Def Leppard Pay Tribute to Ozzy Osbourne With Black Sabbath’s “Changes”

A Night of Remembrance in Saratoga Springs

Last night in Saratoga Springs, New York, Def Leppard paused their show to honor one of heavy metal’s most legendary figures: Ozzy Osbourne. Just hours after news broke of Ozzy’s passing, frontman Joe Elliott addressed the crowd with heartfelt words before leading the band into a moving rendition of Black Sabbath’s “Changes.”

We all know just a few hours ago we lost our beloved Ozzy Osbourne, Elliott said from the stage. So tonight we’re celebrating Ozzy.

A Classic Song Revisited

“Changes” originally appeared on Black Sabbath’s 1972 album Vol. 4, showcasing a softer, more emotional side of the band. In 2003, Ozzy re-recorded the track as a duet with his daughter Kelly, revising the lyrics into a father-daughter ballad that became a chart hit worldwide. Def Leppard’s tribute highlighted the timeless power of the song while honoring the Prince of Darkness himself.

The Passing of a Legend

Ozzy Osbourne’s family confirmed his death in a statement on Tuesday morning (July 22):

It is with more sadness than mere words can convey that we have to report that our beloved Ozzy Osbourne has passed away this morning. He was with his family and surrounded by love. We ask everyone to respect our family privacy at this time.

No official cause of death has been released, though Osbourne had endured years of serious health struggles, including Parkinson’s disease, a dangerous fall in 2019, and complications from a 2003 quad-bike accident. He also battled COVID-19 three years ago, forcing him to cancel a number of planned tours.

Ozzy’s Final Bow

Just over two weeks before his passing, Ozzy gave his final performance with Black Sabbath at Villa Park in Birmingham, U.K. The hometown show drew over 40,000 fans in person and nearly six million more on livestream. Seated on a bat-adorned throne, Ozzy performed four Sabbath classics with the band and later delivered a solo set of his own. It was a fitting farewell for one of music’s most enduring and influential frontmen.

The Legacy of the Prince of Darkness

Diagnosed in 2003 with a rare genetic form of Parkinson’s known as Parkin 2, Ozzy lived with the disease for over two decades. Despite his health challenges, he remained dedicated to his fans, performing at the Commonwealth Games in 2022 and the NFL season opener halftime show later that year. His resilience, humor, and larger-than-life persona cemented his place as a cultural icon.

For millions around the world, Ozzy Osbourne was more than a performer—he was the embodiment of rock’s rebellious spirit. From the early days of Black Sabbath to his solo success, he forever changed the landscape of music.

Honoring a Legend

Def Leppard’s tribute was more than a cover — it was a reminder of Ozzy’s reach across genres, generations, and borders. As fans in Saratoga Springs lifted their voices with the band, it became clear: Ozzy Osbourne may have left this world, but his music and his spirit will echo forever.

You Missed

“AFTER 50 YEARS IN HOLLYWOOD, NOTHING PREPARED US FOR THIS.” — GOLDIE HAWN. The screening room was small. The lights dimmed. The film — Song Sung Blue — wasn’t even finished yet. Rough cuts. Missing scenes. No polish. Goldie sat next to Kurt. Just another early viewing. They’d done this hundreds of times. Then Kate Hudson appeared on screen. And something cracked. Goldie says it didn’t feel like watching her daughter act anymore. It felt like watching something rise to the surface — something private, something she wasn’t sure she was allowed to see. Without a word, she reached for Kurt’s hand. He was already reaching for hers. They cried. Not the kind of crying you do at premieres. The kind you haven’t done in decades. The kind that catches you sideways and leaves nowhere to hide. It wasn’t pride. Goldie keeps coming back to that word. It was recognition. Like meeting your child again, as a stranger, and realizing you didn’t know how deep she actually went. Song Sung Blue was supposed to be a film about music, about a husband-and-wife duo chasing a dream. But somewhere in those unfinished frames, it became something else for the people who raised Kate. No score yet. No final color. And somehow that made it hurt more — because there was nothing between them and what Kate was doing on that screen. Goldie hasn’t said which scene broke her. Kurt hasn’t either. But the people in that room say the silence afterward lasted a long, long time.

HE WAS A SHORT, IRISH-ROMANIAN KID FROM CHAGRIN FALLS, OHIO, WHOSE FATHER GROOMED POLO PONIES FOR A RICH MAN AND WHOSE MOTHER CLEANED OTHER PEOPLE’S HOUSES TO PUT FOOD ON THE TABLE. HE WAS DYSLEXIC IN AN ERA THAT HAD NO NAME FOR IT, AND THE OTHER KIDS LAUGHED AT HIM EVERY TIME THE TEACHER MADE HIM READ ALOUD. HE WANTED TO BE A JOCKEY. THE JOCKEYS TOLD HIM HE WAS TOO TALL. AND THIRTY YEARS LATER, HE WOULD STAND ON A SOUNDSTAGE IN HOLLYWOOD AND MAKE HARVEY KORMAN LAUGH SO HARD THE MAN WET HIS PANTS ON LIVE TELEVISION. He wasn’t supposed to make it. He was Thomas Daniel Conway, born in 1933 in Willoughby, Ohio, in the deepest part of the Great Depression. His father Dan was an Irish immigrant who groomed horses on a rich business owner’s estate. His mother Sophia worked as a cleaning woman and seamstress. The boy was baptized Toma — the Romanian version of Thomas — at a Romanian Orthodox church where, as a baby, he nearly crawled out the door before the priest could finish. Tim grew up in a house with beer stains on the kitchen ceiling. His father brewed his own beer and put in too much yeast, so the bottles exploded in the night and shot the caps straight up into the plaster. The Conways had no money for storebought beer and no money for a new ceiling either. Then came school. “In high school, and even in grade school, people couldn’t wait for me to get called on to read aloud because I would put words into sentences that were never there. They thought I was being funny, I guess, so they would laugh at me. And I just continued that through life.” He had dyslexia. Nobody knew what it was. So he turned what was supposed to humiliate him into a routine. He made the other kids laugh on purpose now, before they could laugh at him. By 18, he wanted to be a jockey like the men his father worked for. He was too tall. By 22, he was drafted into the U.S. Army. By 25, he was back in Cleveland writing skits between movie reruns at a local TV station, working with a wisecracking partner named Ernie Anderson — whose son Paul Thomas Anderson would one day direct Boogie Nights and There Will Be Blood. Then came 1961. A visiting comedienne named Rose Marie watched a tape of his sketches and refused to leave Cleveland until somebody put him on a plane to New York. By 1962, he was Ensign Parker on McHale’s Navy. By 1967, he was a recurring guest on a new variety show hosted by a redhead named Carol Burnett. He called his mother in Ohio to tell her. She told him: “Ken Shutts down at the hardware store is taking on new help. You should apply. That crap on TV isn’t going to last.” That crap lasted eleven years. He won six Emmys. He made Harvey Korman break character on national television so many times the bloopers became more famous than the sketches themselves. He told audiences across America: “They told me I was finished. I’m just getting started.” Then came his final years. Normal pressure hydrocephalus — water on the brain — slowly took the timing, then the words, then the man. His daughter Kelly and his second wife Charlene fought a public legal battle over his medical care while he lay unable to speak. He died on May 14, 2019, at 85. Some men chase the spotlight until it kills them. The ones who matter learn to make a roomful of strangers cry from laughing — even when they themselves can barely read the script. What Carol Burnett wrote on her Instagram the day he died — calling him “one in a million” — tells you everything about who he really was.