I’m not really a huge Motorhead fan, but I never hated them either. They were one of those metal bands it was ok to like if you were a punk, because they played fast, seemed genuinely menacing, and in their most famous iteration, were arguably the ugliest band in captivity.
That said, “Ace of Spades” is the first song on my workout playlist, if only because it begins with “A.”
And here is Nicholas Pell’s obit:
I never saw Motörhead, but I saw Lemmy Kilmister. I attended two of the band’s gigs, but my antisocial agoraphobia got the better of me and I left. One night a rather timid friend and I waited in line at famed Hollywood burlesque bar Jumbo’s Clown Room for about an hour. I was eager to see the twerking beauties in their bikinis. He less so.
When we finally got in, there he was, the five-and-half-foot-tall god. In the course of my profession, I meet lots of celebs. I’ve made a blubbering fanboy of myself in front of Duff McKagan, but Lemmy was the only one who ever left me speechless. I stood there, silently, for about 20 seconds, which is an eternity for a slack-jawed stare. He nodded his head at me and I wandered in. The rest of the night, I can’t remember, but I’ll never forget that encounter, not until the day I die.