The following was written by Aftermath after he busted inside his house just hours before dawn on Saturday morning after he saw Motorhead that night. Knowing fully well that a band such as Motorhead would be nearly critic-proof and not in need of the same scrutiny of say, a Taylor Hicks show, he decided to record his thoughts on the show while they were still soaked in eight bourbon & Cokes and innumerable cups of Lone Star. See them in real-time on Rocks Off's Twitter page.
So like we just came back from Motorhead and we can't hear ever-loving shit. For serious, Aftermath is trying to be all studious and tell all the good readers about how amazing the show was but that's like trying to tell people why bacon tastes so goddamned good. It just is so slag off. Explanations do not apply to Motorhead or Lemmy Kilmister, who will henceforth be referred to as only Lemmy.
Trying to exactly quantify why Motorhead rules is fruitless. It's just something that you feel in your heart. Like how Jiminy Cricket just shows his ass up tell you what's right and wrong, that's what Lemmy is to Aftermath. Can you imagine like a little Lemmy all dressed up in top hat and tails sitting on your shoulder telling you stuff? Many a time we have felt that whiskey-breathed laureate of scumbags talking to us in our ears.
Aftermath had never seen so many souls inside Warehouse Live until tonight. Spoon packed the bitch in April but not as fragrantly as the one thousand people wearing head-to-toe black cotton we saw tonight. Spoon? Spoon being referenced in a review of a Motorhead show? Yeah well, kiss our ass butt-horn. Oh, and Matt Sorum from Velvet Revolver was drumming during the show, like in the band. It was amazing.
About an hour into the show, Aftermath ran into the moshpit like we had to put out a fire. Hell, we were even sort of surprised when we came to and realize we were inside a washing machine made of dude-sweat and hair. Pretty much when the band launched into "Killed By Death" we disappeared from our company like a fart in the wind, running towards Lemmy like we were at a Miley Cyrus concert. What's with her? It's like she looks old and talks like a dude sometimes. "The Climb" is kind of a righteous jam at 3 a.m. in the Taco Bell drive-thru though, even if we aren't a child or an effeminate man.
Earlier in the week, Aftermath was talking to his younger brother about how in a sense Motorhead had pretty informed our lives together over the past decade since we first got the young man into decent music. The kid grew up listening to Ace Of Spades, so he didn't have a chance to make any musical faux pas because he was already baptized by enough hellacious feedback and psycho-sexual drug imagery to last his entire life.
Likewise, when Aftermath discovered Motorhead during an episode of Beavis and Butt-head in 1993, he came to the realization that before Lemmy all of his rock idols were tortured and trivial. Lemmy was larger than life, and just didn't give a shit. It was empowering and I felt like burning my flannel. As Aftermath spun into the pit he saw his younger brother screaming and singing his fool Czech head off and all we could do was hug the kid.
Sorry to get all A River Runs Through It and shit on you guys but it's the honest truth. Motorhead are one of the handfuls of things Aftermath can discuss with his little brother and it felt good to sit in that sweaty and venial chasm of heshers, making devil-horns and howling each lyric like we were storming the beach at Normandy.
When the band crashed right into "Ace Of Spades" and "Overkill" to end the show, the entire mass of us scumbags levitated six feet into the air and howled into anyone's ear that was within two steps. Hearing "Ace Of Spades" live in a pit is one of those things that will go into history like watching Ted Williams swing a bat, or being in the audience during a taping of a George Foreman grill infomercial.
Shit, we would love ourselves some grilled cheese right now.
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