Rock Royalty Meets Modern Fire: Steven Tyler, Joe Perry, Yungblud & Nuno Bettencourt’s Unforgettable Ozzy Tribute at the 2025 VMAs
The 2025 MTV Video Music Awards turned into a joyous, full-throttle celebration of Ozzy Osbourne as generations of rock energy collided in the best way. Steven Tyler and Joe Perry brought the Aerosmith fire, Yungblud arrived with fearless swagger, and Nuno Bettencourt delivered virtuoso flair—together lighting up New York’s UBS Arena in a medley that felt like a victory lap for the Prince of Darkness. Ozzy’s passing on July 22, 2025, gave the moment added weight, but the mood was gloriously alive.
Before a single chord rang out, the heart of the night came first: Jack Osbourne stepped forward with Ozzy’s granddaughters—Pearl, Andy, Minnie, and Maple—each in Ozzy shirts, to introduce the tribute. It turned the arena into a giant living room of family and fans, a reminder that behind the myth is a dad and grandpa whose music stitched generations together.
Then the amps roared. Yungblud cracked open the set with “Crazy Train,” all adrenaline and grin, before pivoting into a stirring “Changes” that let the room breathe and feel. The sequence captured Ozzy’s spectrum—from riff-driven rush to aching reflection—setting the stage for something bigger to come, and building a wave that the entire arena surfed together.
The next moment was pure goosebumps: Tyler strode out and, with Perry on guitar, turned “Mama, I’m Coming Home” into a stadium-wide sing-along. Yungblud jumped back in on vocals, and the generational blend suddenly clicked into a single, soaring voice. It wasn’t just a cover—it felt like a promise that Ozzy’s songs will keep finding new lungs to live in.
A beautiful connective thread ran through the set thanks to Adam Wakeman, longtime keyboardist for Ozzy and Black Sabbath, whose piano lines anchored the dynamics and nodded to the original arrangements. With Bettencourt channeling precision and feel in equal measure, the tribute bridged eras—Sabbath roots, solo anthems, and a modern spark—without ever losing the pulse of what made these songs immortal.
As the final notes rang, Yungblud leaned into the mic and shouted what everyone felt: “Ozzy forever, man!” It was the night’s thesis in three words—grief transmuted into gratitude, legacy reframed as lifeblood. In that instant, cheers turned to something like joy, and the tribute crystallized as a celebration rather than a farewell.
Bettencourt’s guitar work was a love letter to Ozzy’s titans, tracing Randy Rhoads-style filigree with clean articulation and a wide grin. He threaded fire and finesse through the medley, honoring the parts fans know by heart while giving them a fresh, muscular polish. It felt like watching a craftsman restore a masterpiece in real time—reverent, detailed, and vibrant.
Tyler and Perry’s chemistry is its own kind of electricity: that ragged, elastic push-and-pull that turns a great song into a great moment. Tyler’s phrasing gave “Mama” both ache and uplift, while Perry’s touch balanced bite with warmth. The two of them standing shoulder to shoulder beside younger flames was the image of rock as a relay, baton steadily passed without any dimming of spark.
The room looked and sounded like a festival inside an arena—phones lifted, mouths wide open, strangers finishing lines for each other. Camera pans caught smiling faces in every direction, and by the second chorus you could hear the crowd echoing in sweet, unruly harmony. If Ozzy taught rock to unbutton its collar, this performance reminded it to throw the jacket entirely.
What made the tribute so joyful was how it refused to be somber. It honored a legend by doing what he loved—getting loud, being a little unruly, and letting melodies crack open hearts. Each transition—from the locomotive churn of “Crazy Train” to the reflective hush of “Changes,” to the catharsis of “Mama”—felt like a curated tour through Ozzy’s emotional register.
There was extra resonance in Yungblud’s presence. Ozzy and Sharon appeared in his “The Funeral” video in 2022, and Yungblud later gifted Ozzy a custom necklace before Black Sabbath’s final Birmingham show. After Ozzy’s death, he vowed to keep playing “Changes” live—a promise that seemed to glow in his eyes on VMA night.
Backstage and on the carpet, Bettencourt called the coming set a roof-raiser—and he wasn’t kidding. He predicted fans might shed “a few tears at the end,” and the arena proved him right. It’s the kind of honest, excited pre-show talk that tells you musicians aren’t just clocking in—they’re walking onstage with gratitude and love.
Aerosmith’s tribute carried its own note of kinship. In the days after Ozzy’s passing, the band shared a heartfelt remembrance, calling him “a voice that changed music forever.” That reverence was audible in the way Tyler leaned into every syllable and Perry shaped every chord—less like performers, more like friends raising a glass together in song.
The song choices were a masterstroke. “Crazy Train” brought the riff that launched a thousand air guitars; “Changes” revealed the reflective poet behind the larger-than-life icon; and “Mama, I’m Coming Home” stitched tenderness to triumph. Three windows into one artist, each opened by a different generation, all leading to the same view: a legacy that feels both towering and intimate.
By the time the lights faded, the tribute had done what Ozzy did best—turn chaos into communion. You could feel it in the smiles, in the hoarse voices, in the way strangers left the arena humming the same lines. The last chord wasn’t an ending; it was an invitation to keep singing, keep celebrating, and keep carrying Ozzy’s music wherever rock hearts gather.
And walking out into the night, the joy lingered. Fans traded favorite Ozzy memories, new listeners texted friends the songs they’d discovered, and somewhere a kid picked up a guitar because of what they’d just seen. If a great tribute measures how alive a legacy feels, then this one didn’t just pass—it soared, loud and loving, into tomorrow.
