Ian “Lemmy” Kilmister, who died Monday at age 70, was a snarling but affable, hard-living bassist and singer. Most notable for leading the band Motörhead, Lemmy seemed to care not a whit about what anyone thought of him and yet was beloved by his peers. Outsiders could reduce him to caricature as a rock god hellbent on self-destruction who was nonetheless seemingly indestructible—the Keith Richards of the bass—but he was much more than that. Upon learning of his death, Queen’s Brian May wrote: “He was a living mismatch of personality types. His music was roaring, abrasive, uncompromising and his lyrics mostly deliberately gave no hint of sensitivity. Yet as a person he was a pacifist, a deep thinker and a man who cared profoundly about his friends.” Not only a person fueled by alcohol and chemicals or content to sit for hours at the bar at the Rainbow in Los Angeles playing a videogame, Mr. Kilmister also made powerful, relentless rock that influenced many musicians who found inspiration in his work.
The origin story of this life in music unfolds as if mythology: Born on Christmas Eve, he plays guitar in local bands in Wales, where his family had relocated from central England; sees the Beatles at the Cavern Club in Liverpool and is hooked on rock ’n’ roll; he joins the Rockin’ Vickers, who are signed to a major label; and, after leaving the group, becomes a roadie for the Jimi Hendrix Experience—events that serve as preamble to his long career.
Mr. Kilmister switched to bass in 1971 when he joined Hawkwind and lasted through three studio albums before being terminated following an arrest for drug possession, though not before writing and singing “Motorhead,” a track cut during the sessions for Hawkwind’s “Warrior on the Edge of Time.” (The charges were dropped.) Mr. Kilmister’s unique skills as a bassist had begun to shine through. Like his former flatmate, Noel Redding of the Hendrix band, he brought a guitarist’s approach to the bass: To drive the band from within, Mr. Kilmister explored the instrument’s mid-range and used a double- and triple-stop technique that approximated chords without sacrificing forward motion.
Mr. Kilmister formed Motörhead as a power trio in mid-1975. Across the span of 22 studio albums with shifting personnel, the group was classified as heavy metal and punk, but Mr. Kilmister insisted it was a rock ’n’ roll band. Its 1977 self-titled debut album supports his claim. With drummer Phil Taylor (who died on Nov. 11) and guitarist Eddie Clarke, he added a touch of the Bo Diddley beat to a reworking of his “Motorhead,” and for his remake of his “Lost Johnny,” he wiped away the adornments of the Hawkwind version to place the emphasis on the trio’s raspy bluntness. The album announced that Motörhead’s music would be full-tilt and stripped to its essence, played with fury and malicious intent.
With the release of the follow-up album, “Overkill,” Motörhead rounded into its fierce, intense stride. Its sound is cleaner— Jimmy Miller, who worked with the Rolling Stones, co-produced the disc—but no less nasty and undeniably metallic. Several tracks, including the raging boogie “No Class,” are tutorials on how to put added muscle on the rock ’n’ roll frame. With the 1980 release of “Ace of Spades,” the band was established as a reliable supplier of wall-rattling, good-time rock, on stage and in the studio. Its popularity waxed and waned, but three albums it released this decade, including this year’s “Bad Magic,” rekindled interest in the band, which is now disbanding after Mr. Kilmister’s passing.
Though Mr. Kilmister and Motörhead influenced metal bands like Def Leppard, Iron Maiden and Metallica, neither he nor his group were granted the same glories as their successors in terms of fame and fortune. But musicians appreciated Mr. Kilmister’s work, aware that he served as a bridge between rock ’n’ roll and hard rock, never abandoning the former as he helped inform the latter. To listen to Motörhead’s early work is to hear how the likes of Guns N’ Roses, Jane’s Addiction and Foo Fighters built on that model. No caricature, Lemmy Kilmister was a god of rock for the best reasons: He decided what kind of music he wanted to play and played it with fire and urgency, staying true to his vision of what rock ’n’ roll ought to be. Contemporary popular music would not be the same had he not done so.
(courtesy - wsj.com)
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