professional chaos technician. If you measure a life in decibels and goosebumps, Ozzy’s ledger is paid in full—with interest and scorch marks. Rest easy, legend. The dark doesn’t feel so scary when it sounds like you.

🎵 Soundtrack to the Madness

🎵 “Mr. Crowley” – Ozzy Osbourne
🎵 “Bark at the Moon” – Ozzy Osbourne
🎵 “Crazy Train” – Ozzy Osbourne
🎵 “Paranoid” – Black Sabbath

🦇 Filed Under

Rock Mythology Stage Mayhem Prince of Darkness RIP Legends

🦇 Tell Damone What You Heard

Got your own Ozzy sighting? A club story that still rattles the pint glasses? Drop it. We’ll pour one out, crank the volume, and let the bat myth fly another night.

That’s the attitude. —Damone

“This riff goes to eleven.” – Nigel Tufnel

A vintage concert poster with the title 'Cheap Trick at Budokan' depicting two smiling women, one singing into a microphone and the other laughing, in a stylized, colorful, and retro art style.

A vintage poster for the TV show 'The Police,' featuring three male characters' faces and a digital clock display showing 3:41:39, with the caption 'Ghost in the Machine'.

Black and white poster featuring three bearded men with hats and sunglasses, a small band member playing guitar, a cactus, a moon, and a vintage truck, with the text 'ZZ Top That Little Band From Texas'.

Illustration of Joan Jett playing an electric guitar, surrounded by flames and lightning bolts, with bold text "JOAN JETT & THE BLACKHEARTS" at the top and bottom.

THE DAMONE 5-POINT MANIFESTO FOR MUSIC FREAKS, NOT TOURISTS

1. Know the Roots, Worship the Weird

Nobody gets a free pass in the church of noise. If you want in, you earn it in the trenches—digging through liner notes, chasing the ghosts of garage bands and heartbreak poets who bled so you could feel something.
No skipping to the hits. If you can’t rattle off three B-sides without checking your phone, Damone’s got a glare sharp enough to slice vinyl.

2. Put Your Cash Where the Crash Is

Spotify streams don’t keep the lights on. You want to keep rock alive? Buy the damn ticket, grab the vinyl, tip the merch wizard hustling shirts from a cardboard box.
Your Instagram story won’t pay for new guitar strings or a drummer’s rent.
And if you’re whining about ticket prices, remember: these bands are feeding their cats and keeping their amps out of hock with every dollar you drop.

3. No Shallow Swimmers

Surface-level fans get swept out with the tide. If you’re here for the Top 5, you’re already lost.
Dive deep—bootlegs, demos, the song that makes everyone else leave the room. Find the track that makes your friends question your sanity.
That’s where the marrow is. Poseurs float; lifers drown and come up grinning.

4. Spread the Gospel, Not the Garbage

You’re here to preach, not gossip. Share the records that saved your life, the basement tapes, the anthems that never got a sniff of the charts.
Don’t waste oxygen on drama—let the music do the talking.
Damone’s Law: If you open your mouth, it better be to sing along or shout about something that matters.

5. Stay Hungry, Stay Loud

Comfort is the enemy. The second you think you’ve heard it all, you’re already halfway to the grave.
Keep chasing the next fix—ears wide, heart raw, volume permanently pinned.
This isn’t a hobby; it’s a chronic condition. You’re in until the speakers blow and the lights go out.

⚡️The Fine Print (Read or Be Judged)

Break these commandments and Damone will snatch your air guitar, torch your playlist, and demand you come back louder, weirder, and realer—
because that’s what true fans do: hold each other to the flame and never let the music die easy.