I won’t be shedding any tears over Lemmy Kilmister. He was a hard-drinking, hard-living Rock & Roll animal who probably lived well past his natural expiration date. He wasn’t a particularly gifted lyricist, but he had a wry sense of humor that always crept in Motorhead songs. Musically, Motorhead was mostly a loud band that was known for being loud. But there was just something about them, and especially Lemmy, that made you feel like they, and especially he, were a primal force of nature. Like before our hunter-gatherer ancestors started farming and building cities, Lemmy was already walking the Earth.
I wasn’t the biggest Motorhead fan. They only had a handful of songs I genuinely liked. But somehow it was reassuring to know that Lemmy was out there somewhere, pummeling another audience into submission with that beat up old Rickenbacker bass and his custom Marshall bass amp, emblazoned with the title “Murder One”, at full roar.
I don’t know. Somehow Lemmy Kilmister reminded me of all the things you wanted Rock & Roll to be. He drank too much. Slept with too many women. Loved speed and whiskey. Cigarettes. Slot machines. He was one of the few musicians in the world who could say her didn’t give a fuck, and you knew he meant it. There’s a certain integrity in being whatever the fuck you want to be, and spending your whole life doing just that.
Anyway, the post I’ve linked to below is kind of long. And I’ve already added to the misery. But if you get a chance, I think this kind of sums up what so many people loved about Lemmy Kilmister. The world just seemed a little more interesting knowing he was out there somewhere. Like the raw, bawdy power of Rock & Roll had somehow found its way into a human being and was out there terrorizing villages.
- Lemmy by Steffan Chirazi