Go to:

• Motörhead (1977)
• Overkill (1979)
• Bomber (1979)
• Ace of Spades (1980)
• No Sleep 'til Hammersmith (1981)
• Iron Fist (1982)
• Another Perfect Day (1983)
• No Remorse (1984)
• Orgasmatron (1986)
• Rock 'n' Roll (1987)
• Nö Sleep at All (1988)
• The Birthday Party (1990)
• 1916 (1991)
• Meltdown (1992)
• March or Die (1992)
• Bastards (1993)
• Live at Brixton (1994)
• Sacrifice (1995)
• Overnight Sensation (1996)
• Snake Bite Love (1998)
• Born to Lose, Live to Win – The Bronze Singles 1978-1983 (1999)
• Everything Louder Than Everyone Else (1999)
• We Are Motörhead (2000)
• Hammered (2002)
• Inferno (2004)
• Classic Albums - Motörhead: Ace of Spades DVD (2004)

Motörhead (1977)

7

Motörhead / Vibrator / Lost Johnny / Iron Horse/Born to Lose / White Line Fever / Keeps on the Road / The Watcher / The Train Kept A-Rollin’ // City Kids / Beer Drinkers & Hell Raisers / On Parole / Instro / I’m Your Witch Doctor

Pretty incredible: next year, Motörhead exists three decades. Incredible, because their best early work still sounds as vital and nasty as it must’ve been at the time, while they haven’t changed one single bit in the meantime. Well, Lemmy gets uglier every year and once in a while he's been replacing one musician with another one, but Motörhead basically never changed their winning formula. Like AC/DC and the Ramones – bands who arguably delivered their best albums around the same time as Motörhead did (1976-1980) – Motörhead seems so obvious, so all over the place, and an ugly presence that’s always been there. Like those bands, Motörhead would also prove to be hugely influential. Even though they never were about musicianship and complexity (heck, they weren’t even about songwriting), you might argue that only Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath made more of an impact on hard rock/metal. Yes, Motörhead’s influences reaches further than Iron Maiden and probably even Judas Priest’s. Not only does about every straightforward band cite them as an influence (and where would the Supersuckers be without Motörhead?), they were one of the few bands that were respected by both metal and punk audiences. It’s all due to their explosive, no-nonsense attack. Their songs were usually short and sharp, propelled by Lemmy’s melodic bass playing and hoarsely shouted vocals, and what they lacked in the technical department, they made up for with sheer volume. Still today, attending Motörhead shows can cause ear damage, as the band makes sure they're the last thing you'll ever hear.

Now, what about this debut album? To be honest, it’s not really their debut. In 1976, Lemmy recorded an album with Larry Wallis (from the pink Fairies) and Lucas Fox, but United Artists thought it was sucky and told them to get lost. Wallis and Fox left and were replaced by Eddie Clarke and Phil Taylor, completing the classic Motörhead line-up. They recorded a bunch of songs in 1977 and the band immediately garnered a lot of fuss (the ‘real’ debuted was released as On Parole in 1979). The band’s single-minded approach is already present on this eponymous debut: even though tracks like “Iron Horse” and “Keep Us on the Road” are obviously rooted in classic (hard) rock, and even deviate from the loud & fast-style they’re famous for, the key ingredients (Lemmy’s hoarse rasp, a prominent bass that often overshadows the guitar – unless there’s a solo, the no-nonsense production job) are already there. Even though “Iron Horse” would become something of a concert favorite, I’ve never liked it that much, as it seemed to drag a bit too much for its own good, as if the band had been taking too many tranquillizers before recording (especially during the choooo-rrrrrruuuuuuuusss). I’d rather hear the opening salvo of “Motörhead” and “Vibrator,” song that are as much punk as they are hard rock. The title track follows a repetitive Ramones-styled groove, but the song’s just so goddamn catchy – despite the fact that no one actually understands what Lemmy’s blabbering about (at least, I don’t). “Vibrator” is a great showcase for the band’s early sound: heavily indebted to basic rock ‘n’ roll and with the bass completely dwarfing the guitar sound, it’s a blast to listen to, especially when they reach the chorus. Hearing Lemmy sing “Va-va-va-vibraytaahhh” is particularly exhilarating. The basic approach is also to their benefit during their rendition of oldie “Train Kept A-Rollin’”. While Aerosmith had already recorded something of a definitive rock version a few years earlier, Motörhead’s fuck off-version is equally exciting, with Clarke delivering some dirty but melodic soloing. Melody is actually what some of these songs lack to some degree. Oh, I hear you laughing, I hear you claim that this band wouldn’t even recognize a melody if it kicked them in the arse, but you’re wrong there … nearly all of their classics contain at least one unforgettable hook or key melody that lifts it even higher. “The Watcher,” a boogie with punk-styled vocals is one of those: fine sound, but when it’s over you’ll hardly remember it. But luckily, those moments are few, as most of the songs have something going for them, whether it’s a relentless, galloping rhythm (“Lost Johnny”) or an insane amount of energy and an all-over-the-place sound (the terrific single “White Line Fever”). You can hardly call Motörhead a classic album (and only the title track deserves that status), it’s too uneven to be considered more than good, but it’s nice to see how they started out, how they sounded before they invented several genres with the next few – better – albums that found them at the peak of their powers. Motörhead is the prologue to one of rock and roll’s finest chapters.

Note: Most editions nowadays come with five bonus tracks that basically continue in the familiar vein (but with too prominent and off-key vocals), even though the ska-styled guitar work of Larry Wallis’s “On Parole” is, uhm, wicked. The covers of ZZ Top’s “Beer Drinkers & Hell Raisers” and John Mayall’s “I’m Your Witch Doctor” also get the wart-treatment, leading to fine instances of ugly mayhem.

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Overkill (1979)

8.5

Overkill / Stay Clean / (I Won’t) Pay Your Price / I’ll Be Your Sister / Capricorn / No Class / Damage Case / Tear Ya Down / Metropolis / Limb from Limb

You like ‘em or you don’t, there’s no way in between. Vintage Motorhead, as they call it: loud, brutal, simple, intense and filthy. Music to boost your ego, music to listen to during breakfast, music to play when you walk into a room crowded with people and wanna look like a mean motherfucker, songs to hum when you’re walking past cops, priests, grannies and 16-year old girls that giggle, songs to groan when you’re in the local supermarket making faces at the little toddlers who noticed you’re acting funny whereas their mommies can’t decide which brand of milk to buy, music to break skulls to (I guess), music to upset your parents with (unless they wear leather jackets and are members of the Hell’s Angels), music to play for Pitchforkmedia-worshipping dorks who’ll tell you how the new Mogwai album introduces an entirely new paradigm that’ll change our notions of multi-faceted, multi-functional, post-postmodernist, sample-heavy collage-art, and music to play while you shove that Mogwai album up their asses, music to play when that girl visits you because it’ll upset her and you knew you’d upset her anyway, music to crank open at a poetry reading where there are even more fashionable goatees than fevered egos, music to listen to when you feel like it, music to play when people tell you you shouldn’t like that racket anymore because you’ve dealt with that phase of your life in the meantime, music you need to hear just to check out what the fuss is about, music to listen to because you like a throaty bark from a guy who’s really ugly, music you need when your credit card is no longer accepted, music you need to hear because your car broke down and there’s not a helpful being in sight at 3 A.M., music you listen to because you dig anachronisms, music you prefer because you don’t like that shitty, bloated prog album your brother gave you for Christmas anyway, music you crave because it’s basically a huge kick under the butt, which is exactly what you need once in a while.

That said, Overkill contains three all-time Motorhead classics (well, in my book at least): the title track, propelled by a relentless drum assault, shares its drive with their most famous song (yes, that one) and features some of Lemmy’s best barks. I also love the way in which it fools you not only once, but twice with a reprise consisting of big chords and howling solos. “Stay Clean” manages to keep the catchiness-factor intact and is the one track with hit potential here. It’s also interesting because it’s a nice indication of Lemmy’s unconventional style: just check out how he basically treats his bass as a second guitar during his solo. Third classic is “No Class,” arguably the album’s most ferocious assault. Granted, that riff was copped from ZZ Top’s “Tush,” but man does it ROCK! Add to that Lemmy’s orders (“Shut up, you talk too loud”), and you have yourself a winner. There’s nothing as good as these three songs on the album, but you can have a lot of fun with the Yardbirds-go-nasty boogie of “(I Won’t) Pay Your Price,” and the exciting twosome of “Damage Case” and “Year Ya Down.” “Capricorn” already hints at the bluesier sound of Bomber, and “Metropolis” is Overkill’s lone misfire. Well, actually it’s a fan favorite and one they still perform to this day, but I’ve never been too fond of it. Too tame, I guess. But hey, it’s still Motorhead in their prime and you know what that means. Do I need to make a drawing?

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Bomber (1979)

7.5

Dead Men Tell No Tales / Lawman / Sweet Revenge / Sharpshooter / Poison / Stone Dead Forever / All the Aces / Step Down / Talking Head / Bomber

Thundershowers hit just before midnight, drowning out the horn honks and noisemaker blare that usually signalled New Year’s on the Strip, bringing 1950 to the West Hollywood Substation in a wave of hot squeals with meat wagon backup. At 12:03, a four-vehicle fender bender at Sunset and La Cienega resulted in a half dozen injuries; the crash was caused by the clown in the brown DeSoto and the army major in the Camp Cooke staff car racing no-hands with dogs wearing paper party hats on their laps. Two arrests; one call to the Verdugo Street Animal Shelter. At 12:14, an uninhabited vet’s shack on Sweetzer collapsed in a heap of drenched prefab, killing a teenaged boy and girl necking under the foundation; two Country Morgue DOA’s. At 12:29, a neon lawn display featuring Santa Claus and his helpers short-circuited, shooting flames along the electrical cord to its inside terminus – a plug attached to a maze of adapters fueling a large, brightly lit Christmas tree and nativity scene – severely burning three children heaping tissue-wrapped presents on a glow-in-the-dark baby Jesus. One fire truck, one ambulance and three Sheriff’s prowl cars to the scene, a minor jurisdictional foul-up when the LAPD appeared in force, a rookie dispatcher mistaking the Sierra Bonita Drive address as City – not County – territory. Then five drunk drivings; then a slew of drunk and disorderlies as the clubs on the Strip let out; then a strongarm heist in front of Dave’s Blue Room, the victims two Iowa yokels in town for the Rose Bowl, the muscle two niggers who escaped in a ’47 Merc with purple fender skirts. When the rain petered out shortly after 3:00, Detective Deputy Danny Upshaw, the station’s acting watch commander, predicted that the 1950’s were going to be a shit decade.

That’s how James Ellroy’s 1988 novel The Big Nowhere opens. Check it out, it’s dynamite. I presume Ellroy has never heard of Motörhead (and I doubt he’d be interested), and this fragment has no right being here, but it beats repeating the same old description over and over again. Besides, people don’t read enough. Let yourself be overwhelmed by Ellroy’s hard-hitting prose, I promise you it’s worth it. In the meantime, I’ll offer some second hand babble on Bomber, the most inconsistent of Motörhead’s early classics. While its best songs are 200% satisfaction guaranteed (deny it and you prove you don’t love rock ‘n’ roll), the remaining tracks are a bit of a patchy affair. But let’s not waste too much space on those. Listen to “Dead Men Tell No Tales,” a hard-rocking track featuring some of Clarke’s best playing and Lemmy’s prominent vocals. Even better are “Stone Dead Forever,” with its classic bass intro and incendiary guitar parts (it’s where Guns n’ Roses’ Slash got some of his guitar tones, just compare the solo to the one in “Sweet Child O’ Mine”), and the blistering title track. Other fine tracks are the no-nonsense “Sharpshooter” (gotta dig all those nasty song titles), “All the Aces” and “Talking Head,” basically a re-write of several earlier songs. There are a few songs that contain a too many repetitions (“Lawman, Lawman, Lawman, Lawman, etc”), “Sweet Revenge” is a bit too lazy/sleazy for its own good and Clarke proves he’s not much of a singer during the bluesy “Step Down,” but overall the album’s pretty good on the basis of three terrific stand-outs. Even though it was produced by Jimmy Miller (who also handled the previous one and about all the classic Stones-albums), the third album has the least interesting sound of their classic string, missing the grit of Overkill and the vicious attack of the next album. However, if you’re like me, you’ll have a soft spot for the album, despite its weaknesses. If you also happen to like James Ellroy’s high-energy crime novels and happen to be a female, I might even propose.

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Ace of Spades (1980)

9

Ace of Spades / Love Me Like a Reptile / Shoot You in the Back / Live to Win / Fast and Loose / (We Are) The Road Crew / Fire Fire / Jailbait / Dance / Bite the Bullet / The Chase Is Better Than the Catch / The Hammer

Bad-ass, tough, dirty, mean, rude, lean, aggressive, dangerous, greasy, sharp, energetic, fiery, scorching, blistering, sizzling, blazing, searing, burning, strong, foul-mouthed, crude, callous, foul, elemental, archaic, unremitting, vulgar, cold-blooded, uncouth, coarse, bad-mannered, pre-historic, grimy, iniquitous, roaring, nasty, frantic, malevolent, tough, unadulterated, harsh, dedicated, hard-hitting, sturdy, classic, confrontational, soiled, obnoxious, powerful, thumping, trouncing, fast, ruthless, brawny, death-defying, straightforward, careless, brainless, strapping, burly, robust, loud, cantankerous, fetid, vicious, violent, uncontrolled, defiant, powerful, seminal, degenerate, bad-tempered, unreasonable, ferocious, extreme, fierce, brazen, cruel, wild, caustic, vigorous, basic, monstrous, dynamic, determined, psychotic, drunk, ruthless, impure, vital, smelly, insensitive, relentless, merciless, anachronistic, hard-rocking, unadorned, single-minded, nasty, dishonest, misogynistic, bluesy, wicked, punk-ish, shameless, fucked-up, brash, depraved, demented, immoral, hammering, notorious, pounding, thrashing, striking, criminal, insane, hilarious, riotous, stubborn, manic, rudimentary, filthy, boasting, unabashed, deafening, deaf too, silly, belligerent, destructive, simple, mentally-challenged, up yours, stubborn, feisty, glorious, bloodless, brandishing, heavy, potent, possessed, grimy, macho, intense, and also fookin’ great. Probably the essential Motörhead studio album, and with reason, as it not only contains several of their (and, by consequence, rock) classics, such as the everlasting testosterone shot of the title track (“That’s the way I like it baby, I don’t wanna live forever!”), the hard-hitting “Shoot You in the Back” and the supremely poetic “The Hammer,” but basically succeeds in one giving you one hell of a 12-song ass-whupping. Granted, it’s repetitive, rather tuneless and devoid of any finesse, but hey, if you’re looking for those things, you better get your kicks somewhere else. This is primal noise for misfits, bearded bikers, maniacs, perverts, decibel-freaks, machos, honest democrats, Jews, frustrated adolescents, maltreated stamp-collectors, transsexual preachers, trailer park trash, surgeons, postmen, Rastafarians, punks, hillbillies, Peruvians, factory workers, math teachers, mayors, Japanese, Okies, spacecake-munching Dutchies, long-haired scum, glue-sniffing teenagers, pitiable cousins who got stood up, Hispanic gangs, tattooed criminals, and other assorted people who like their rock ‘n’ roll exciting, warted and in your face. Bad-ass titles with bad-ass songs to back them up. Classic.

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No Sleep ‘til Hammersmith (1981)

9

Ace of Spades / Stay Clean / Metropolis / The Hammer / Iron Horse / No Class / Overkill / (We Are) The Road Crew / Capricorn / Bomber / Motorhead

Loud, louder, loudest. This band has always been notorious because of their excruciatingly loud shows and No Sleep ‘til Hammersmith can tell you why. Recorded at the peak of their powers, when they had released some of the finest music of their career, it finds the band relentlessly churning out a series of white-hot motherfuckers with a staggering amount of energy and viciousness. Although most of these songs already were a blast on the respective albums, they’re even more intense and filthy here. Just check out that incredible bass intro to “Ace of Spades,” or the one that introduces “Motorhead”: primal power. Without wasting any energy on unnecessary stuff (almost all of the songs are announced as “this one is called X”), beating a hellish racket out of their instruments, the trio tears through 11 tracks, most of which are classics in their canon. “Ace of Spades,” “The Hammer,” “Overkill,” “Bomber” and “No Class” are songs that’ll have you jump around, bang your head and pump your fist in a split-second. I’ve never been that fond of tracks like “Metropolis,” “Iron Horse” and “Capricorn,” but they manage to get by – no, they even impress – because of the sheer intensity with which they are delivered. Turbo-charged bass playing, scorching riffs, incendiary solos and ferocious drum bashing (“Overkill” ain’t human anymore), it’s got everything to convince you of Motörhead’s greatness. Again, if you don’t like this furious beast, you’ll never like any of their albums, but perhaps No Sleep ‘til Hammersmith, more than any other of their albums, is the ideal starting point to get acquainted with the band, their monumental power and most of their early classics. Few live albums are exciting as this one, so it’s pretty essential listening for anyone interested in the roar of electric guitars, thunderous drums and a throaty rasp, courtesy of England’s ugliest rascal.

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Iron Fist (1982)

7.5

Iron Fist / Heart of Stone / I’m the Doctor / Go to Hell / Loser / Sex & Outrage / America / Shut It Down / Speedfreak / (Don’t Let ‘Em) Grind You Down / (Don’t Need) Religion / Bang to Rights

More speedy, disorderly motör-punk and unfortunately also the last by the classic Taylor/Clarke/Lemmy line-up, as Clarke didn’t think that recording Tammy Wynette’s “Stand by Your Man” with S&M babe Wendy O. Williams (of Plasmatics-notoriety) wasn’t one of Lemmy’s best ideas and left the band shortly after Iron Fist’s release. That said, the fifth studio album is often regarded as a serious step down from the sheer splendour of the previous few releases – both in the songwriting department and the considerably slicker sound – but that’s an overblown misconception on a par with “Radiohead is this decade’s greatest band.” Now, I’ve never been convinced it’s a Motör-classic either, since it contains a few too many average songs and lacks the aggressive attack of Ace of Spades, but it’s still a whole lotta juvenile fun. What you get are one undisputed classic (the exciting-as-hell title track), a furious 140-second punk beast (“Sex Outrage”) and a few other lethal cuts, ranging from the Bomber-styled blues boogie of “I’m Your Doctor,” the pretty self-explicatory “Go to Hell” and pantzerkreuzers like “(Don’t Let ‘Em) Grind You Down” and “Shut It Down.” As a bonus, Lemmy also reveals his inner self (“I’m a loser,” “I’m a speedfreak,” No more Mr. Nice Guy”), comes up with a slightly moronic paean to America (“America, fast cars, America, the girls, the bars, America, don’t make no fuss, America, get on the bus” – any surprise they recorded a live album called What’s Words Worth?) and states some of his ideas (“Don’t need no blind belief, don’t need no comic relief, don’t need to see the scars, don’t need Jesus Christ Superstar, don’t need no Sunday television, bet your life you don’t need religion”). The result: a grizzly 36-minute album of rowdy turbo-rock that’s as subtle as getting your head smashed by a bowling ball. It’s about time someone blasts it in the White House or something. Anyone got Michael Moore’s cell phone number?

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Another Perfect Day (1983)

8

Back at the Funny Farm / Shine / Dancing on Your Grave / Rock It / One Track Mind / Another Perfect Day / Marching Off to War / I Got Mine / Tales of Glory / Die You Bastard

The infamous ugly duckling I have a soft spot for. Another Perfect Day represents an awkward - but comical - chapter in the history of Motörhead. After Clarke had left the band right before the Iron Fist-tour, Lemmy recruited Thin Lizzy guitar monster Brian “Robbo” Robertson to finish it and play on the next album. However, despite Robertson’s undeniable capacities (technically, he was much more gifted than Clarke, who made up this lack with velocity and energy), there are a few things that could’ve been considered in advance, just to avoid problems:

1. If you’re a member of Motörhead - a band that attracts more vermin than a garbage dump - you’d better not have “short hair with a white headband and a black mesh disco vest accompanied by a small, tight pair of satin shorts.” Motörhead fans wear nothing but denim and/or leather, and they belch loudly too, so they don’t appreciate a ballerina doing her thing next to Lemmy and Philty.
2. If you’re a member of Motörhead – a band that always had had their signature classics (“Motörhead,” “Overkill,” “Bomber” and “Ace of Spades”) – you’d better not refuse to play those tracks, because the fans won’t like you.
3. If you’re a member of Motörhead – a.k.a. Monotohead – you’d better not incorporate too many pretty melodies, because the fans wanna bang their heads, not worship a guitar virtuoso.
   Robertson gave the finger to these three unwritten rules and instantly became persona non grata. By the end of the year, he was no longer a member of the band.

However, the only album this line-up ever recorded hasn’t received a fair treatment, as it’s one of their minor classics and even better than the fan classic Iron Fist. It’s not immediately clear how different Robertson’s style is, as “Back at the Funny Farm” starts off the album on a furious note nearly on a par with “Overkill.” Lemmy roars like in the golden day, Taylor beats like an Animal on amphetamines and Robbo adds his flashy, ultra-melodic blend of power and finesse. “Shine,” however, is something entirely different, as the band actually sound as if they’re covering a Thing Lizzy song: the use of those typical thirds, the combination of muscularity and catchiness, this could’ve been a song off of Johnny the Fox or Jailbreak. And so it goes: Lemmy and Taylor do exactly what’s expected – and the excellent production makes it as cool as ever – but Robertson’s clearly the defining element on the album, as his playing dominates several of the tracks, most of which are longer than ever (6 out of 10 tracks clocking in over 4 minutes). “Dancing on Your Grave” and “I Got Mine,” have – despite the misleading titles – some of the poppiest choruses the band ever recorded, while the straightforward rock ‘n’ roll of “Rock It” even adds a hammering piano. The middle section of the album actually contains two epics (well, somewhere between 5 and 6 minutes is a heroic battle in this band’s case) that allow Robertson to stretch out: “One Track Mind,” basically a less abrasive version of Bomber’s “Sweet Revenge", and the title track contain solos that are virtuoso efforts walking the thin line between spaciness and toughness, dirty grinding and fret-wanking. This is indeed the only Motörhead-album Steve Vai-fans will like. Despite all the high notes and dexterity, Another Perfect Day ultimately stands as one hell of a hard rock album. The longer tracks aren’t that great and stuff like “Marching Off to War” (there’s the war-theme finally!) seems to lack balls, but luckily the album ends with “Tales of Glory” and the appropriate “Die You Bastard,” a good old slab of dirtiness. Filth in a tutu, what could be better?

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No Remorse (1984)

8.5

Ace of Spades / Motörhead / Jailbait / Stay Clean / Too Late, Too Late / Killed By Death / Bomber / Iron Fist / Shine / Dancing on Your Grave / Metropolis / Snaggletooth / Overkill / Please Don’t Touch / Stone Dead Forever / Like a Nightmare / Emergency / Steal Your Face / Louie, Louie / No Class / Iron Horse / ‘We Are) The Road Crew / Leaving Here / Locomotive // Under the Knife / Under the Knife / Masterplan / No Class / Stand By Your Man

After the pretty disastrous reception of Another Perfect Ballet, Robertson left the band, shortly followed by Taylor who joined Robertson’s new band Operator. Now Lemmy was the only founding member left, so he decided to break with the past by hiring two guitar players (Phil Campbell and Mick “Wurzel” Burston) and Saxon’s drummer Pete Gill, turning the band into a four piece unit for the first time. The band got into some legal dispute with their label, which prevented them from releasing new material, and I guess that explains this double-album compilation that aims to offer the definitive overview of the band’s first 8 years of existence. It does a pretty good job at it too, by picking the most popular songs from their albums (the title tracks of the first three albums, as well as fan favorites such as “Bomber,” No Class,” “Stone Dead Forever,” etc.), occasionally replacing them by equally riveting live versions. Like every other worthwhile anthology, No Remorse also contains some stuff that can’t be found on the regular albums (why buy it otherwise?): stuff like “Please Don’t Touch,” “Like a Nightmare” and “Too Late, Too Late” basically continues the traditional Motörhead-tradition, even though they’re no match for the best songs on here. Just to prove the new line-up kicked ass as well, they added four brand new tracks, the problem being that only “Snaggletooth” manages to truly impress, despite the velocity of “Locomotive,” the Satriani-runs of “Steal Your Face” and “Killed by Death,” which has a nifty title, but not the sound (WHERE’S THAT GUITAR? BURIED BENEATH THE CLICK-CLACK OF THE DRUMS PERHAPS?), nor the guts of the earlier tracks. It makes you regret they didn’t include classic material like “Dead Men Tell No Tales,” “Back at the Funny Farm,” “Shoot You in the Back” and “The Hammer” instead. But these are basically minor comments, as the songs are certainly decent and 80% of No Remorse does an excellent job at explaining the singular ‘genius’ of one of the most stubbornly repetitive bands ever.

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Orgasmatron (1986)

7

Deaf Forever / Nothing up My Sleeve / Ain’t My Crime / Claw / Mean Machine / Built for Speed / Ridin’ with the Driver / Doctor Rock / Orgasmatron

Orgasmatron is by many considered to be an essential Motörhead album, a long-awaited comeback after their legal dispute and the disappointing adventure with Brian “Fairy” Robertson, but I beg to differ. It’s not that it’s a bad album, but it doesn’t offer a single song that would end up in my Motörhead Top 20 either. On top of that most of the songs go on for too long and nearly all of them sound bad (the only exception being “Doctor Rock”). It’s a nasty, vicious sound, alright, but Laswell regularly failed in maintaining a nice balance between the instruments, making the majority of the songs sound exactly like a lot of music from that era: unnatural, clinically cold and overproduced. “Deaf Forever” was their slowest album opener yet, a chugging mid-tempo riff monster that rocks with the elegance of an elephant in a skating rink. It’s an ideal track to bang your head to, I guess, and new guitar players Wurzel and Campbell have more in common with the sloppy velocity of Taylor than Robertson’s melodic virtuosity, so it’s perfectly understandable it’s something of a classic. BUT THOSE DRUMS! TACK TACK TACK! The rest of the album is basically business as usual: “Nothing Up My Sleeve” should’ve been called “Ace of Spades, Pt. 17,” while the thrashing “Mean Machine” and the metallic punk rock of “Ridin’ with the Driver” are lethal noise shrapnels. It’s because of their intensity and ferocious delivery that they manage to get by, otherwise they would’ve ended up like “Claw,” an almost unbearable torture that consists of grating guitar, hoarse vocals and bass drums. Also “Built for Speed,” a second mid-tempo bulldozer and the extended “evil” title track could’ve been so much more impressive had they been presented like the previous few albums. Oh well, that leaves us with “Doctor Rock,” a terrific piece of filth that kicks quite some ass. But hey, despite all these minor annoyances, they still hadn’t come up with an album that wasn’t at least convincing in some way.

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Rock ‘n’ Roll (1987)

6

Rock ‘n’ Roll / Eat the Rich / Blackheart / Stone Deaf in the USA / The Wolf / Traitor / Dogs / All for You / Boogeyman

… and here it is, their first truly half-assed record. The thing is, it could’ve been a fine album if Lemmy wasn’t so all over it. As long as he keeps his mouth shut, Rock ‘n’ Roll rocks just fine, with a fairly slick sound, but one that’s much more appealing than Orgasmatron’s. The main problem, however, is that Lemmy’s vocals are WAAAYYYY up in the mix and it makes him sound like a demented pervert backed by a karaoke installation. I’ve got nothing against that sandpaper roar, but when it’s buried in the mix, like on the best albums, the album gets a force that’s much more brutal. Now, if the balance had been more even, it still wouldn’t have been one of their better efforts, as it’s their most uneven album yet. The title track is a simple, effective riff-rocker that lives up to its title, “The Wolf” is a great, breakneck-paced piece of nonsense (“You better fight him, or it’s you that’s gonna die, the wolf is at your door … THE WOLF!”), and “Traitor” sounds, well uh … funky? I mean, you expect him to bark “Play that funky music, white boy,” yet instead he delivers the vocals in an hilariously staccato style he’d never done before. That’s about all the Rock ‘n’ Roll I need. I guess “Stone Deaf in the USA” (basically a reversal of the “No Class”-riff, which makes it a rip-off of a rip-off, but one that works) makes quite impression if it’s the first Motörhead you hear, but it seems too standard, just like “Boogeyman,” which ends the album in the same vein it started in. In between these come a few songs that are good for a laugh…

Eat up, eat you, eat me
Eat two, get one free
Shetland pony, extra pepperoni
Just pick up the phone,
Eat Greek, or eat Chinese,
Eat salad, or scarf up grease,
You’re on the shelf, maybe eat yourself
Come on, bite my bone
(“Eat the Rich”)

… a sub-standard reworking of Bomber’s boogie (“Blackheart”), hints of sheer boredom (the unashamedly uninspired “Dogs”) and a sort of hairspray-poodle-bad-smellin’-pop-metal shit song that ain’t even funny (“All for You”). So Rock ‘n’ Roll is definitely a disappointment that maybe could’ve been decent if it weren’t for the obnoxious production.

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Nö Sleep at All (1988)

5.5

Dr. Rock / Traitor / Dogs / Ace of Spades / Eat the Rich / Built for Speed / Deaf Forever / Just ‘Cos You Got the Power / Killed By Death / Overkill

Seven years since the mighty No Sleep ‘til Hammersmith and in the music scenes things have changed thoroughly. If there’s one album held accountable for giving birth to thrash, it must’ve been the scorching 1981 live album. From then on, heavy metal got heavier and lots, lots faster than it was before, with speed/thrash peaking in the second half of the ‘80’s (check it out in your Metal Encyclopaedia). If anything, Nö Sleep at All goes to show the band hadn’t profited from this boost of ultra-heavy music. Each of their four studio albums since said 1981 classic contained a few tracks that are still worth listening to if you’re ready to get pumped up, but they were no longer 35-minute blasts of fury that rocked with an extraterrestrial force. Of course the decibels and velocity never left (the version of “Overkill” on this album is FUCKING loud), but they repeated themselves, often ending up with fairly average imitations of themselves. Of these 10 songs, 6 are taken from their last two albums, two are classics and two are “rarities”, so to speak, and it’s pretty obvious that “Ace of Spaces” and “Overkill” tower above the other tracks. That is not to say the performances aren’t dedicated, they are, but the material from Orgasmatron and Rock ‘n’ Roll, it’s just … bleh. “Dogs” and “Eat the Rich” are boring, some of the songs are too long (new song “Just ‘Cos You Got the Power” is stretched out for 7+ long minutes) and “Killed by Death,” with its silly cookie monster grumbling is plain annoying. I mean, the first four songs all clock in under 3:30 and that’s MY Motörhead: brutal, fast and stinkin’ o beer, asscracks and sweat. On top of this, Lemmy’s vocals are – again – too prominent (who does he think he is? JULIO IGLESIAS?), while there’s not enough guitar noise to warrant a second guitar player. Allegedly, the band wasn’t pleased with this recording either, which eventually lead to a legal battle with the label, so that’s a kind of reassurance. Still, it leaves you with the impression they weren’t going nowhere anymore with a second nearly superfluous album hot on the heels of a first one.

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The Birthday Party (1990)

7

Iron Fist / Mean Machine / On the Road / We Are the Road Crew / The Hammer / Metropolis / Ace of Spades / Steal Your Face / Nothing Up My Sleeve / Bite the Bullet / The Chase Is Better Than the Catch / No Class / Killed by Death / Bomber / Motörhead

These are the people your parents warned you to watch out for… better take this record home to show that you've found them. The liner notes to The Birthday Party are a nice addition to Lemmy's usual dead-pan humour. After they've torn through Orgasmatron's "Mean Machine", the Wartman says: "We may not be the best band in the world, but we are DEFINITELY the fastest… This is another new song I think you have not heard ever, even with a TV," and then launches into mid-tempo stomper "On the Road," an early version of "Built for Speed." It was recorded a few years before Nö Sleep at All (June 26th 1985 at Hammersmith Odeon), but because it was organised to celebrate their ten year anniversary, it offers more of a career-retrospective than Sleep. However, the focus lies on Ace of Spades (5 songs) and Orgasmatron (3 songs), which wasn't even released at the time. The sound's pretty average, with both bass and guitar way too much in the background, but with a set list like this one, you're in for a good time and there are guest appearances by Wendy O. Williams ("No Class") and previous members. Of course this semi-official release is a superfluous one if you only wanna have a taste of the band (No Sleep 'til Hammersmith should be your first pick in that case), but if you can't get enough of the ultimate metal outfit, The Birthday Party is a worthy addition to your collection.

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1916 (1991)

8

The One to Sing the Blues / I’m So Bad (Baby I Don’t Care) / No Voices in the Sky / Going to Brazil / Nightmare/The Dreamtime / Love Me Forever / Angel City / Make My Day / Ramones / Shut You Down / 1916

BAD-ASS! This baby will always hold a special place at Guy’s Pad of Sin, as it’s the first Motörhead album I ever owned and one whose highlights still make my eyebrows change places. Nowadays, many people consider it a kind of attempt to cash-in with a bunch of more accessible songs (the stretch from “No Voices” to “Angel City” IS – “Nightmare” excepted – easily some of the catchiest, lightest stuff they’ve ever done), but I don’t really care if that’s true or not, as long as the slick stuff is good (most of it is) and the album contains some good, old-fashioned filth as well. YOU BET IT DOES! This album features the best two opening songs since Ace of Spades’ title track back-to-back with “Love Me Like a Reptile:” “The One to Sing the Blues,” with its drums intro and extremely metallic guitars is easily one of the hardest-rocking since their heyday, while beneath all the grease, there lies one hell of a catchy chorus as well. This time around, the dual attack of Campbell and Würzel sounds much better than on previous albums and when they unleash those power chords you’re gonna feel like the toughest bastard from the block, believe me. Perhaps even better is the punk-styled “I’m So Bad,” basically a hyper boogie that rocks with a reckless abandon not heard since, well uh, since “The One to Sing the Blues,” I guess. Anyway, after that, there’s a bunch of easily digestible rock ‘n’ roll they probably put there not to offend their American hosts too much (heh), but the band luckily picks up the venom again with the pretty awesome threesome of “Make My Day,” “Ramones” and “Shut You Down,” the first being a hard rock ‘n’ barkfest, the second one of the greatest punk tributes/pastiches/parodies ever (dedicated to a band with an equally diverse sound) and the third a relentless metronome trip that contains one of Lemmy’s niftiest over-the-top performances. While the above is classic Motörhead and nothing less (aw man, just admit it reduces most of Orgasmatron and Rock ‘n’ Roll to the sales bins-department), the remainder of the album offers business as usual, meaning an alternation of worthwhile fun stuff and a few experiments you may or may not like, depending on your taste. You won’t hear me complain me about “No Voices in the Sky” and “Going to Brazil,” though, as the first gets a wonderful testosterone-moment 1:51 into the song (is there anything that beats a solo backed by a power chord?) and the second one basically takes Status Quo’s repetitive boogie-shtick into gruffer territory. Then things get a bit more uneven: “Nightmare/The Dreamtime,’ with its ‘spooky’ effects and ‘dead people speak to me’-imagery is the stuff that only German goth fans think is cool, “Love Me Forever” is their first power ballad (HAHAHAHA!! PUSSIES!!) and “Angel City” a lame-ass tribute to their new hometown of Los Angeles, except for a few fun lines about drinking Bon Jovi’s booze for free and the desire to be an intellectual heterosexual. And then there’s still the war song “1916,” Lemmy’s funeral-styled (organ! cello!) account of an underage soldier who fights and dies in World War I. It’s definitely embarrassing (those artillery drums!), but his attempt at singing is so touching it nearly gets to me. NEARLY. Anyway, like every other Motörhead album since 1980, 1916 is a bumpy affair, but this time around the peaks are a bit higher, making half of the album a shitload of fun. It’s not exactly “ozone hostile” (as the liner notes have it), but mostly a fine return to form.

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Meltdown (1992)

6

Turn You Round Again / Under the Knife I / Under the Knife II / Stand By Your Man / Emergency / Lemmy Goes to the Pub / Tales of Glory / Heart of Stone / Hoochie Coochie Man / (Don't Need) Religion / Go to Hell / One Track Mind / Shoot You in the Back

In 1992, some greedy record label exec. thought it might be a nice idea to sell the first five Motörhead albums in a limited box set called All the Aces and top it off with a CD of previously unreleased bonus material. Meltdown is that CD, and as far as I can tell, almost all these songs - 6 studio tracks, 7 live tracks - are from the Robbo-era, i.e. recorded somewhere between 1981 and 1984. If you're a bit familiar with Motörhead, you already understood that's not the classic line-up that churned out those grimy all-time classics you're still buying for all your friends for their birthdays, but the slightly poppier (to use that word on this page is surreal) incarnation from when they played Hells Angels-sponsored festivals with a guitar player wearing tight shorts, a black disco-vest and short-cropped dyed hair. However, it's not as bad as it suggests, as the one album they recorded with Robertson - Another Perfect Day - is definitely an underrated one. Despite the varying sound quality, the studio tracks are quite good, ranging from the swift metal-op of "Turn You Round Again" to the speedy "Under the Knife II," a hilariously ugly "Stand By Your Man," with vocals/gargling by the Lemster and half woman/half throat infection Wendy O. Williams, and a punk-styled under-produced "Emergency." The live stuff isn't bad either, but it's hardly essential. The sound's decent but lacking 'bottom' as the band tears through three songs from Iron Fist and two from Another Perfect Day, but unfortunately there's no "Iron Fist," no "Back at the Funny Farm," no "Shine." Also, their cover of Willie Dixon's "Hoochie Coochie Man" goes on for way too long. All this suggests that the band wasn't at their peak at the time, once more stressed by the presence of "Shoot You in the Back," which is easily the best song here. In other words: for the fans.

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March or Die (1992)

3

Stand / Cat Scratch Fever / Bad Religion / Jack the Ripper / I Ain’t No Nice Guy / Hellraiser / Asylum Choir / Too Good to Be True / You Better Run / Name in Vain / March Or Die

If it weren’t for the fact that we all know Phil Collins is Satan, I’d say the Prince of Darkness must’ve been involved in the making of this boring excuse for an album. Damn, it hurts when a band you like so much turns in an album that’s about as exciting as the brain activity of good old Dubya: HUH? At first it looked promising though: it comes hot on the heels of 1916 (a creative streak!), featured a no-nonsense cover (back to basics!), contains a cover of Ted Nugent’s “Cat Scratch Fever” (ignore that guy’s moronic stance on things and admit it’s a good song) and has contributions from Slash (a great guitar player, whether you like the albums he appeared on or not), Ozzy Osbourne (Birmingham’s very own Batman, at the time still capable of uttering a coherent – SHAROOOOON! – comprehensible sentence) and a new drummer with an interesting name (Mikkey Dee) and haircut (frizzy and blonde). But: no. If anything, this is the ultimate letdown among the Motörhead albums, an unapologetically uninspired string of songs (I’d rather just call them ‘short recordings’) that often suggest interesting (“Bad Religion”), evil (“Hellraiser”) and macho (“March or Die”) stuff that expands on the strengths of 1916. And it doesn’t even sound that bad: there’s not a single fast song here, not one scorching track that’s too brutal to handle, but that is not a problem in itself, it’s just that none of these songs has the balls of a “Bomber,” “The Wolf” or “The One to Sing the Blues.” What you get instead is a lame football chant with a ‘you can do it if you really try’-message (“Stand”), a cover version that’s so lame, lifeless, and tasteless it’s exactly what Ted Nugent deserves (“Cat Scratch Fever”), a strutting and stumbling attempt at a modern sound that I’d take to court if I were in the band Bad Religion, a song that’s not nearly as much fun as the movie (“Hellraiser”) and a bunch of mid-tempo, mean mofo-tunes that, when listened in one effort, make for a great opiate, and nothing else. I guess it must have its good moments as well (“Asylum Choir” starts of pretty promising and the half acoustic/half electric ballad “I Ain’t No Nice Guy” has some fine soloing by everyone’s favorite curly-head), but those are so damn hard to find when they’re surrounded by second-rate rip-offs of themselves and flat-out weak crap like “Too Good to Be True,” laughable bollocks like “Jack the Ripper” or the sludge-horror of the title track, a completely tuneless variation on 1916’s “Nightmare/The Dreamtime.” It’s no surprise Lemmy’s wearing a helmet on the back cover, I’d do exactly the same after insulting my fans like that. So a 3 it is: one for being Motörhead, one for the passable sound and one because I can’t prove Phil Collins was actually involved in this “project.”

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Bastards (1993)

6

On Your Feet or on Your Knees / Burner / Death or Glory / I Am the Sword / Born to Raise Hell / Don’t Let Daddy Kiss Me / Bad Woman / Liar / Lost in the Ozone / I’m Your Man / We Bring the Shake / Devils

Now that we’re talking about Phil Collins … I really wonder what his reaction would be if you’d tie him to a chair, gag him and blast the first few songs of Bastards at Spinal Tap-volume…. Oh, those daydreams… Anyway, Bastards is one hell of an overrated album (it’s not that it reached the MTV charts, but it seems a favorite among hardcore fans), while there’s not one album in their catalogue that contains highs this high and lows this low at the same time. Granted, March or Die could teach this album one and another about shitty songwriting, but when I found out that Motörhead – THE bad-ass band of the past three decades? – recorded a song called “Don’t Let Daddy Kiss Me,” an acoustic, “heartfelt” take on child abuse/incest, it was as if the world stopped turning for a while: “Why tell me why, the worst crime in the world … his seed is sown where it should not be, but the beast in his mind don’t care”? I mean, please shut the fuck up and kick some ass instead of showing your good heart, my man! The biggest problem with the album, though, is the song order, as they were so stupid as to cram the best songs at the beginning of the album (if they’d managed to keep up that consistency throughout the album, it would’ve been 1916’s equal – at least): “On Your Feet” is ferocious Motörhead by the book, a repetitive continuation of earlier stuff such as “I’m the One to Sing to Blues;” “Burner” is propelled by Dee’s insanely fast drumming (never has drumming been as thrash oriented on a Motörhead album as one this one – it’s like they were trying to keep up with Judas Priest and Painkiller); and history trip “Death or Glory” being exactly the way I like ‘em: punk-ish and quite melodies, but forceful. I even dig the cookie monster vocals of the chugging mid-tempo groover “I Am the Sword,” despite that half-cheesy chorus, but then things suddenly disintegrate, with the album only peaking once again, with the fasten-your-seatbelt-boogie of “Bad Woman.” The other songs are

- quite boring (“Born to Raise Hell” – gimmie the average “Angel City” instead)
- material that’s suitable for Aerosmith (“I’m Your Man” – just listen! Can’t you hear Tyler?)
- half-assed efforts with usually a fine sound, but also shitty soft rock-choruses that suggest they hadn’t fully recovered from the March or Die fiasco yet
- “Lost in the Ozone”: no relation to Commander Cody whatsoever, just the nadir of evilness in the world: your standard hard rock merger of acoustic (verses) and ‘thump-your-fist’ climactic ROCK MOMENT during the chorus.

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Live at Brixton (1994)

6

Doctor Rock / Stay Clean / Traitor / Metropolis / Dogs / Ace of Spades / Stone Deaf in the USA / Eat the Rich / Built for Speed / Rock 'n' Roll / Deaf Forever / Just 'Cos You Got the Power

Recorded at the end of 1987, right after Phil Taylor's return to the band, Live at Brixton doesn't exactly capture the band at their creative peak. With the stress primarily on the mid-80's material, you know you're not gonna get the highest average song quality they were capable of, but the filthy, messy sound gives away that the band's performance was extremely exciting and raucous that night. But hey, they've been doing that for three decades now, so… BUSINESS AS USUAL, RUDY!

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Sacrifice (1995)

8

Sacrifice / Sex & Death / Over Your Shoulder / War for War / Order/Fade to Black / Dog-Face Boy / All Gone to Hell / Make ‘em Blind / Don’t Waste Your Time / In Another Time / Out of the Sun

… and right when you start thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to quit after all – they retaliate with what’s perhaps their hardest rocking statement in one and a half decade. Granted, Iron Fist and Orgasmatron were also dirty slabs of rock ‘n roll (just like half of 1916), but those albums sounded obnoxiously dirty, while this one is basically one huge kick in the nuts. While the album cover looks particularly outrageous (that combination of Bosch and gore always cracks me up, while good ole Snaggletooth seems to have a penis AND a vagina in his mouth), the album’s concise length (less than 37 minutes! YEAH!) and brevity of the songs suggest they’re out there to rock this time. Sacrifice was the most metallic album they’d done up to this point – with several songs entering the realm of thrash – but due to a great production job, it comes off as perhaps their most ferocious rocking studio album since… uh, Ace of Spades? Like every other Motörhead album since 1980, it has its weak tracks, but they’re put together on the album’s second half, so when you get to them you’ve been harassed by twenty minutes of unapologetically brash rock ‘n’ roll. Although “Sacrifice” has become an excuse for Dee to deliver one of his superfluous drum solos when they play it live, this studio version – with its tight thrashy riff, is one hell of a blast, while its particularly swell how the band kicks into this adrenalin-gear for the crushing chorus (“SACRIFICE! PAY THE PRICE! etc”). The 120 seconds of “Sex & Death” are rather repetitive, but at least its ferocity beats the lame hard rock of the previous albums. A cool thing about this album is how they’ve got this totally HEAVY sound: “Over Your Shoulder” nearly sounds like Black Sabbath at 45RPM instead of 33, and contains a wonderful mid-tempo groove to bang your head to. The similarly grooving “War for War” may be a tad less exciting (mainly because of the chant-like vocals), but at least these crunching guitar parts keep on ripping things up on during the chorus (just like “In Another Time”). As the title suggests, “Order/Fade to Black” is basically two songs (or riffs) pasted together: one a start/stop one that’s a bit weird to hear on a Motorhead album (and I suddenly realised as well that this must be the one that inspired Belgium’s Vandal X to write “Fuck ‘em All’), the other a speed/thrash one – and they’re both deafening beasts. The album’s second half doesn’t stand out that much, with tracks 7-9 being rather average (a predictable rocker / a pummelling dirge that makes you scream “Get to it, man!” / the obligatory retro-rocker with piano), but “Dog-Face Boy” and “In Another Time” (listen how Lemmy’s straining his voice during the poppy verses!) rock with venom. Had it appeared at one of their lesser albums, I’d have laughed off “Out of the Sun,” but here’s a suitably catchy final chapter. Sacrifice tramples Bastards, and then some more. In fact, if it weren’t for those few average songs there, it would’ve deserved “classic Motörhead”-status.

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Overnight Sensation (1996)

7.5

Civil War / Crazy Like a Fox / I Don’t Believe a Word / Eat the Gun / Overnight Sensation / Love Can’t Buy You Money / Broken / Them Not Me / Murder Show / Shake the World / Listen to Your Heart

Business as usual, but business as usual is damn good. In fact, it’s been a while since the band delivered two damn fine albums back to back (actually, this is the first time since Iron Fist / Another Perfect Day in the early eighties), and at this point, it also becomes clear that the ‘90’s saw Motörhead explore atrociously smelly depths, but also reach higher highs than during the plastic ‘80’s (that’s ignoring Ace of Spades, indeed). Overnight Sensation is less metal-oriented than Sacrifice, yet it’s also a grimy motherfucker of an album that’s a bit of a return of the classic sound of the Bronze years: revved up rot ‘n’ roll instead of heavy metal excess, soiled sing-along ditties to satisfy the belchin’ and fightin’ hell’s angel that’s hiding deep inside you. They’re off to a great start with the one-two-punch of “Civil War” and “Crazy Like a Fox,” gorgeous pieces that touch each and every emotion of your inner self with the tender touch of a silky caress. “I Don’t Believe a Word” is this album’s outcast, as it sounds like a slower, less catchy, distant cousin of AC/DC’s “Touch Too Much,” but sung by Phil Lynott instead of Bon Booze. After that, it’s just a matter of deciding whether you’re gonna file the songs under “incendiary-destroy-everything-that’s-in-my-way-thrash” or “ugly-40-year-old-go-go-dancer-hard-rock. The short blast “Eat the Gun” and the metronome madness of “Them or Me” (has that song got a silly chorus or what?) definitely belong in the former, while most of the others fall in the second category: the title track makes ‘em sound like a heavy variation of AC/DC meets ZZ Top (probably because it reminds me of “Beer Drinkers and Hell Raisers” – and by the way, is that an ACOUSTIC GUITAR?), “Love Can’t Buy You Money” sounds like a gift from Aerosmith (again!), and “Murder Show” is basically an excuse to bang your head. Of course there’s also a bunch of tracks that deserve the shitty-tag, like “Broken” (suitable title) and “Shake the World” (which – despite the insane double-kick drumming – remains an annoying mess featuring Lemmy’s ‘horror story’-voice), but overall, Overnight Sensation is a jolly good second tier Motörhead album, and you can’t have enough of those. And “Listen to Your Heart” is a Roxette-cover.

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Snake Bite Love (1998)

6

Love for Sale / Dogs of War / Snake Bite Love / Assassin / Take the Blame / Dead and Gone / Night Side / Don't Lie to Me / Joy of Labour / Desperate for You / Better Off Dead

Rocking is their business… and business is good! But… WAIT A MINUTE! It's not always THAT good! Even though the nineties never saw true Motörhead classics like Ace of Spades or No Sleep 'til Hammersmith, they were in a way more interesting than the '80's, which saw a few good albums, but the stretch from 1983 until 1991 (when personal favourite 1916 was released) wasn't particularly interesting. March or Die was easily the worst offender they ever came up with and Bastards was a letdown (even though it's a fan favourite), but there were also decent ones, like Sacrifice (if there's been one motörfucker of an album by them the past few decades, it's that one) and the satisfyingly familiar Overnight Sensation. Their 14th album, Snake Bite Love, isn't that good, but at least there are a few good songs, a reasonably scruffy sound and a generous shot of filth. And there's humour, too, as the catchy, hard-rockin' album opener is a song about sexual stimulants (Viagra - you must've heard of it, or don't you receive any SPAM?): "You know the way, the game is tough, need some motivation to help you get it up," and then a wonderful "I don't believe it's legal to send it through the mail… only love for sale." I guess it's a serious concern for men in their fifties. Like the previous album, the strong opening is continued for a while, as "Dogs of War" is a piece of grinding thrash that would've fit nicely on Sacrifice and the title track offers some good-timey rock 'n' roll, just like "Don't Lie to Me" (A.K.A. "Gooing to Brazil, Pt. 2"). There are also a few nice moments where they rip themselves off ("Take the Blame" and "Night Side" are basically variation on early songs) and a ballad that's actually not ridiculous ("Dead and Gone"), like "Love Me Forever," for instance, but the remainder of the album is nothing but a retread. If you're a hardcore fan, you'll also dig the awkward rhythm and annoying repetitions of "Assassin" and the three songs at the end, but to me (an enthusiast) they sound too bland, predictable and superfluous. Certainly no disaster, Snake Bite Love is one of those albums that would've made a nice EP and nothing more.

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Born to Lose, Live to Win – The Bronze Singles 1978-1983 (1999)

8

Louie Louie / Tear Ya Down // Overkill / Too Late Too Late // No Class / Like a Nightmare // Bomber / Over the Top // (The Golden Years EP) Leaving Here / Stone Dead Forever / Dead Men Tell No Tales / Too Late Too Late // Ace of Spades / Dirty Love // (St. Valentines Day Massacre EP) Please Don’t Touch / Emergency / Bomber // Motorhead / Over the Top // Iron Fist / Remember Me I’m Gone // I Got Mine / Turn You Around Again / Tales of Glory

If you already own all of Al Green’s albums on the Hi-label, that wonderful reissue of The Dream Syndicate’s Live at Raji’s, the complete works of Nomeansno, Richard Thompson, Rainer Ptackek, John Coltrane, The Minutemen and The Wipers, bought James Brown’s Live at the Apollo on vinyl, got that Nuggets-box and Dusty in Memphis, you might think about getting this box as well. Then, and only then. That said, you might have a problem finding it, as it was released on only 10,000 copies (the one I’m holding in my hands here is No. 00627) and you know how those hardcore Motörhead freaks immediately take their valuable stuff to their local Fort Knox. There are several arguments against buying this box set: most of the stuff you find on here is already available as bonus tracks on the recent reissues of the studio albums, it’s probably rather expensive, plus when you have 10 CD’s, seven of which contain a mere two songs, it’s guaranteed to gather dust in the closet. However, it’s also a cool, useless thing to have of course, there’s a free ugly poster, it’s fun fondling this in your hands, look at the silly covers (the three Santas on the cover of “Ace of Spades” are priceless) and congratulate yourself on buying something your neighbour probably doesn’t have. Of course, most of these singles (“Overkill,” “No Class,” “Bomber,” “Ace of Spades” – are these four awesome or what?) are classics in the genre and rock history and recorded at a time when even their B-sides weren’t that bad. Most of these are the regular versions, except for “Overkill” and “I got Mine” (12” versions) and “Motorhead” (live). In the end, it’s only the inclusion of the two EP’s that sets this apart: it’s a blast hearing Girlschool and Motörhead tearing through each other’s songs, while the Golden Years EP, released hot on the heels of Bomber, is the icing on the cake: a 15-minute live performance with an excellent version of “Dead Men Tell No Tales” and a fantastic take on “Stone Dead Forever.” Superfluous if you’re only in it for a first taste of the band (in which case you should pick the 9’s above), required if you’re a real fan, the kind who asks surgeons for wart implants and enjoys wearing Lemmy’s dirty underwear… Yes, I’m looking at you Eddy.

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Everything Louder Than Everyone Else (1999)

7.5

Iron Fist / Stay Clean / On Your Feet or on Your Knees / Over Your Shoulder / Civil War / Burner / Metropolis / Nothing Up My Sleeve / I’m So Bad Baby I Don’t Care / The Chase Is Better Than the Catch / Take the Blame / No Class / Overnight Sensation / Sacrifice // Born to Raise Hell / Lost in the Ozone / The One to Sing the Blues / Capricorn / Love for Sale / Orgasmatron / Going to Brazil / Killed by Death / Bomber / Ace of Spades / Overkill

A bunch of random facts about Everything Louder Than Everyone Else: 1) Lemmy’s one of the funniest rock ‘n’ rollers in the history of this specific Satanic art form: he not only opens the shows with a deadpan “We are Motörhead and we’re gonna kick your ass,” but when the crowd (at the beginning of the second disc) yells the band’s name over and over again, he replies: “I know”; 2) whereas No Sleep ‘till Hammersmith focused on the early classics (it would’ve been kinda special if it focused on the nineties of course), Nö Sleep at All on the mediocre eighties, Everything covers a lot of nineties material (well, 13 out of 25 songs); 3) this album kicks the previous live album’s ass with much more dedicated performances and a deliciously filthy sound; 4) I’ve never heard a bass that sounds that much like a guitar and even drowns the actual one in a pool of aural blood; 5) I’m still not that fond of “Metropolis,” “Capricorn,” “Lost in the Ozone” and “Orgasmatron,” even though the live version of these songs are usually more pleasant; 6) the drumming during “Burner” (“Already a classic”), “Take the Blame” and “Sacrifice” is like, far out, dude; 7) “No Class” is dedicated to recently deceased Wendy O. Williams (“She was a good friend of mine and actually, she was a good friend of yours”); 8) Phil Campbell is one hell of a messy guitar player who half of the time just churns out something that remotely resembles the playing on the studio albums; 9) Phil always wears caps or bonnets; 10) Mikkey Dee dyes his hair blonde, the pussy; 11) the album contains a few funny liner notes by the Lemster – on “I’m So Bad Baby I Don’t care”: “Just to show you how humorous the radical feminist ranks can get – some woman at Meldoy Maker called this songs sexist when it came out!” and then on “The Chase Is Better Than the Catch”: “Another oldie (’80) – good shuffle number – this is the sexist one!”; 12) there won’t be a 13th fact about this satisfying monster of a live album. Thank you and goodnight.

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We Are Motörhead (2000)

7.5

See Me Burning / Slow Dance / Stay Out of Jail / God Save the Queen / Out to Lunch / Wake the Dead / One More Fucking Time / Stagefright/Crash & Burn / (Wearin Your) Heart on Your Sleeve / We Are Motorhead

If they can rip themselves off, then so can I. We Are Motörhead is bad-ass, tough, dirty, mean, rude, lean, aggressive, dangerous, greasy, sharp, energetic, fiery, scorching, blistering, sizzling, blazing, searing, burning, strong, foul-mouthed, crude, callous, foul, elemental, archaic, unremitting, vulgar, cold-blooded, uncouth, coarse, bad-mannered, pre-historic, grimy, iniquitous, roaring, nasty, frantic, malevolent, tough, unadulterated, harsh, dedicated, hard-hitting, sturdy, classic, confrontational, soiled, obnoxious, powerful, thumping, trouncing, fast, ruthless, brawny, death-defying, straightforward, careless, brainless, strapping, burly, robust, loud, cantankerous, fetid, vicious, violent, uncontrolled, defiant, powerful, seminal, degenerate, bad-tempered, unreasonable, ferocious, extreme, fierce, brazen, cruel, wild, caustic, vigorous, basic, monstrous, dynamic, determined, psychotic, drunk, ruthless, impure, vital, smelly, insensitive, relentless, merciless, anachronistic, hard-rocking, unadorned, single-minded, nasty, dishonest, misogynistic, bluesy, wicked, punk-ish, shameless, fucked-up, brash, depraved, demented, immoral, hammering, notorious, pounding, thrashing, striking, criminal, insane, hilarious, riotous, stubborn, manic, rudimentary, filthy, boasting, unabashed, deafening, deaf too, silly, belligerent, destructive, simple, mentally-challenged, up yours, stubborn, feisty, glorious, bloodless, brandishing, heavy, potent, possessed, grimy, macho, intense, and also pretty good. Granted, it's repetitive, rather tuneless and devoid of any finesse, but hey, if you're looking for those things, you better get your kicks somewhere else. This is primal noise for misfits, bearded bikers, maniacs, perverts, decibel-freaks, machos, honest democrats, Jews, frustrated adolescents, maltreated stamp-collectors, transsexual preachers, trailer park trash, surgeons, postmen, Rastafarians, punks, hillbillies, Peruvians, factory workers, math teachers, mayors, Japanese, Okies, spacecake-munching Dutchies, long-haired scum, glue-sniffing teenagers, pitiable cousins who got stood up, Hispanic gangs, tattooed criminals, and other assorted people who like their rock 'n' roll exciting, warted and in your face. Bad-ass titles with bad-ass songs to back them up. Cool!

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Hammered (2002)

4

Walk a Crooked Mile / Down the Line / Brave New World / Voices from the War / Mine All Mine / Shut Your Mouth / Kill the World / Dr. Love / No Remorse / Red Raw / Serial Killer

This album is so boring it turns the gentle art of accountancy into the most exciting thing that’s happened to me since I saw Joey Ramone having fun in an arcade during my visit to New York 5 years ago. True story. Anyway, Hammered is so lacklustre for the most part that it’s nearly depressing, and that’s quite a feat for a band that seemed like the anti-boredom. It’s not only that it lacks the raw sonic punch of the better recent albums (Sacrifice, Overnight Sensation), but the variation (in style and quality) is nada as well. This wouldn’t have been as obvious had all the songs been ravin’, thrashin,’ ragin’ adrenaline-blasts… instead you get these lazily chugga-chugga-chugga mid-tempo rockers and if there’s anything to hold against hard rock in its entirety, it’s the abundance of tedious mid-tempo rockers that are too lame to energize you and too loud to have been intended as a moment of rest. Take the opening track “Walk a Crooked Mile,” for instance; what for dirtiness’ sake is that supposed to mean? A 6-minute long ‘80’s hair metal-styled turd? If it weren’t for the hesitant crunch of Campbell’s guitar, it would’ve been a flat-out parody. “Down the Line” is equally tame and makes you wonder where the filth and roaring vocals have gone to… at least Sacrifice boasted as much action as the three Die Hard movies combined. This just creeps along for 4 very, very long minutes. Most of it isn’t any better: “No Remorse” should’ve been called “Cookie Monster Throwaway That’s a Disgrace to the Compilation Bearing that Title,” “Red Raw” – the album’s only fast track – sounds nearly as desperate as Danzig’s hopelessly clumsy “re-invention” on Blackacidevil, while “Voices from the War” proves once again that AC/DC’s “Let There Be Rock” is to hard rock what The Who’s “I Can’t Explain” is to punk: an already milked-out excuse to turn to when you’re out of inspiration. And I didn’t even mention the downright clumsiness of a few songs and the embarrassing humanitarian slant of lyrics such as “Being poor is worse than having AIDS, the homeless live in boxes at our feet, living in a constant state of dull frustrated rage, the innocent shot daily in the street” in the otherwise decent pamphlet “Brave New World” that, along with “Kill the World” offers some decent action among the sub-par waste. It could’ve been even worse – these songs aren’t offensively bad, just not up to their standard – and especially the sound is kinda okay (though lacking that little extra to spice things up), but each time I hear Lemmy end the album with his inane spoken word-piece “Serial Killer,” I can’t help but wonder “Is he really serious about this?” There are better things to spend your money on. Inferno, for instance.

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Inferno (2004)

8

Terminal Show / Killers / In the Name of Tragedy / Suicide / Life's a Bitch / Down on Me / In the Black / Fight / In the Year of the Wolf / Keys to the Kingdom / Smiling Like a Killer / Whorehouse Blues

I was gonna start this review by writing something like "THEY'RE BACK" or "THEY'RE KICKING MORE ASS THAN SLIPKNOT AGAIN", but then I realized they've never really been away (it's always been a blast to see them on stage) and they've always rocked twice as hard and good as friggin' Dripsnot. Motörhead albums… they're a bit like Italian food or a good beer… it's usually there, even though you're not always aware of its existence, but when it's served at the right time, it feels like one of the greatest things in the world. Of course, there's bad pasta and there's shitty beer (you Americans and Brits know everything about that, right?), and there are also few Motörhead albums that aren't really something I'd recommend (Hammered, anyone?), but over and over again during the past few decades, they've managed to strike back with albums (1916, Sacrifice, Inferno) that you just cannot dislike. Unless you have no soul. I'm not the biggest Motörhead fan in the world - there are even days when I can't stand 'em - but man, it's just so great to have at least a few things you can depend on in life. Inferno seems to situate itself in between the monstrous metal of Sacrifice and the classic Motörhead albums: it's loud and raw, a bit more streamlined where it's appropriate, but most of all, it's a furious blast of rock 'n' roll. I mean, just check out the opening salvo of "Terminal Show," "Killers" and "In the Name of Tragedy," they all have their fantastic moments: the moment in the first opening song when the band shifts from the warmongering intro to those charged verses (deadly!), the traditional simplicity of "Killers;" and "Tragedy" with its headbangin' rhythm. It's crude and still ridiculously unrefined, but it's delivered with more of a rock 'n' roll vibe than most bands can muster in their entire career (and boy, can that blonde fairy behind the drum kit PLAY, or what?). The best thing about Inferno is that it doesn't have any cringe-inducing moments (no "Love Me Forever" nonsense!), it just rolls on and on. It has a few songs that are too long ("Suicide," "Keys to the Kingdom") and sometimes the pace gets a bit pedestrian ("In the Black"), but for each of those, there are bad-ass mofos like the heavy retro-pair of "Life's a Bitch"/"Down on Me," the thrash of "Fight" or the catchy mid-tempo chug of "In the Year of the Wolf." Lemmy still ain't a fabulous lyricist, but the regular themes and occasionally funny line will do, just like a lack of melody doesn't matter on a Motörhead album. They're still kickin' ass, they're still stubbornly monotonous and still as relevant as evr. Treasure this band, they deserve it.

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Classic Albums - Motörhead: Ace of Spades DVD (2004)

7.5

"… the definitive authorised story of the album" is what the cover of the DVD boasts, and with the Classic Albums-series, you know you're in for something good. However, due to the brief format of the documentary (barely fifty minutes), you'll probably be left a bit unsatisfied in the end. It's always fun to hear stories about how Lemmy was such a speed-freak that he even was thrown out of notorious drug-using band Hawkwind, it's hilarious to be reminded of the fact that NME actually called them "the worst band in the world" after the release of their cover of garage-classic "Louie Louie," and it's a blast when you hear Lemmy tell the main reason he formed Motörhead was because he hated to be the one that was kicked out of bands all the time, but that all leaves you with less information about what you're really interested in: that 1980 rock 'n' roll classic. If you consider yourself a fan of the band you'll be a bit disappointed, as the DVD reveals very few things even a casually interested rock fan wouldn't already know. There are some nice bits about the actual recording of the album (did you know they used tap-dancing, spoons and backwards guitar parts?), the album cover (shot on a huge sand heap somewhere outside London) and the album's legendary title track, but very few eye-openers. What the DVD does make clear though, is the essence of Motörhead: the power, the velocity, sincerity, "from the gut" no-nonsense attitude and their legacy. More than any other album, Ace of Spades gave punk and heavy metal a furious kick under the nuts, as such becoming the standard by which self-acclaimed bad-ass albums and bands are judged. Another plus is that the makers of the story stressed the humour and "boys will be boys"-spirit of the band, which was usually dismissed in favour of their Wild Men-image and stories about drugs and alcohol excesses. Lemmy and drummer Phil Taylor trade off nonsensical one-liners that prove they're really human and British, while Clarke (who is interviewed separately) is almost endearing when he proudly claims he'd prefer the classic legacy of the album over a fat bank account. On top of the documentary, the package also contains an hour's worth of bonus material, some of which is quite interesting. The band playing a few of the album's more popular songs could've been interesting 20 years after the classic line-up broke up, but unfortunately, you get no vocals and the band didn't really play as a three-piece. Better are the stories about the lifestyle and legacy of the band, with anecdotes from their road crew and short contributions from a.o. Slash and professional dickhead Lars Ullrich, who actually adds a few sensible lines. There are also a few bits about the song-writing process, but those are cut short prematurely in favour of Lemmy babbling at his favourite club (The Rainbow), flanked by two sprightly ladies with their main strengths below shoulder level. But hey, occasionally you gotta give the public what it wants, as Lemmy realizes as well. While playing the song definitely doesn't give the guy the same kick as it once did (also since he's playing with different guys now), he understood that he unleashed a monster of a song and terrific album two and a half decades ago. The DVD captures that quite adequately, although it's obvious that the target audience is a bit wider than 'just' the Motörhead-heads, giving the end result a bit of a frustrating balance between in-depth information and superficial introduction.

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