That is both the rock 'n' roll songwriters I have identified with and followed since I learned to operate a record player. First Lou Reed, now Lemmy Kilmister. Dead.
Phoned Henrik up in 69 Mile to tell him the bad fucking news. He is the only person I can think of who is out of touch enough to have probably not heard. Big a fan of Lemmy as anybody. Started crying when I told him, "Lemmy's dead." I had cried when I heard too. Some people, even if you do not know them, mean a lot more to you than you think until they die.
"No fucking way," was all Henrik could say when words finally came out of his mouth.
I have pretty much everything Lemmy ever recorded on hand but you know what record I played the whole way through to seal my memories of the Motörhead motherfucker? "Space Ritual." Four sides of the evilest LSD rock 'n' roll ever all thrown into interstellar overdrive by Lemmy's fuck you all bass playing. Orange sunshine record sleeves, psychedelic as it gets folding jacket on which, amidst a shitpile of space rock mumbo-jumbo can be found these words, "Why fear death? It is the most beautiful thing in life."
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