26 years ago today I saw the Phoenix stop of Ozzfest 99. I was 10 years old seeing these bands for the first time. Glad I saw Black Sabbath one last time in Birmingham a couple of weeks ago.
Reflecting on Ozzfest ’99: A 10-Year-Old’s First Concert, and a Bittersweet Farewell to Black Sabbath
Twenty-six years ago today—on July 22, 1999—I walked into the scorching Arizona sun as a wide-eyed 10-year-old to experience something that would leave an imprint on me for life: the Phoenix stop of Ozzfest ’99. It was my first concert ever, and what a way to start—an all-day, open-air metal festival headlined by none other than Black Sabbath. At the time, I didn’t fully grasp the weight of the moment. I was just a kid immersed in noise, sweat, and fire. But looking back now—especially after seeing Sabbath one last time in Birmingham, England, just a couple of weeks ago—it’s clearer than ever how much that day shaped my connection to music, identity, and life itself.
The Chaos and Magic of Ozzfest ’99
Ozzfest ’99 was loud, raw, and chaotic in the best possible way. The second stage was already thumping by the time we got there—unknown (to me at least) bands screaming into the desert heat, surrounded by circle pits and flannel. I remember the dust rising off the ground, mixing with the smell of sweat, sunscreen, and spilled beer.
Even as a kid, I could tell something special was happening. I didn’t know the names of all the bands then, but I’ve since filled in the blanks. That day featured System of a Down, Slipknot, Static-X, and Fear Factory on the second stage—bands that would eventually go on to reshape heavy music in the early 2000s. Imagine hearing Slipknot for the first time, not knowing who they were, just seeing nine masked maniacs pummeling the crowd with percussive insanity. It was terrifying and mesmerizing at the same time.
By the time the main stage acts rolled around, the crowd had grown into a sweaty, half-sunburned mass of metalheads, goths, punks, and kids like me who were just trying to take it all in. Deftones, Godsmack, and Primus tore through sets that felt like an assault on the senses. Rob Zombie brought his post-White Zombie shock-rock spectacle, complete with flames, monsters, and go-go dancers. It was theatrical and grotesque, and I loved every second.
But of course, the reason everyone was really there—and the reason Ozzfest existed in the first place—was for Black Sabbath.
My First Time Seeing Black Sabbath
Sabbath took the stage under the night sky, and even from my spot further back in the crowd (there was no way I was getting into the pit at age 10), I could feel the earth shift. The opening notes of “War Pigs” rolled across the desert like thunder. Ozzy, Tony Iommi, Geezer Butler, and Bill Ward—the original lineup—stood on stage like living legends, and even though I didn’t fully appreciate their legacy at the time, I could tell this was something massive.
Ozzy was the ringmaster, stumbling and howling, throwing buckets of water on the crowd, leading thousands of fans in chants of “Let me see those hands!” And we all obliged. I didn’t know all the lyrics, but I knew enough. “Paranoid,” “Iron Man,” “N.I.B.”—these songs had already soaked into my brain through old cassette tapes and late-night radio shows. Seeing them performed live, with the actual men who created them, was surreal.
I walked out of there changed. Tired, ears ringing, possibly a little sunburned—but hooked for life.
A Full-Circle Moment: Birmingham, 2025
Fast-forward 26 years, and I found myself in Birmingham, the very city where Black Sabbath was born, watching them perform one final time. It wasn’t quite the youthful chaos of ’99—this time it was more solemn, more emotional. The crowd was older, and so were the band members. But the music? Still devastating. Still transcendent.
I cried during “Children of the Grave.” Not just because of the song itself, but because of the weight of time, of memories, of knowing this was goodbye. For me, it felt like the end of an era that had started that July day in Phoenix, when I was just a kid being introduced to something bigger than I could comprehend.
Seeing Sabbath in Birmingham was the perfect bookend. That night, I thought about my younger self—sitting on my dad’s shoulders, clutching a bootleg Ozzfest T-shirt that was too big for me, watching fire shoot from the stage as Ozzy shouted into the night.
What It Meant Then, and What It Means Now
Ozzfest ’99 was more than just a concert. It was an awakening. It introduced me to music that challenged authority, embraced darkness, and gave voice to the outsider. It taught me that community doesn’t have to look one way; that people in black T-shirts and spiked bracelets can be kind, loyal, and deeply passionate.
And Sabbath… Sabbath was the blueprint. They created the foundation that all those other bands built upon. Seeing them at the beginning of my journey and then again at the end—it felt like life coming full circle.
Now, at 36, with graying edges in my beard and a Spotify playlist that still leans heavy into metal, I look back on Ozzfest ’99 as a formative moment. Not just for my love of music, but for understanding who I was and who I would become.
One Last Note
To anyone who’s ever brushed off a kid at a concert—don’t. That kid might grow up to carry those memories for decades. That was me, 26 years ago. And today, I’m still feeling the echo of those riffs, that sweat, that joy.
Thank you, Ozzfest. Thank you, Sabbath.
End of the beginning.
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