Impermanence is the nature of things. Iron corrodes; fire burns out; stone erodes; everything proceeds at its own pace towards nothingness. Bodies break and people die, but legends live on as long as there are still new people left to hear them.
Which is why Lemmy will last forever.
And make no mistake, the man is legendary. You’ve heard those stories, no doubt, or you haven’t been paying attention, so there’s no need to recount them all here. Some of them are no doubt true, and others clearly exaggerated, but the life of Ian Fraser Kilmister has been anything but mundane. He’s the living embodiment of rock ’n’ roll, the hard-living, fun-loving, quick-witted rogue in the black hat and dirty jeans. And, should you not believe me, there are now 22 Motörhead albums that prove that the man can rock at least as hard as anyone, and harder than almost everyone.
Bad Magic is the twenty-second of those, and you know now what it sounds like, even with album unheard: It sounds like Motörhead. They’re too old to change, and why would they? They’ve had it right all along. In their forty-year run, they’ve maintained a singular focus – hard-edged rock delivered with relentless intensity. They’ve also maintained a remarkable run of quality – sure, some albums are better than others; that’s inevitable, and it’s unlikely that they’ll ever top the Overkill / Bomber / Ace Of Spades trilogy that shot them straight to the top of the metal pile. But even the worst Motörhead albums are still damned good hard rock albums, even if the songs aren’t quite as great as those on the best Motörhead albums.
Post-millennium Motörhead continues that consistency, although more of the recent albums tend toward the middle of the pack, qualitatively, with a particular standout in 2008’s Motörizer. 2010’s The Wörld Is Yours was a step down from Motörizer, and 2013’s Aftershock a step back up, but not all the way. Bad Magic is a slight step up, almost a holding pattern, but that’s fine – it’s new Motörhead, and that’s enough to know it’s good.
Perhaps fitting in some morbid manner, given Lemmy’s recent brushes with death, Bad Magic begins with him alone, that gravelly growl snarling “Victory or die!” before Campbell and Dee rip into a typical Motörhead rocker, this one a flat-out driving number and the perfect opener. “Thunder & Lightning” is another perfect ‘Head tune, Lemmy describing in no uncertain terms why he does what he does: “Get what you want, do what you can / you’ll get more pussy if you’re in a band / I always wanted to scream in the night / I always wanted the noise and the light.” It’s the band’s mission statement, the man’s mission statement, and it’s the best track on Bad Magic, a song about rock by a band that knows more about rock than you ever will.
All things are raging through the first five tracks, but Bad Magic isn’t entirely brilliant – there are some straight by-the-numbers tracks in the middle that don’t quite step foot in front of the others. After “The Devil,” with its guest appearance by Queen’s Brian May, and the electric “Electricity,” the jaunty “Evil Eye” is fine, its slightly demonic chorus a nice change of pace, but none of it as perfectly raucous as what’s before. The semi-ballad “Till The End” is the first of Bad Magic’s lowest points. Ballads have never quite been Motörhead’s strong suit, although some like “I Ain’t No Nice Guy” have worked nicely; “Till The End” sees Lemmy reflecting on his past and his newfound mortality – “All I know is who I am; I’ll never let you down / the last one you can trust until the end…” – and while that sentiment is certainly valid, it’s neither a great tune nor, on a selfish level, a thought I want to face, that that end may be coming sooner than expected.
Thankfully, immediately thereafter, almost before the end of “Till The End,” the ‘Head cats rip back into the swaggering “Tell Me Who To Kill,” before dropping into one of those midtempo droning moments that Motörhead does so well for the maniacal “Choking On Your Screams,” where Dee’s rock-solid propulsion and Campbell’s propensity for simple and yet brilliant riff combines with Lemmy’s whiskey-and-cigarettes drawl for absolute greatness.
Unfortunately, Bad Magic does end on its second low-point, an absolutely unnecessary cover of the Rolling Stones classic “Sympathy For The Devil.” Requested by pro-wrestler and Motor-buddy Triple H, “Sympathy” falls short of being properly Motör-ized, and instead, it feels rote, like something they phoned in for a soundtrack or some such. Still, the remedy is easy: Stop the album after “When The Sky Comes Looking For You,” and the problem is solved.
Anyone who’s been keeping up knows that Lemmy’s facing some serious health concerns, and we all know that nothing, even gods, last forever. Still, as long as I have ears with which to hear, I will use them to hear Motörhead on the regular – I know I will, I’ve seen me do it; I’ve got twenty-five years of experience. Bad Magic isn’t Motörhead’s best, or even their best in the new millennium, but it’s above average, better than The Wörld Is Yours, perhaps better than Aftershock, lesser than Motörizer…
And who really cares, at this point? It’s Motörhead – own it, love it, and rock the hell out.
