Concert Review: Motorhead, Reverend Horton Heat and Nashville Pussy at the Midland

You gotta wonder what Lemmy Kilmister dreams of. Masses of screaming mouths, thrusting arms, hurtling bodies, flashing strobes and over it all him and his band with their Marshall stacks unleashing wave upon wave of crashing, metal-shearing volume — this is his exact, unexaggerated life, night after glorious night.

Does he dream of ponies? Of trouncing in the poppy fields of Kent with John, Paul, George and Ringo? Of having tea with Wordsworth and watching the wand’ring lonely clouds?

Perhaps his dreams are darker. Perhaps he imagines riding atop a roan stallion across the Mongolian steppes, driving his enemies into the bloody ground, their corpses riddled with arrows. He pits their leaders’ heads on pikes and stakes them across the barren plain.

All we know is this: “We are Motorhead. And we play rock and roll.”

The last time Motorhead was in town it was on the Volcom tour, with openers Valient Thorr and the Misfits. And what a fearsome black mass it was.

Last night at the Midland, however, the Witch King of Metal had for his cavalry a mixed troop of spiders and gentleman orks.

Categories: Music