Motörhead : Befriending Your Demons

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People often look at me funny when I say that Motörhead is one of my favorite bands. Because I don’t fit the stereotypical description of the denim clad, whiskey loving lunatic who should theoretically feel a connection to these denim clad, whiskey loving lunatics. Let me reassure you: I’ve seen them live three times before the almighty Lemmy passed away in 2015 and I’ve never quite fit with the crowd either. But I’ve loved them for two decades nonetheless.

Because sometimes, the music doesn’t matter as much as what it represents. It stands for something greater than itself.

Motörhead have recorded twenty-two studio albums and have relentlessly toured the world for 40 years. They were a monolithic figure of rock n’ roll integrity from the day I was born. Fuck, they were going at it before my parents even met one another. Before that, Lemmy was in space rock outfit Hawkwind. They’ve kind of always been there until they weren’t. Because of that, a lot of people liked them. Very few loved them the way I did, though. The way I still do.

Embracing chaos

I was raised by very strict parents. My mom and pops were extremely insecure and overbearing, so they were equally afraid of something happening to me than being publicly embarrassed by my behavior. They taught me to be afraid of everything and not to commit to anything unless I was 100% sure it would be beneficial to me. It didn’t take long for me to understand the disfunction, but it took me longer to understand how great the opposite philosophy was.

What makes Motörhead greater than their musical qualities alone is their straightforward stance about life’s chaotic nature: just be a part of it. Be one with this imperfect world. Whether it’s through their Dyonisian lyrics or their freight train brand of rock, Motörhead embody a fuck you attitude towards anything life can hurl at you. That nothing is a tragedy if you don’t let it be. It’s as liberating for a grizzled 38 years old than it was for a young man.

If you like to gamble, I tell you I'm your man

You win some, lose some, all the same to me.

These are the two Motörhead lines everyone always hears first. They are very important lines because they are as literal as they are metaphorical. Ace of Spades is a song about gambling, but it’s also a song about embracing the uncertain nature of life: dancing with the devil/going with the flow/it’s all the same to me. It’s all the same to me. Lemmy keeps repeating it like a mantra throughout the song: what has meaning for you doesn’t have meaning for me.

If that isn’t empowering, I don’t know what is.

Straightforward rock, emotional nuance

My favorite Motörhead song is In the Name of Tragedy, from their 2004 album Inferno. They played it live until Lemmy’s death in 2015. It seems like a pretty simple affair at first: a fuck you anthem to man’s mortal condition. But the first lines of the song color it in a very different tonality than the rest of their repertoire:

Were you ever lost?
Were you ever young?
Were you ever safe, little brother?

In the Name of Tragedy is a heartbroken song. Lemmy tells a little brother, a fan or maybe even his younger self not to let what happened to him define his relationship to the world. Motörhead don’t get serious and solemn all that often, but they make it count when they do. In the Name of Tragedy is the kind of song you listen to when standing on train tracks and contemplating your own mortality. It’s a powerful statement of self-determination.

Don’t be afraid of anything. It’s going to happen to you anyway, so better enjoy the good and the bad. That is ultimately the message of Motörhead. It’s both fatalistic and empowering at the same time. Lemmy never makes empty promises about a more fulfilling life. He tells you to enjoy the one you have while it lasts because it’s exactly what he did. Don’t let your demons scare you into living a smaller life than you should. Make them your friends.

That is Motörhead is one of my favorite bands. They are the soundtrack to my own personal emancipation.