The Women of Motorhead

February 6, 2011 at 1:13 pm (Drunk and disorderly)

After 29 years, I finally saw Motorhead live and in person last night. Before the show I pondered what the typical female Motorhead fan would look like. I’d guessed there would be a lot of hair dye and false teeth.

And that’s just the band!

There was a time when seeing Motorhead would have involved at least a half-gallon of whiskey, enough beer to wash it down with, and a few lines of speed to gear up for the show. (That’s how it went on my 21st birthday. If Annie hadn’t insisted I eat that goddamned Wonder Bread sandwich, causing me to pass out, I’d have seen Motorhead and my life would be complete.) But no. It was that goddamned sandwich. When I’d awakened at 2:30 AM and seen I’d missed the show, I was crestfallen. It took three decades of near-misses to end up in the same room as Lemmy.

There was no elaborate party this time. I went to Meg’s and hung out on her bed, watching TV and relaxing. I stowed my jacket and anything verboten in the back room at work, taking only my ticket, ID and $10, in case I met a hottie at the show and wanted to buy her a beer.

My TSA moment entering the venue was administered by an effeminate fellow who wasn’t thrilled with me. I think he had eyes on the skinhead wearing droopy drawers behind me. Kids! The lady that says yay or nay at the entrance to the bar remembered me from Marilyn Manson and wished me a great show. Now to find a seat.

One of the best things about going stag to a concert is the flexibility. The balcony was already packed, but I nudged and prodded and found someone with an open seat.

Second row balcony center. Sweet mother of god, this is gonna get loud.

The opening band, Valient Thorr, reminded me of a 70s speedway group, loud, fast and hairy. Spectacular beards brought to mind Ian Anderson and the boys from Jethro Tull, only with lyrics and music of a less Shakespearean nature. More like Methro Tull.

The biggest problem with seeing three bands is the need to pee sometime during the show. I figured to lose my prime seat if I left. I could offer to buy someone a beer for watching my seat. I bit my lip and waited.

As Clutch was about to take the stage, a couple approached. “Are these seats taken?”

“There was a guy sitting there, but he’s been gone a while.”

They shrugged, the guy nestled in next to me and his girl took the aisle. The guy left for more beer. As I looked past her, I noticed the guy across the aisle. He was a dead ringer for Brian Poeshn! Could it be?

My new seat mate returned, and I asked the girl, “Will you be here for a couple minutes? I want to run to the bathroom. Will you save my seat?”

“Hell yeah!”

I managed to get up and down the stairs without breaking anything, and the lovely was sitting in my seat. I got the dirtiest of looks until she realized it was me she was saving the seat for. “Oh, it’s you! I had to thumb-wrestle a girl to keep your chair!”

“Thumb wrestle? That’s hot.” I was shouting.

“No, no, no. ARM wrestle! I kicked her ass twice! High five!”

I was beginning to like this girl.

To my immediate left, a gal asked if she could sit. The chair had been vacant for some time. The previous hottie was in the aisle, flashing her fishnet stockings and taking punches to the cunt. (Her friends play hard.) The new gal sat, her body language saying she’d rather be anywhere else in the world than at a Motorhead show. Her boyfriend came by, asked if she was okay, and took off. I’m guessing he went to Sarah MacLachlan with her a couple nights ago, and this was payback.

The gal to my right and her hairy buddy were much more fun. He was chatting with the guys behind us, and I picked up bits and pieces. Duh. That’s why he looked familiar.

He was the guitar player for Valient Thorr!

While he was busy doing rock star things, I schmoozed with his lady friend. I didn’t know if she was a local find or his road dog, but it didn’t seem to matter. She’d had about six beers and smelled wonderful, and didn’t mind moshing with me while Clutch played.

Entered stag, now sitting in a prime spot, just under an A/C vent with three hot women and a rock star. Not bad for $28.50. After bladder relief, I was ready

The lights went down and the smell of ‘spiced’ grape Swishers filled the air. (Do the skinheads even know about the origins of blunts and droopy drawers?) What had been an active mosh pit turned into an all-out brawl as the men launched into We Are Motorhead.

And then… it was thirteen songs before I recognized a title. One can’t say they’re doting around living on past glories. Granted, a lot of Motorhead songs sound alike, but there were a few I’d have liked to hear. Orgasmatron? Hellraiser? Nowhere to be found.

However, all was forgiven when they played this one. It’s been a favorite since the late ’80s; it played on the radio during a sexual encounter and I’ve loved it ever since. I SCREAMED when Lemmy announced it, and it even got Miss Stone Butt to my left applauding.

Miss Right was elbowing me, rubbing up against me. At one point Lemmy said, “This song is from 1983, before most of you were born!” As the song started we looked into each other’s eyes for a near-uncomfortable moment, then I bent down and kissed her on the cheek. Her guitar-player BF stared but didn’t say anything. I felt like the kissing sailor in that famous WWII photo. We rocked on until the second-to-last song, when they left. As soon as Overkill began to wind down, I made for the exit.

In all, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more at home amongst fans of a band. Of all the misfit music I adore, I rarely fit into the fanbase of said groups. I could relate to Motorhead fans. The smell of liquor and weed was everywhere, and a day later I can still smell the sweet grape stinkiness that filled the air.

I walked through Old Town and over to Big Ass Sandwiches to buy a bottle of Secret Aardvark Sauce. I waited in front of the Justice Center to catch a bus, and watched a couple homeboys piss on a wall before they realized it was the Federal Building. Once they knew they’d gotten away with it, they walked up and down the street, bragging and acting puffy.

In all, it was a lovely evening. No hangover, no tinnitus.

However, got a feeling I will be looking everywhere for Miss Right…


1 Comment

  1. Fred said,

    Awesome dude!

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