How I almost met Lemmy

Lemmy: time for your close up!

There's a scene in the film Lemmy where fans explain to the makers what makes him, well, Lemmy. One superfan predicts that in the event of nuclear war, Lemmy and cockroaches will be the only survivors. Alas, in the end Ian Fraser Kilmister proved all too mortal, passing away days after his 70th birthday, and days after he discovered he had an aggressive form of cancer.
Despite all the paeans to Lemmy's indestructibility over the years, anybody who saw the excellent 2010 biopic will have been in no doubt that the godfather of metal was winding down. The only pills he seemed to be popping were for diabetes and high blood pressure, and several scenes showed a man who was suddenly showing his age - answering questions in a rather downbeat manner, and wheezing in his dressing room as he towelled himself down after a gig. It's actually quite a testament to the guy that he didn't seem to have leaned on the producers to remove anything that showed him in such an unflattering light, but that seems to have been his nature - no bullshit, and tell it like it is.
The eulogies to him from a music industry not known for sentimentality have been demonstration of how well he was thought of. Over the past 30 years, pictures of Lemmy propping up the bar with a variety of rock star buddies have been a standard feature in music mags. From the days of Hendrix, right through to his fraternisation with the latest hot young gun slingers of the LA scene, Lemmy seems to have had an ability to get people to like him and not piss them off.
For fans, like me, he was the very image of the party happy rocker. I don't think I'd have wanted his life to be honest - too much like hard work - but it worked for him, and like many, I experienced a sort of vicarious thrill from reading about his exploits in Kerrang, Sounds, and more latterly Classic Rock. When I moved to university in London in 1985, I probably had a bit of a go at the party lifestyle, drinking a bit much, gigging, and trying to hang out with bands. The little I saw of the scene opened my eyes to the fact that it was all a bit of a pose where the guys in the band did whatever they thought would advance their career. If it didn't work out after a few years, then they folded and you probably never heard of them again.
Motorhead wasn't like that. Before Richie from the Manics carved the phrase on his arm, they were 4 Real. The band sounded too harsh and uncompromising to be careerists, yet bizarrely, the louder and heavier they played, the more the kids lapped it up. Having spent time around both the Notting Hill hippy scene, and the later punk scene, Lemmy had a better idea of how extreme you could take things and still keep the kids onside. In fact, punk allowed him to really push the envelope to create a sound that still sounds amazingly fresh 40 years on, unlike many of the bands that followed.
I started getting into metal in about 1981, discovering bands that my friends recommended and listening avidly for the odd slab of metal and hard rock that were starting to push into the charts. For a band as uncommercial as Motorhead, the fact that they had some hit singles made them an act that you could latch on to and wind up your punk and mod mates with - these were tribal times.
They also had one of the all time greatest logos - Joe Petagno's gothic lettering and Snaggletooth war pig became a mainstay of the patches you'd see on the back of the denim and leather clad metal army. In fact Motorhead's look was a great inspiration for the kids. The classic line-up of Lemmy, Phil and Eddie had an image that was as cool as the Ramones - the leather jackets, tight jeans and bullet belts. They looked like a gang that you'd love to be part of but were never likely to be that cool. At a time when metal threads were starting to get silly with Spandex, Lycra and increasingly bizarre accessories, the simplicity of the Motorhead look was perfectly in line with their music. And once it was set, they didn't have to mess with it.
I could never afford a leather jacket myself, and if I could my mum would have blackballed the decision - I'm sure Lemmy never had that problem. I remember once that a mate left his own tattered leather at my house and I wore it for a couple of days. I can still remember how much like a rocker it made me feel, even though my hair barely crept over my collar at the time.
I missed out on seeing the classic original line-up live, so had to content myself with No Sleep 'Til Hammersmith, which is one of my favourite live rock albums. The playing and song selection is brilliant but so is the inner sleeve with its Polaroids of life on the road - Philthy's 'Self as Shazbot' always made me laugh, even though I wasn't entirely sure what it meant - and dedications to Special Brew and Smirnoff. This was what rock was all about.
It wasn't until about 1986 that I saw 'Head on the Orgasmatron tour. I say 'saw them' but I'd consumed so much Special Brew in preparation that I don't remember too much about the gig. This is especially galling as I bumped into a mate who was on the crew and he got me and my mate Welsh Andy backstage after the gig. So, I nearly met Lemmy!
If truth be told, I lost touch with Motorhead after that. Although they continued to be a big band, Lemmy's biography White Line Fever reveals his exasperation with this sort of attitude. He became bored with playing the old stuff, especially Ace of Spades, as he thought the later line-ups, and especially the last one, were superior to the early stuff.
Technically, he may have had a point, but it's hard to argue that the Lemmy, Fast Eddie, Philthy line up is closest to the heart of most fans. Certainly to mine.
Having said that, when I last saw Motorhead about 10 years ago, they were amazing. I thought of Lemmy as old even by then, so was quite astonished at his dynamism on stage. Yes, they play fast, but he was jiving all over the Kentish Town Forum stage, spinning on his Cuban heels and generally acting like a guy half his age. Phil Campbell might be an excellent guitarist, but he didn't have the moves like his boss. It must have been all those years doing the dance halls before he got the Hawkwind gig.
It was a nice reminder that Lemmy was still around and still doing it. Not that he'd ever been that low profile. Unlike most musicians, Lemmy was a smart character which is why he was a staple of chat shows and other non-music related events - he once addressed the Welsh parliament on drug use. He could hold court and hold his own on many subjects from history and philosophy to politics, and then throw in a filthy joke for good measure.
He had hinterland, as politicians like to say. Although he defined Motorhead, he wasn't defined by it. He loved life and he lived it how he wanted to.
And although he didn't want to live forever, he had a damn good innings. RIP squire.