A NIGHT OF RESURRECTION AND REBUKE: THE VMA TRIBUTE TO OZZY OSBOURNE THAT DIVIDED ROCK LEGENDS
The MTV Video Music Awards are no stranger to spectacle, but this year’s show turned into something far more profound: a shrine for Ozzy Osbourne. The Prince of Darkness may no longer take the stage himself, but his shadow loomed large as YUNGBLUD, Nuno Bettencourt, Adam Wakeman, Steven Tyler, and Joe Perry gathered to pour both heart and fire into a performance that left fans weeping and cheering in equal measure.
From the moment the opening chords of Train thundered through the arena, it was clear this would not be just another award-show set piece. This was resurrection. It was memory and defiance bound together in sound. As the band shifted into Changes, the mood turned tender, almost prayer-like, before surging once more into the storm of Mama, I’m Coming Home. By then, the audience was on its feet, roaring and crying at once, swept up in what felt like one last echo of Ozzy himself.
Before the music began, there had been a moment of hushed reverence. Jack Osbourne stepped forward to deliver a short introduction. His words were simple but devastating: “I know for sure it would make him incredibly happy.” For a heartbeat, the room seemed to stop breathing. Then came the music, and with it, the weight of decades — the dangerous joy of Sabbath, the raw confessions of Ozzy’s solo years, the chaos and communion of his entire career distilled into one performance.
The tribute didn’t end in the arena. Almost instantly, clips lit up social media, racing across platforms with the velocity of wildfire. Fans called it one of the greatest VMA moments in years. For younger audiences, it was a crash course in why Ozzy mattered; for older ones, it was confirmation that his spirit still had the power to ignite. It was part memorial, part celebration, and entirely unforgettable.
But no great moment in rock seems to escape controversy. Within hours, Roger Waters — never one to bite his tongue — delivered his verdict. And it was brutal. “Didn’t think it was good at all,” he said, dismissing the performance with the bluntness of a hammer blow.
The backlash to his words was immediate. For fans, it felt like a gut punch. Here was a night they regarded as sacred, a night when grief and joy collided in harmony, casually torn down by one of rock’s most infamous voices. Social media turned volatile, with defenders of the tribute clashing against Waters’ supporters. Was he simply voicing an honest opinion, or had he crossed a line by dismissing a performance that clearly meant so much to so many?
What lingers now is not just the memory of a spectacular tribute, but the unease of division. On one side, the VMA stage became a cathedral of sound, where Ozzy’s influence was honored with sweat, screams, and reverence. On the other, a legend of another era cast doubt on the entire event, reopening old wounds about respect, rivalry, and the complicated ways rock icons treat one another.
In the end, perhaps the contradiction is fitting. Ozzy himself lived his life at the crossroads of chaos and communion, adored by many, dismissed by some, but never ignored. The VMA tribute carried his spirit because it did not smooth over the edges — it let them cut. And as fans replay those clips, as debates rage online, one truth remains unshaken: Ozzy Osbourne’s legacy cannot be silenced.
The question that remains is not whether the tribute mattered. It did. The question is why Roger Waters — and perhaps others — cannot let Ozzy rest in peace, celebrated without caveat, remembered without resistance.