February 2, 2011
Better than: People less inherently amusing than Lemmy Kilmister playing one note for an hour.
Okay, fine, so it wasn't just one
note. There were two or three others thrown in there sometimes. A few meager attempts to spice up the roughly hour-long set that drew legions of black-clad and bearded Metal Dudes and their (black-clad and almost uniformly attractive) Metal Chicks to the Warfield last night. But Motorhead
played one note in spirit.
The note was Lemmy Kilmister, the only consistent member of this iconic heavy metal outfit, now as much an artifact in the museum of rock history as an organic, living thing. The note was a blistering tempo. It was the punching-in of some astoundingly basic power-chord progression. It was Lemmy growling incomprehensibly about gambling, dying, losing, fucking, and being more badass than you. It was the guitarist machine-gunning high-pitched notes for about 30 seconds two-thirds of the way through every song. It was the approximately 17-foot-tall riser upon which the double-kick drumset sat. It was also the thirty-minute drum solo that pounded down from said riser.
Motorizer and this year's The World Is Yours. That's what Lemmy said, anyway. I'll have to take his word on it, because the hour sounded pretty much all the same to me. That is up until the very end, when the moment everyone was really waiting for -- "Ace of Spades," pretty much the only Motorhead song you must know -- was played.
To be sure, Motorhead is nothing if not consistent. It began the night with an old staple -- "Motorhead" -- and tore through its catalog all the way up to recent albums like
true note, sent the room into a gigantic frenzy. The swirling mosh pit on the floor had rivaled the fixtured spectacle on stage for thrills all night, and with "Ace of Spades," it finally won over. The black-clad, now beery, hordes accelerated into a blur of gleeful violence. The pit swelled to encompass pretty much all of the front-floor area of the Warfield -- or at least all the parts from which you could see the stage. Everyone got too busy to bother holding up the crowd-surfers. Security threw out a bunch of the most mischievous moshers. It was pretty metal.
This explosion of badassery, what you might call the theme song of the band, its one
Random detail: One of the guitarist's two axes had a strap that read, "Welsh Wanker." What is it with Welsh people getting down on themselves all the time?
Babble: "Don't forget us, boys and girls," Lemmy implored, as if that were possible. "We are Motorhead. And we play fucking rock 'n' roll. (The whole time I thought this was a yacht rock concert.)
Goodnight, and thanks for the epilepsy: The strobe action during the encore's "Overkill" was way out of control.
Random notebook dump: "It's not metal unless the drums are up as high as Lemmy's head."
Highlight of the night: Everyone chanting along to "Killed By Death," the Motorhead fan's favorite Motorhead song.
Caught the very end of Valient Thorr
and, based on their crazed and shirtless frontman, immediately regretted not catching more. Clutch
went on shortly after and came across like a less-interesting Godsmack, if that's possible. Many in the crowd loved it, though -- I was surprised how many were wearing Clutch hats and shirts. After a very long run of mid-tempo thudders, Clutch finally picked up the pace, stepped off the wah-wah, and got my head nodding toward the end of its set. Maybe the consistently fiery pit inspired them.
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