Between the 24th of December, 1945 and the 28th of December, 2015, Ian Fraser “Lemmy” Kilmister lived the sort of life befitting of someone who emphatically defined the term “rock and roll legend.”
Lemmy lived in excess, he lived by his rules, and he most certainly lived louder than everyone else, which is precisely how he would want to be remembered and celebrated. Yes, we’ve reached the end of the Best Worst Band in the World, and yes, there’s now a void in music that will never be occupied in quite the same way again, but Motörhead’s effect will be enjoyed, endured and suffered at ear-splitting levels until the moment this dirty planet finally blinks out of existence, and that’s a beautiful thing.
If Lemmy were still here, and if he knew you personally, he’d likely tell you to stop moping on the internet and start boozing in a shitty bar with your friends and a jukebox that rattles out a Rickenbacker bass louder than a lawnmower sitting on your face. So don’t forget to do that. Do that today, do it tomorrow, and do it until it’s eventually your turn to stop kicking up dirt, because life is meant to be lived loud, ugly and with as little compromise as humanly possible.
We will all eventually be killed by death, but the choice is yours whether to go out in a whisper or a roar.
Sword and shield, bone and steel
Deaf forever to the battles din
Rest in glorious bedlam with a perpetual buzz, Lemmy Kilmister. And thank you.