Ozzy’s Ex-Drummer Lee Kerslake DEAD at 73 — Years After BEGGING for Credit & Getting Ghosted

Ladies and gentlemen, polish your cymbals and clutch your drumsticks, because the rock ‘n’ roll afterlife just got one hell of a percussionist.

Lee Kerslake, the legendary drummer who powered Uriah Heep through the 1970s and famously survived Ozzy Osbourne’s whirlwind solo years, has officially traded his earthly kit for a celestial one at the age of 73.

And while the news of his death should have been met with solemn candlelit vigils and respectful nods from fellow musicians, the world of rock tabloids decided instead to turn his passing into the most over-the-top farewell tour since Elvis allegedly left the building.

Because when a man who once battled cancer, lawsuits, and Ozzy’s questionable sobriety finally exits the stage, you can bet the media is going to treat it like the end of Avengers: Endgame.

First things first, let’s address the elephant—or perhaps the bat—in the room.

Yes, Ozzy Osbourne himself paid tribute to his fallen drummer.

And yes, the irony of Ozzy outliving another bandmate is not lost on anyone.

Fans online joked that the Grim Reaper has tried to book Ozzy multiple times but keeps getting distracted by Sharon’s management contracts.

One fake fan account even tweeted, “Lee Kerslake died at 73, Ozzy is still walking around mumbling to pigeons at 75.

Explain THAT science. ”

Conspiracy theorists are already hard at work, insisting Ozzy sold his soul in the ‘70s and that poor Lee was just another casualty of the unholy deal.

But make no mistake: Lee Kerslake wasn’t just “Ozzy’s drummer. ”

He was a rock warhorse who thrashed his way into music history.

Known as “The Bear” for his booming power and general cuddly-but-terrifying vibe, Kerslake helped define Uriah Heep’s sound back when prog rock still thought capes were a valid fashion choice.

His drumming wasn’t just rhythm—it was prophecy, thunder, and occasionally a blunt weapon when a roadie annoyed him.

One fake rock historian we dug up for this piece, Dr. Riff Stonewall, put it perfectly: “Lee didn’t just keep time.

He bent time, smashed time, poured whiskey on it, and then made it crawl home in shame. ”

Of course, the tabloids are feasting on the juicier details of his career, specifically his infamous falling-out with the Osbourne empire.

Back in the early ‘80s, Kerslake laid down the drum tracks on Blizzard of Ozz and Diary of a Madman, only to be later cut out of royalties and recognition faster than Ozzy could slur his way through “Crazy Train. ”

The legal battle dragged on for years, with Sharon Osbourne proving once again that she could destroy anyone in court armed with nothing but a stiletto heel and a fax machine.

Lee, however, never stopped being salty about it.

In one interview he basically said, “I don’t care about the money, I just want to be credited for what I did. ”

And now, of course, the internet is exploding with tributes captioned “Give Lee His Credit in Heaven” as if the angels are going to retroactively update his Wikipedia page.

Still, in true rock fashion, Kerslake managed to turn tragedy into triumph before bowing out.

In 2018, terminally ill but still swinging harder than most drummers half his age, he recorded a final album titled Eleventeen, which, let’s be honest, sounds like the name of a children’s math workbook but actually rocks harder than a meteor shower.

The man basically stared cancer in the face, flipped it off, and said, “Fine, but I’m laying down one more track first.

” If that doesn’t earn him eternal respect, nothing will.

Naturally, fake experts are crawling out of the woodwork to weigh in.

One so-called “Afterlife Musicologist,” Professor Lydia Ghosthammer, told us: “When drummers die, they don’t stop.

They ascend into the great jam session in the sky.

Right now, Lee is probably arguing with John Bonham about hi-hat placement while Keith Moon sets fire to the clouds. ”

Another psychic drummer (because of course those exist) claimed that she “heard distant paradiddle patterns in the night sky” immediately after Lee passed, proving he wasted no time setting up his heavenly kit.

Fans, meanwhile, are losing their collective minds online.

One comment read, “First Neil Peart, now Lee Kerslake? The afterlife band is gonna be stacked. ”

Another wrote, “Somewhere out there, Ozzy is wondering if Lee’s ghost is going to sue him again. ”

A third simply posted a gif of a drum solo so loud it nearly cracked TikTok’s servers.

And because the internet cannot resist turning grief into memes, the hashtag #HeepHeaven is now trending, featuring Photoshopped images of Lee in angel wings crashing cymbals on God’s throne.

But here’s the twist nobody saw coming: despite years of bitterness, Lee Kerslake left this world on surprisingly good terms with the Osbournes.

In 2019, he revealed that Ozzy and Sharon had sent him platinum plaques for his work on those classic albums—a gesture that apparently brought him peace before his death.

In the soap opera of rock feuds, this was basically the equivalent of a tearful finale hug.

Sharon reportedly said, “We wanted Lee to know he was loved. ”

Translation: we didn’t want his ghost haunting our Beverly Hills mansion banging pots and pans at 3 a. m.

Either way, fans clutched their black nail polish and cried, proving once again that even metalheads have mushy hearts when the final drum roll comes.

Of course, not everyone was feeling sentimental.

Some critics couldn’t resist one last jab, pointing out that Kerslake’s drumming was often overshadowed by flashier frontmen and wailing guitar solos.

But the hardcore faithful were quick to clap back, reminding everyone that without Lee, those bands wouldn’t have had the backbone that made their music legendary.

Or as one fake quote from a fan named “Big Dave from Birmingham” put it: “You can have all the screaming guitars you want, but without Lee smashing the skins, it’s just karaoke for hippies. ”

So what happens now? Simple.

Lee Kerslake joins the great pantheon of rock immortals.

He’s already trending on Spotify, with streams of Uriah Heep songs spiking 400% as younger fans Google “Uriah Heep” and then pretend they totally knew who they were all along.

Rock radio stations are dusting off vinyl, music writers are scrambling to crank out “legacy pieces,” and Ozzy himself is probably staring into the abyss, wondering why the hell he’s still alive while everyone else around him keeps dropping like flies.

And somewhere in the heavens, Lee is probably smirking, pounding out a solo loud enough to make Mozart choke on his harp.

The tabloids, of course, will milk this for all it’s worth.

Expect headlines like “Lee Kerslake’s Ghost to Haunt Ozzy’s Next Tour?” and “Heep or High Water: The Drummer Who Refused to Stay Quiet. ”

Netflix is no doubt already circling Sharon Osbourne for a rights deal on a documentary, while fans are calling for a CGI Lee cameo in the next Marvel movie because apparently nothing is sacred anymore.

At the end of the day, Lee Kerslake lived the kind of life that most people only dream of: rock stardom, epic feuds, triumphant comebacks, and the respect of fans who saw him as more than just a drummer.

He was the heartbeat of bands, the thunder behind legends, and the guy who proved that sometimes the man in the back row matters more than the guy at the mic.

And now, at 73, he’s keeping time for eternity.

So raise a glass, crank the volume, and tap the table in rhythm for Lee Kerslake.

Because while he may be gone, his drumming is eternal.

And somewhere up there, the angels are already trying to figure out how to play along without being drowned out by his kick drum.