In case it isn’t readily apparent from the giant logo in the lower right hand corner, we “borrowed” this photo of the gig from Prefix.

I’ve never met anyone that outright hated Motorhead. There are people who are indifferent or don’t really like them, but full-on vitriol-spewing hate? Nuh-uh. Motorhead are amazing and wonderful and remind me why I love metal. I’m sure nay-sayers exist, and I pity them, for they have no joy in their cold, hard hearts. I, however, delight in gruff dirty rock n’ roll played really, really fast, and so I was psyched to see them live.

The show opened with Valient Thorr and it was pretty amusing watching Valient Himself bouncing around all over the stage, and coming pretty close to falling off it as well. The House of Blues in Boston has three levels and I usually try to get tickets for the second balcony (yep, it’s not just general admission, each level has a price-range) where I can actually see the people I’ve paid to see. Except, the third floor slopes down in such a manner that if you’re standing directly across the stage on the floor below, you have to crouch to see anything in the back. So when Valient Himself valiantly called attention to the banner behind him, no one around me had any idea what the hell he was talking about. We did do an awkward group crouch in an attempt to understand. I’m pretty sure it was their logo and we were hailing it in the name of music.

The second opening band were Clutch and hmm. If you can’t think of something nice to say…

Moving on. Wait, stop, I can’t.  Look, I enjoy the blues. I’m at the HOUSE of Blues (technically it’s now the House of Over-Priced Beer and Poorly Designed Mezzanines). Motorhead is basically the blues on speed with yelling. But Clutch? They had all the right elements, and yet, it just did not work for me. It’s not fair to bash a band because their music just isn’t my cup of tea. (Unless it’s that sleepy time tea with melatonin that makes you pass right out.) However, when you have TWO drum solos in a 45-minute set, every song sounds like the previous one, and you’re surrounded by Tap-Out Guy’s equally douche-y cousin Cap-Wearing Jerk? (Shouldn’t you be at the Bon Jovi concert across town? There’s a reason they’re on the same night!) Well, color me in hell. And I like Motorhead! Talk about every song sounding the same! My companion noted that the amount of baseball caps worn onstage directly correlates to how terrible the band is, and, well… you got two out of five and then a third when the “guest guitarist” came out. Not to mention their fans. I’m sure you’re acquainted with Cap-Wearing Jerk. Wears the cap and shirt of a sports team (or complementary sports teams), usually over a long-sleeved shirt, though appears not to indulge in any sports or general fitness himself. I wouldn’t be so harsh, but these people cleared out as soon as Clutch left and I judged them, hard. Who doesn’t stay for Motorhead!? Goddamn.

Again, not fair to completely bash them because I disliked them. There were a decent amount of people doing the awkward white guy dance (jerkily bending knees up and down and nodding a lot), and they seemed heartily pleased they were playing so to each their own. I really wish I’d looked them up beforehand, though. They’re described as the “ultimate jam band.” If ever there were two words used in conjunction that would make me run to the hills (run for my life), they’re “jam” and “band.”

That’s not to say Motorhead don’t get their own lively crowd. This marked our second date (guess I have to put out next tour) and both times it was just the perfect time to people-watch.  I first saw them when I was barely nineteen, and the gig was out in the middle of Nowhere, New Hampshire. I was one of literally four females amongst a horde of Hell’s Angels. I was smashed against the barrier the entire time with Triple H and Stephanie McMahon standing in front of me, and it was awesome. Two guys next to me started a fight as they struggled to reach over and grab a pick Phil Taylor had tossed onto the floor. I’m not proud of this… okay, yes I am. This is basically the only time I’ve ever used my feminine wiles at a concert: I smiled prettily at the bouncer and asked if he could grab the pick for me. He shoved the two guys back and handed it to me. Relax, Phil threw about two-hundred more picks and they each got one too. We’re all special metal flowers to Philthy Phil.

Anyway, at this show I had all types around me ranging from a kindly grandfather-type in flannel and a sweater vest to a kid who looked like a My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult reject. Not to mention the typical studs ‘n’ spikes crowd. Word to the wise, there’s no shame in getting your girlfriend to stud and sew your vest properly, dude. Or even your mom. I had a friend who got his mother to sew his Bathory back patch on his jacket and she was genuinely interested in learning who “Bat Lord” was. I also noticed that the hipsters, in their quest to glom on to all I hold dear, have discovered Motorhead. They’re like locusts — they settle on something and don’t move on until it’s ruined beyond hope.

But moving on to the show itself. Holy crap. Okay, let’s start with Mikkey Dee. I love drummers. They’re usually the most fun to watch, and Mikkey Dee might be my favorite. He is a human version of Animal from The Muppets (also my favorite Muppet). He does not sit still; he jumps, bounces, head-bangs and goads the audience into a frenzy. His is a drum solo the way it’s meant to be done. He also never stops smiling and nothing makes me happier than seeing a band that’s actually enjoying doing what they do. All three of them legitimately looked pleased to be on-stage. Even crusty ol’ Lemmy.

We went from the least engaging band to the most. The way they interacted with each other and with the audience… it all made for this giddy atmosphere of“Yay! Metal!” They ripped through a bunch of songs, including “Over the Top,” “Metropolis,” “I Got Mine,” “The Chase is Better Than the Catch,” “Rock Out,” and included a couple new ones, like, “Get Back in Line.” They also played “Killed By Death,” which is one of my top Motorhead tunes, and one I wasn’t expecting, so that was a pleasant surprise. No “Born To Raise Hell” though. They also opened with “We Are Motorhead” rather than “Dr. Rock,” which I’d heard was the norm. I guess you have to switch it up every once in a while. Maybe next tour. Lemmy is probably going to outlive us all anyway.

Everyone expects and knows “Ace of Spades.” My Katy Perry-loving younger cousin knows “Ace of Spades.” You’d think such a well-known and over-played song wouldn’t get much of a reaction. You’d be dead wrong. Holy God. Even us sedate folk on the balcony flipped out. It’s amazing to see a 30+year-old song be received so excitedly and happily and flat-out maniacally as it was. It was insane. “Overkill” was the only encore, but it came with enough fanfare and flashing lights to leave us all blinded and deaf. There are really not a whole lot of things that leave me beaming that stupidly when they’re over.

They are Motorhead. And they play rock and roll.

-LF