DAMAGED CASE "Rock and roll will be alright," says Lemmy Kilmister. "We have to have a patch like this to appreciate the better stuff. It's time for a new Sex Pistols, I think; it's time for a bit of anarchy in the UK, mate."
Let's face it, when it comes to rock stars, there are very few out there who embrace the clichéd lifestyle we all read about in Hammer of the Gods, No One Here Gets Out Alive, or the first three quarters of the Keith Richards opus, Life. Robert Plant would rather play folk these days than take Led Zeppelin on another flight, Jim Morrison is dead (maybe), and Richards has been on a different planet for decades. But at 66 years old, Motörhead's Lemmy Kilmister is still at it, playing the game and loving every minute, having fun while so many of his contemporaries act dour and aloof.
"[Fun] is what it's all about isn't it?" he tells me over the phone before a show in Oklahoma City. "That's what it should be all about. Rock and roll has forgotten that, to a large extent. Tours are planned now like military fucking operations. I mean, don't let any women backstage — God almighty, the very thought sends chills down their spine. You might get sued by a rural, irate father with a shotgun in his hand, a fucking terrible deal. I mean, we can't have people behaving like rock stars — even if they're rock stars."
Motörhead's current jaunt has them on the main stage at the Rockstar Energy Mayhem Festival alongside the likes of Anthrax and Slayer. It's a bill filled with bands who worship the man who brought the world "Ace of Spades," "Overkill," and "Damage Case." But the last person to bask in success is Kilmister. "I'm pretty grounded — I don't believe any of that crap," he says with a hearty laugh bathed in Jack Daniel's and Marlboro reds. "You have to remember where you come from, which is exactly where they [the audience] come from; it's just the same, and I got lucky. I'm the one they're pointing at, at the moment; later on, one of them will be the one we're pointing at. It comes around."
Born on Christmas Eve, 1945, in Staffordshire, England, Kilmister has been pointed at since his time in the prog-rock outfit Hawkwind in the early '70s, and now 37-years-strong fronting Motörhead. The longevity and enduring popularity of the latter is primarily due to the fact that it's delivered consistent, simplistic metal. It's the only thing he wants to do too, saying there's "not enough time" to do anything else. "Anyway, I'm not a good enough musician. I can't play the fucking madrigal, and I can't score orchestras — neither do I want to."
: Music Features
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