It sounds kind of strange, but Jail time was almost a good experience for me.
I think that when I did the Methods Of Mayhem record, some of the hip-hop stuff probably freaked a lot of Motley Crue fans out.
I don’t have a problem with my temper.
I don’t think anybody should ever touch anybody in anger, ever.
I’m really a cool, mellow guy. I’m not as crazy as everybody thinks.
When I’m single, I’m one guy, and when I’m in a relationship I’m totally another. They’re both a good time.
You know what’s weird, I just write to write, with no intention, I just write.
At 17, I signed a recording contract right out of high school, so I started touring and traveling the world. I sort of missed out on the college experience.
Being married to two extremely high profile, you know, actresses, and being sort of chased by, you know, paparazzi and people, it’s a whole different dynamic happens to a relationship when that happens. All of a sudden, things get a little crazy, a little crazy.
I’ve always loved the mixture of crushing live drums with a programmed groove, that really cool blend, like in the verse there’s a really funky drum beat that is programmed then it comes in to the chorus; you’ve got that enormous human feel where the band kicks in.
I don’t really put too much emphasis on what somebody else might think of it. Otherwise your putting limits on yourself.
Single’s fun – you don’t have to check in with your girl, but it’s not easy. I do get lonely.
I lived up on Kanan and Mulholland. It’s a bit of a drive, but once you get there, the horses, vineyards, it’s just so peaceful.
I still play but for some reason, I am having so much fun playing guitar and singing that I don’t really miss it because I’ve done it for so long like twenty-something years with Motley.
Whenever I write, I only write about what I know or what I have experienced or feeling.
We thought we had elevated animal behavior to an art form. But then we met Ozzy.
Fate, however, has a way of finding your vulnerabilities where you least expect them, illuminating them so that you realize how glaringly obvious they are, and then mercilessly driving a spike straight into their most delicate center.
I understood then why rock stars have such big egos: from the stage, the world is just one faceless, shirtless, obedient mass, as far as the eye can see.
Nowadays, I don’t believe in the Christian concept of a God who created people for the sole purpose of judging and punishing them. After all, if one of the commandments is “Thou shalt not kill,” does that make God a hypocrite when he does things like flooding the world or destroying Sodom and Gomorrah?
Those words – “Trust me, I’m a junkie” – should have been a clue right there.
But, unlike us, Ozzy had a restraint, a limit, a conscience, a brake. And that restraint came in the form of a homely, rotund little British woman whose very name sets lips trembling and knees knocking: Sharon Osbourne, a shitkicker and disciplinarian like no other we had ever met, a woman whose presence could in an instant send us reeling back to our childhood fear of authority.