Ozzy Osbourne Tribute at VMAs 2025 Unites Steven Tyler, Joe Perry, Nuno Bettencourt and Yungblud

Steven Tyler’s return, a cross from Ozzy, and a VMAs stage built for farewell

Steven Tyler walked back onstage at the MTV VMAs for the first time since Aerosmith stepped away from touring, and he did it for one person: Ozzy Osbourne. The show’s marquee tribute to the heavy metal pioneer, who died in July at 76 after cardiac arrest, pulled together a rare mix of rock generations—Tyler, Joe Perry, Nuno Bettencourt, and Yungblud—to say goodbye in the loudest, most loving way the VMAs know how.

Jack Osbourne and his four children set the tone before a single note rang out. Speaking briefly, they thanked fans for the flood of messages since Ozzy’s passing and asked the room to celebrate, not mourn. It felt like a family moment shared with the entire music world—intimate, steady, and raw.

Yungblud took the first swing, snapping the room to attention with “Crazy Train,” the riff that turned Ozzy’s solo career into a global phenomenon. Before the downbeat, cameras caught him touch and kiss a small cross at his neck—a necklace Ozzy had given him. He mouthed a quick dedication, then the band hit hard. Bettencourt channeled the song’s fearless energy, locking into the tremolo-picked bridge and the sleek solo that first made Randy Rhoads a legend.

The mood shifted fast. Yungblud moved into “Changes,” the Sabbath ballad that has shadowed Ozzy’s public and private life for decades. The song’s history runs deep—originally on Black Sabbath’s 1972 Vol. 4, then reborn in 2003 when Ozzy and his daughter Kelly turned it into a UK No. 1 duet. Here, the VMAs leaned into silence. Fewer lights, slower tempo, Yungblud’s vocals out front. You could hear the room breathe.

Then came the handoff. Tyler and Perry emerged to join the finale, “Mama, I’m Coming Home,” from Ozzy’s 1991 album No More Tears—a song he co-wrote with Lemmy Kilmister that became one of his most enduring radio hits. Tyler eased into the melody with that worn-in rasp, Perry’s guitar sat just behind his vocal line, and Bettencourt threaded the leads. It was a clean, respectful take—no overplaying, no showboating—just three pros shaping one last wave of warmth over a song built like a letter and read like a promise.

• Crazy Train — Yungblud, with Nuno Bettencourt on guitar
• Changes — Yungblud, stripped-back arrangement
• Mama, I’m Coming Home — Steven Tyler, Joe Perry, Yungblud, with Bettencourt

For Tyler, the moment carried extra weight. It was his first high-profile performance since Aerosmith retired from the road more than a year ago. For Perry, it was a reunion under the lights with an old friend at stake. And for Bettencourt—who spent time in Ozzy’s orbit and appeared at his final shows—the tribute doubled as duty and thanks.

The VMAs stage didn’t try to out-weird Ozzy. It didn’t need to. The medley made the point: the bratty snarl of “Crazy Train,” the ache of “Changes,” and the homebound pull of “Mama, I’m Coming Home.” Three slices of a career that cut from primal shock to soft confession and back again.

Why this tribute mattered—and how it fit Ozzy’s long shadow

Ozzy’s arc still feels unreal. Birmingham kid. Black Sabbath’s frontman. The godfather of a sound that kept mutating—doom, thrash, grunge, nu-metal—and always traced back to Sabbath’s iron skeleton. Then the solo years, starting with Blizzard of Ozz, brought a second life just as fierce, and sometimes even more famous.

His catalog is cultural memory at this point. “Paranoid” and “Iron Man” made riffs into language. “Crazy Train” turned a single tremolo lick into a stadium chant. “Mama, I’m Coming Home” gave him one of his most loved ballads, decades before Ozzy’s reputation softened on reality TV. And “Changes” kept resurfacing whenever his family stepped into the spotlight.

There’s also the showman side—the “Prince of Darkness” persona that drew as much fascination as the music. That character sold out arenas, fueled Ozzfest, and moved a younger wave of bands into the mainstream. If you came up on Slipknot, System of a Down, or Disturbed, you passed through Ozzy’s tent. Ozzfest was a pipeline, a loud one, and for a lot of acts it was their first national stage.

Ozzy’s later years were a tug of war between his body and his will. He spoke openly about Parkinson’s in 2020, pushed through spinal surgeries, and canceled tours he badly wanted to finish. Even so, the work kept coming. In 2023 he won two Grammys off Patient Number 9, proof he could still rally the best in rock around him and land something powerful.

The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame recognized both halves of his career—first with Black Sabbath in 2006, and again as a solo artist in the Hall’s 2024 class. That rare double underscores how few frontmen carry two legacies that stand on their own.

Yungblud’s role tonight bridged all of that. He has paid public respect to Ozzy for years and even shared screen time with him, so his lead vocal on the opener and the ballad wasn’t stunt casting. It linked Ozzy’s early rebellion to a cohort raised on streaming and social feeds, without sanding off the edges.

Tyler and Perry’s presence hit a different nerve. They come from Ozzy’s generation of lifers—the ones who dragged rock’s biggest stages into arenas and then into decades. Seeing Tyler step out after Aerosmith called time on touring, and do it to honor a peer, made the room feel small in a good way. Rival eras, shared ground.

And Bettencourt’s guitar tied the set together. His tone nodded to Ozzy’s long line of virtuosos—Randy Rhoads, Jake E. Lee, Zakk Wylde—without imitating any one of them. It was the right choice for a memorial: salute the lineage, keep your voice.

Tributes can turn messy fast—too many guests, too much spectacle, not enough song. This one stayed simple. It was a family introduction, a three-song story, and a bow. For a man who made chaos his stagecraft, the restraint felt perfect. It let the songs do what they’ve always done for Ozzy’s fans: steady the room, then shake it.

As the applause stretched, the takeaway was plain. The VMAs built a moment big enough for loss and loud enough for Ozzy. And for a few minutes, across generations and guitar tones and cracked voices, it sounded like he was right there, heading back down the ramp, one last time, arms wide, grinning.