It was 19 October 1975. Okay – I had to look it up: I can’t remember everything about a gig I saw over 40 years ago – and my friend’s brother drove us to London for a rock concert. There were, I think, four of us and we were going to see the Blue Oyster Cult at the Hammersmith Odeon. I absolutely loved the Cult. I religiously bought every album they ever made. I could not wait to see them live. But first, there was a support act, of whom we had never heard. They were called Motorhead.
I remember absolutely nothing about their set except for one thing: it was an absolute shambles. The drum kit was set up at the very front of the stage, the bass player and guitar player were on either side. But it was not just the musical shambles being played out before us: it was the sheer volume. I thought my ears were going to split.
And boy did they rush through their brief set. One “song” blended seamlessly into another, all broadly speaking at the same tempo, certainly all at the same deafening volume. We all looked at each other, mouthing the meaning of the letters “WTF?” (There would have been no point in talking or even shouting. It would not have been possible to be heard.) Not for one moment could I ever have imagined that Motorhead would still be around in 2015 and that they would be hugely popular. I honestly thought that they would disappear quickly into the ether. No one would actually pay to watch stuff like this, would they?
I paid little attention to Motorhead for some years. I knew that their lead vocalist – it would be stretching things to refer to him as a singer! – was Lemmy who was once in Hawkwind and that the voice of Silver Machine was his, but they were just another very noisy rock band of which there were many at the time. But then came Ace of Spades.
By Motorhead standards, this was as near to a singalong as you could possibly get. A cracking riff played at full tilt (Motorhead seldom did half tilt) and a roaring vocal from Lemmy Kilmister. To this day, it remains a classic rock song and their defining moment. Everyone knows Ace of Spades.
I learned late last night that Lemmy had died. He did not exactly look after himself during his rock star life. He smoked heavily, he drank heavily, he did a lot of other unhealthy things, all rather heavily, and every time I saw him on the box he looked worse than he did the last time, thinner, more frail and looking as if the next show might be his last.
Compared to super smooth Blue Oyster Cult, Motorhead were happily chaotic and anarchic and if they hit a few bum notes the speakers were so loud you probably wouldn’t notice anyway.
Lemmy was much loved, revered I’d say, among true rock fans. There will never be another Motorhead, there will certainly never be another Lemmy. For once, the word legend is not an exaggeration.
