Growing up my dad would play me his music, and it’d be loud. I’d have friends around the house expecting to hear Swedish pop group ‘Ace of Base’ who nearly fell of their chars when he started blasting ‘Ace of Spades’, to which I would headband my fucking brains out until my neck was so sore I couldn’t turn my head for a week. Before going to bed he had to play me ‘Going to Brazil’, ‘cause if I didn’t get to hear ‘Going to Brazil’ I weren’t ‘Going to bed’. Lemmy was just as essential to my childhood as father Christmas, the tooth fairy, and Joey Ramone.
He started his musical career in The Rockin’ Vickers, and left music for a bit to work as a roadie for non other than Jimi Hendrix. He later joined space rock band Hawkwind, before getting kicked out and starting what would be known as the loudest band in the world, Motörhead. Motörhead was one of those crossover bands that ‘everyone’ liked, whether they were punks, metal heads or rock ’n’ rollers.
Lemmy was notoriously known for his short shorts, and probably the only guy ever who could pull off a pair of Daisy Dukes and still look like a fucking badass. He was the epitome of rock ’n’ roll. I mean, when he was told to change his life around due to illness, he replaced his beloved Jack and Coke with Vodka and orange juice. Vodka is Lemmy being healthy. He never got hangovers, because you had to stop drinking to get hangovers, and why stop?
He inspired generations with his music, and I probably wouldn’t be the person I am today without him. I was lucky enough to see Motörhead twice, and I knew that I was witnessing the last great rock ’n’ roller. There’s never been anyone like Lemmy, and no one will ever come close.
Lemmy did what he loved until the day he died, and he was pure fucking rock ’n’ roll ’til the very end. If there’s an afterlife he’ll be doing the opposite of resting in peace, because peace and quiet wasn’t for Lemmy. Lemmy was in Motörhead, and he played rock ’n’ roll.