Jake E. Lee has always been one of heavy metal’s most candid storytellers. The former Ozzy Osbourne guitarist, known for his fierce riffs and refusal to conform to the era’s flashiest trends, recently looked back on a defining moment in his career: Lars Ulrich, drummer of Metallica, personally praising his work on *The Ultimate Sin*. For Lee, it wasn’t just validation from a peer—it was recognition from a band that was about to reshape the entire landscape of heavy music.
“After *The Ultimate Sin* came out, Lars came up to me and he said, ‘Thank you and congratulations. *The Ultimate Sin* is the heaviest song that Ozzy’s ever done, I love it,’” Lee recalled. “Shit, this coming from Metallica? So yeah, it was still heavy, it was still dark.”
That compliment carried extra weight in 1986. Metallica, though still on the rise at the time, were already developing a reputation as a band that embodied raw power and unfiltered aggression. For Ulrich to tip his hat to Lee’s contribution in Ozzy’s catalog meant that *The Ultimate Sin*—often remembered for its polished production and glam-era aesthetics—still carried the kind of menace and heaviness that even thrash titans respected.
Lee explained that he was well aware of Metallica before they ever opened for Ozzy on tour. “No, I knew who Metallica was. But they were different. I really liked it. Especially with Cliff \[Burton, bass]—nothing against any of the bass players, but there was magic. I’m glad I got to see them all those times with Cliff.” His words carried the bittersweet tone of someone who understood how singular that era of Metallica was, marked by Burton’s virtuosity and spirit.
The contrast between Ozzy’s presentation and Metallica’s raw, almost punk-like authenticity was not lost on Lee. During *The Ultimate Sin* tour, image mattered as much as music in Ozzy’s camp. Sharon Osbourne was heavily involved in the band’s look, and every member had to wear designer stage clothes created to project an otherworldly presence. “That’s where we had to dress a certain way, you know? Ozzy had that gold glitter big-shouldered thing going and he had a guy that made clothes for everybody. You couldn’t dress yourself if you were in Ozzy. Not back then.”
For a guitarist whose natural style leaned toward simplicity and grit, the theatrical costumes felt uncomfortable. “So you had to go to the clothing designer and say what you wanted, and I remember seeing Ozzy’s outfit, seeing the bass player’s, and I was like, ‘Damn, if I have to wear this shit can you please just mute it down?’” Lee admitted. “Most of my shit is black and white, there’s no glitter. And I still felt uncomfortable.”
Sharon Osbourne’s philosophy was clear: the band had to stand apart from the audience, visually larger than life. “I remember one of Sharon’s things was, ‘You can’t dress like the punters. You can’t be on stage and look like you could also be in the front row.’ When I joined, she told me that. I remembered that, but I didn’t think we had to go that far.”
Against that backdrop of sequins and stage design, Metallica appeared like a force from another planet—or perhaps from the streets. With nothing more than jeans, t-shirts, and raw fury, they demolished audiences with their speed, aggression, and authenticity. To Lee, their lack of artifice wasn’t a weakness; it was a statement. “I love that Metallica went out in jeans and t-shirts and just fucking tore it up. I thought that was awesome. It had a punk attitude to it.”
The juxtaposition of Ozzy’s glittering stage spectacle and Metallica’s stripped-down energy illustrated a cultural divide within heavy music in the mid-1980s. On one hand, Ozzy’s camp leaned into theatrics and larger-than-life presentation, designed to keep his brand at the forefront of MTV and arena rock. On the other, Metallica represented a new generation that rejected polish in favor of raw, uncompromising honesty.
For Lee, caught in the middle, the admiration he received from Lars Ulrich was more than just a kind word—it was validation that his contributions held weight in the eyes of the very musicians who were pushing heavy music into uncharted territory. Despite the awkward stage costumes and image-driven demands of the *Ultimate Sin* era, his riffs carried an authenticity that even Metallica, the very embodiment of heaviness, could acknowledge.
Looking back, Lee’s reflections reveal the duality of that time: the struggle between image and substance, the awkwardness of glam-era expectations, and the timeless respect between musicians who recognized each other’s artistry. It also highlights Lee’s honesty and unwillingness to romanticize the past. He doesn’t just share the victories; he shares the discomfort, the compromises, and the admiration he had for a younger band that reminded him what raw energy could do.
In the end, Jake E. Lee’s story about Lars Ulrich’s praise is more than a fun anecdote—it’s a reminder of how moments of respect between artists can outshine glitter, costumes, and even the controversies that defined an era. For Lee, it wasn’t about fashion or spectacle; it was about the music being heavy, dark, and real. And on that front, both Ozzy Osbourne and Metallica delivered in their own distinct ways.
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