Lemmy

It shouldn’t be a surprise that Lemmy Kilmister has died. I mean, over the last few years his health has declined quite a bit. Even in the documentary Lemmy from back in 2010 he seemed more weathered than usual. I listened to his interview with Marc Maron just a couple months ago and he sounded awful. Voice a windy squeak, nursing a beer and still smoking his Marlboro Reds, Lemmy sounded half there and half in the grave. Yet, when Maron started talking about The Beatles the heavy metal icon perked up and seemed to pull out of the health funk he’s been spiraling in for some time now.

I guess after that nuclear war, it’s only going to be cockroaches left. No Lemmy. Maybe Keith Richards, but we’ll see.

I wasn’t as influenced by Lemmy’s music(though Ace of Spades is tops) as I was by the man himself. He was a crusty, slithering rock and roll serpent that had Jack Daniels for blood and molten rock for bone; yet he still came across as cordial as a fine English gentleman. He told tales of debauchery and rock and roll excess, but with the candor and honesty of your favorite uncle. Of course I grew up with Ace of Spades, Orgasmatron, Rock and Roll, and 1916, but more than those albums I grew up thinking Lemmy Kilmister was this rock and roll wizard that looked over the Heavy Metal kingdom. He was the king and everyone else were his jesters. Lemmy laid down the path that bands like Metallica, Megadeth, Slayer, and even Guns ‘N Roses later on paved. If he anointed you with his golden Ric, you were in. If not, he ate you alive on stage.

I have no stories or an in-depth album thesis. I’ll leave that to those who have better words to share than I do. I’ll just say this:

Do you want to ride
See yourself going by
Other side of the sky
Well I got a silver machine

I’ve got a Silver Machine