Ozzy Osbourne barks at the moon on November 15, 1983


Pull up a chair by the fire, because we're not talking about some gentle strumming of a folksy tune today. Oh no. We're diving headfirst into something that snarled and howled its way out of the darkness, a beast unleashed on November 15, 1983. The album Bark at the Moon, by Ozzy Osbourne. And I'm not afraid to make the controversial statement that this record featured the strongest songwriting from start to finish of any of the Black Sabbath frontman's solo efforts.

It's hard to comprehend the pressure Ozzy was under in the creation of his third studio album. He and his fans were still shaken by the senseless death of guitarist Randy Rhoads, whose monster riffs and melodic leads had been a major driver in establishing Ozzy as a solo act, quickly banishing the clouds of the Sabbath legacy from overshadowing his fresh new sonic direction. 

The loss of Rhoads changed Ozzy forever in ways that were very obvious. He seemed to age a decade or more overnight, his gait onstage becoming a stagger. Many times, for many years to come, he would become emotional when the topic of Rhoads was brought up in interviews. Despite the fact that he played no role in the tragedy, Ozzy clearly carried a sadness and guilt for the loss that Rhoads' family suffered, and took every opportunity to keep the guitarist's outsize legacy from fading. 

Given all of that renown and emotional baggage, one could argue that the axeman who would replace Rhoads would be under more pressure than the Prince of Darkness himself. Enter unknown guitar phenom Jake E. Lee. While he was an obscure choice to the metal fan base, Lee was highly respected among his California peers. How talented was Lee? He beat out George Lynch for the job, and rushed to get some of his best riffs on record before his friends in Ratt could carry out their designs to steal them.

Ozzy and Jake also had to contend with another Golden State rivalry. Ronnie James Dio had left Black Sabbath to launch a solo career just like Ozzy. Dio's debut, Holy Diver, had dropped earlier in the year and was already considered by many to be a landmark heavy metal recording. It featured another extremely talented guitar player, Vivian Campbell. Like Rhoads and Tony Iommi, Campbell had a sharp ear for a killer riff. And like Rhoads, he had the flash and chops to keep up with the Eddie Van Halen generation of shredders who would dominate the 80s metal soundscape. In fact, Campbell had been chosen over Lee for the job by Dio.

No pressure, right?

If Lee felt it - and he would admit later that he did - he never showed it. By the end of the opening title track, Lee had dismissed all doubts of his worthiness to fill the Rhoads vacuum. "Bark at the Moon" was propelled by a riff so deceptively complicated that he is still showing other guitarists how to play it correctly four decades later. Lee backloaded the song with not one, but two trademark solos. The main solo has become as iconic as the song's main riff. But could he play classical like Rhoads? The maestro answered that question definitively with his "Mr. Crowley"-esque outro licks. 

He was no Randy clone, however. Like Rhoads before him, and Zakk Wylde after, Lee had a distinctive playing style, in his case influenced largely by Tommy Bolin and jazz fusion artists.

Lee and bassist Bob Daisley managed to provide Ozzy with a rarity even Rhoads couldn't - an album with no filler tracks. Every song on Bark at the Moon could have been a single in one radio format or another, and every song merits "earworm" status. Ozzy's manager, Sharon Osbourne, had a strange way of thanking the men. Neither Lee nor Daisley would receive full credit for their contributions in the liner notes.

Ozzy was in the best vocal form of his career on this record, aided by the capable knob twirling of legendary producer Max Norman. He delivered his signature melodramatics on the occult-tinged numbers, but comfortably segued into Elton John territory on "So Tired." Don Airey composed an introduction to barnburner "Centre of Eternity" that rivals David Rosenthal's prelude to Rainbow's "Can't Let You Go" for best organ intro of the 80s. Daisley gives tracks like "Now You See It (Now You Don't)" and "Waiting for Darkness" propulsive bottom end. And double bass virtuoso Tommy Aldridge accents Lee's rhythm parts in all the right places.

The cover alone was enough to make a man check the locks twice: Ozzy crouched on that gnarled tree trunk, half-man, half-werewolf. Black claws, razor-sharp fangs, a full moon hanging in the sky like God’s own spotlight on the whole haunted forest.

Forty-two years ago today, the Prince of Darkness stood on a staircase in some English manor that probably had bodies bricked up in the cellar and howled at the moon until the moon howled back. And somewhere, in every small town with a dark stretch of back road, in every bedroom where the posters peeled at the corners and the parents didn’t understand, something heard him. Something woke up.

This wasn't an album for the faint of heart, not for the folks who preferred their music to be like a warm cup of cocoa on a snowy evening. No, Bark at the Moon was a shot of pure, unadulterated adrenaline, a jolt of primal fear mixed with exhilarating power. It reminded you that even in the most mundane of lives, there was a darkness, a wildness, just waiting for the full moon to rise and call it out.

It’s still out there. In the old record collections and the digital streams, the howl persists. Listen close tonight, if you dare. You might just hear the echo. And you might realize that some things, once released, never go back into the darkness.

Location: Rusper, Horsham RH12, UK

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