How Lemmy Popped My Cherry!

Endlessly Rocking popped down to Dublin recently to deliver a group of 15 year-olds to their first gig – Muse incidentally. Their first solo gig, their first exposure to the true madness that is the front row - exhaustion, carnage, dehydration, pure exhilaration. All of which has prompted me to wax lyrical about my own first experience of such madness – Motorhead, Ulster Hall 7th February 1980 when I was, by a strange coincidence, 15.

Motorhead had been crowned the loudest band in the world shortly beforehand and were ripping up Europe in support of the Bomber album, the second in their triumvirate of seminal albums that had begun with Overkill and was to climax with Ace Of Spades. This was band at the height of their powers yet just short of their commercial peak. Still a cult band that few had heard of, part of a new movement that had caught the imagination of a generation – perfect for a new generation schooled in classic rock and thrilled by punk.

Belfast in the early 80’s was not a popular venue for touring bands to say the least. As a result those who did make the effort to brave the bombs and bullets were welcomed with rapturous glee. Motorhead were regular visitors throughout the bad times and therefore hold a special place in the hearts of Northern Irish rock fans of a certain age. Over the years this gig in particular ahs been elevated too legendary status. The Ulster Hall is a small and intimate venue smack bang (no pun intended) in the bomb ravaged centre of Belfast so, although I arrived around 3 hours before the doors opened, the place was already like a ghost town. There were around 50 or so of us huddled together against the cold when suddenly Lemmy appeared! The crowd surged forward prompting a typical over-reaction from the local police. A school friend of man captured the incident on camera and promptly made a small fortune selling prints. The image is indelibly ingrained in my mind. The cop has a young girl by the hair and is aiming a kick at her backside. Lemmy, dressed from head to toe in black, stands a few feet away, a murderous look on his face and a skeletal finger extended in warning towards the cop. As Lemmy stepped forward the crowd engulfed him and the cop beat a hasty retreat. This was coolness personified - not only coming to play in Bomb City but also walking the streets in broad daylight and tackling armed cops!

Eventually the doors opened prompting a mad rush for the front row – I’m proud to say I was amongst the front-runners, grabbing a space just right of stage-centre. The mists of time have obscured who the warm-up band was but nothing could have prepared me for the onslaught to come. Out of the gates of hell came the pummelling drum assault of Overkill. Choking clouds of dry ice enveloped the front rows and the Bomber swooped dangerously close to my head before the earth exploded when Lemmy’s gut-wrenching bass kicked-in. By the time Fast Eddie Clark’s guitar joined the assault I was lost in a frankly terrifying confusion of senses and I loved every second of it. The rest of the gig is lost in a miasma of pure exhilaration and no little pain. It was several days before my hearing recovered (perhaps it never has) and even longer before the ‘buzz’ subsided.

I have been to countless gigs in the intervening thirty years or so but if the truth be told nothing has come close to emulating that February night. If that new generation of 15 year olds sweating on a rainy Dublin night had anything like the experience I had, then they are very lucky indeed.