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Getting drunk and getting laid: LA rock fans raise a glass to Lemmy Getting drunk and getting laid: LA rock fans raise a glass to Lemmy
(about 14 hours later)
If you’re a recovering miscreant or just generally put off by bad behaviour, the Rainbow Bar and Grill on Los Angeles’ Sunset Strip is probably not for you.If you’re a recovering miscreant or just generally put off by bad behaviour, the Rainbow Bar and Grill on Los Angeles’ Sunset Strip is probably not for you.
The soggy scent of hard drink mixed with the aggressive stench of every manner of cigarette should be enough of a warning to stay away, but it was especially boisterous on Monday night, after the death of the Motörhead frontman, Ian “Lemmy” Kilmister – a proud drunk and unceasing acolyte of the heavy metal aesthetic.The soggy scent of hard drink mixed with the aggressive stench of every manner of cigarette should be enough of a warning to stay away, but it was especially boisterous on Monday night, after the death of the Motörhead frontman, Ian “Lemmy” Kilmister – a proud drunk and unceasing acolyte of the heavy metal aesthetic.
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Here, among a roaring crowd, respects were paid to a man who represented an era of 1980s excess almost historical enough to be cool again. The Rainbow was one of Lemmy’s favourite hangouts in Los Angeles, and according to a message from Motörhead on the band’s Facebook page he died at home, in front of his favourite video game from the bar.Here, among a roaring crowd, respects were paid to a man who represented an era of 1980s excess almost historical enough to be cool again. The Rainbow was one of Lemmy’s favourite hangouts in Los Angeles, and according to a message from Motörhead on the band’s Facebook page he died at home, in front of his favourite video game from the bar.
In the the sedate dining room, corner bars full of nefarious promise, and narrow corridors of the Rainbow, Motörhead fans were in varying states of mourning. One of a pack of four Lemmy devotees wearing matching T-shirts – a wild-haired fellow named Josh with a conspicuously absent tooth or two – regales me with tales of his troublemaking biker gang called the Choney Riders. He says they had been listening to Motörhead’s 2006 song God Was Never on Your Side three days ago and dreamed of finally seeing their favourite band in person. Their wish will never be granted. In the the sedate dining room, corner bars full of nefarious promise, and narrow corridors of the Rainbow, Motörhead fans were in varying states of mourning. One of a pack of four Lemmy devotees wearing matching T-shirts – a wild-haired fellow named Josh with a conspicuously absent tooth or two – regales me with tales of his troublemaking biker gang called the Chorny Riders. He says they had been listening to Motörhead’s 2006 song God Was Never on Your Side three days ago and dreamed of finally seeing their favourite band in person. Their wish will never be granted.
“We’re drinking Jack Daniels tonight. I’m sure they’ll pour out of it. No one could have expected this. It’s a bummer of a day, but we’re gonna make the best of it right here at the Rainbow,” Josh tells me with a restless look.“We’re drinking Jack Daniels tonight. I’m sure they’ll pour out of it. No one could have expected this. It’s a bummer of a day, but we’re gonna make the best of it right here at the Rainbow,” Josh tells me with a restless look.
The Rainbow was one of Lemmy’s favourite hangouts in Los Angeles. It is a living reminder of the long-gone glory days of hair metal that defined the Strip in the waning days of the 20th century. As America’s musical tastes drifted in myriad directions – from the navel-gazing Garden State indie rock of the Bush years to today’s fixation on electronic dance music, hip-hop, and everything Adele touches – the Strip has remained static, pickled by cheap booze and caked in black eyeliner.The Rainbow was one of Lemmy’s favourite hangouts in Los Angeles. It is a living reminder of the long-gone glory days of hair metal that defined the Strip in the waning days of the 20th century. As America’s musical tastes drifted in myriad directions – from the navel-gazing Garden State indie rock of the Bush years to today’s fixation on electronic dance music, hip-hop, and everything Adele touches – the Strip has remained static, pickled by cheap booze and caked in black eyeliner.
The people that come here are not interested in what is trending on Spotify. They make pilgrimage for the sake of the old ways. Lemmy, he of the sour growl that resembled a lawnmower being driven over concrete, was one of the last practitioners of true metal rebellion. He had recently switched from dark whiskey to clear vodka, in the hope it was somehow a healthier lifestyle choice. Still, varying the colour of his beverage was not enough to reverse the toll of an existence defined by hedonism. The memory cherished by the mourners at the Rainbow was that of a legend who went down swinging.The people that come here are not interested in what is trending on Spotify. They make pilgrimage for the sake of the old ways. Lemmy, he of the sour growl that resembled a lawnmower being driven over concrete, was one of the last practitioners of true metal rebellion. He had recently switched from dark whiskey to clear vodka, in the hope it was somehow a healthier lifestyle choice. Still, varying the colour of his beverage was not enough to reverse the toll of an existence defined by hedonism. The memory cherished by the mourners at the Rainbow was that of a legend who went down swinging.
The Choney Riders and I move from the outdoor bar to a booth in the front of the restaurant, an area far more relaxed than the raucous crowd chain-smoking in the LA night. I wonder if Josh wants to live his life the way Lemmy did. “If I had enough money, yeah I would,” he declares. “Any night, you can come here and see Ron Jeremy.” Jeremy is the legendarily well-endowed porn actor and card-carrying citizen of sordid, Jack Daniels-soaked LA. “Any night” would be this very night, as Josh informs me the icon is sitting at a table near the entrance. The Chorny Riders and I move from the outdoor bar to a booth in the front of the restaurant, an area far more relaxed than the raucous crowd chain-smoking in the LA night. I wonder if Josh wants to live his life the way Lemmy did. “If I had enough money, yeah I would,” he declares. “Any night, you can come here and see Ron Jeremy.” Jeremy is the legendarily well-endowed porn actor and card-carrying citizen of sordid, Jack Daniels-soaked LA. “Any night” would be this very night, as Josh informs me the icon is sitting at a table near the entrance.
Ron is not here for Lemmy. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he’s always here. He says he drops by as often as possible whenhe is in town. The conversation drifts to the man of the hour. “[Lemmy] worked for me three times. Three music videos. Freak of the Week with Ice T.” Just then, a woman with a sly grin approaches and puts her mouth to Ron’s ear. I can’t make out what they’re saying to each other, but I’m confident it’s not meant for me anyway. She departs, but not before making further plans with Ron.Ron is not here for Lemmy. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he’s always here. He says he drops by as often as possible whenhe is in town. The conversation drifts to the man of the hour. “[Lemmy] worked for me three times. Three music videos. Freak of the Week with Ice T.” Just then, a woman with a sly grin approaches and puts her mouth to Ron’s ear. I can’t make out what they’re saying to each other, but I’m confident it’s not meant for me anyway. She departs, but not before making further plans with Ron.
“Going Down to the Bunny Ranch was the second one. Rick James, that was his last video, I think. [Lemmy] worked for me on the John Wayne Bobbitt movie. He’s the cop who discovers the penis on the ground.” As any self-respecting degenerate would know, he was referring to John Wayne Bobbitt Uncut, directed by Jeremy. The film stars Bobbitt as himself – the infamous man whose wife Lorena severed his penis in a fit of rage in the early 90s.“Going Down to the Bunny Ranch was the second one. Rick James, that was his last video, I think. [Lemmy] worked for me on the John Wayne Bobbitt movie. He’s the cop who discovers the penis on the ground.” As any self-respecting degenerate would know, he was referring to John Wayne Bobbitt Uncut, directed by Jeremy. The film stars Bobbitt as himself – the infamous man whose wife Lorena severed his penis in a fit of rage in the early 90s.
Related: Lemmy of Motörhead – a life in picturesRelated: Lemmy of Motörhead – a life in pictures
“[Lemmy] says: ‘Thank God, it’s not mine,’ and runs away, tells the cops where to find it. He was a really good guy. Whenever I asked him to do something for me, he did it. He did [a song] for the John Wayne Bobbitt movie, Under the Knife. Isn’t that perfect? Very generous. Good guy.” I ask how long he’d been coming to the Rainbow. “About 1980. It’s rock’n’roll, it’s rap, it’s TV stars, but there’s a certain hominess. Hold on, hello? Hello?” Jeremy pulls out a decrepit-looking flip phone – a stodgy old brick that wouldn’t look out of place as a burner in the hands of Avon Barksdale from The Wire.“[Lemmy] says: ‘Thank God, it’s not mine,’ and runs away, tells the cops where to find it. He was a really good guy. Whenever I asked him to do something for me, he did it. He did [a song] for the John Wayne Bobbitt movie, Under the Knife. Isn’t that perfect? Very generous. Good guy.” I ask how long he’d been coming to the Rainbow. “About 1980. It’s rock’n’roll, it’s rap, it’s TV stars, but there’s a certain hominess. Hold on, hello? Hello?” Jeremy pulls out a decrepit-looking flip phone – a stodgy old brick that wouldn’t look out of place as a burner in the hands of Avon Barksdale from The Wire.
After wrapping up his call, another woman in a miniskirt drifts over to the table to wrest Jeremy’s attention away from me. Part of the allure of the Strip is the possibility of the odd sexual dalliance, and I had no interest in getting in the way of such a beautiful, unholy sacrament.After wrapping up his call, another woman in a miniskirt drifts over to the table to wrest Jeremy’s attention away from me. Part of the allure of the Strip is the possibility of the odd sexual dalliance, and I had no interest in getting in the way of such a beautiful, unholy sacrament.
To the revellers, getting drunk and getting laid is the best way to pay tribute to their fallen hero, but by my second whiskey and cola, I could feel the pull of my bed on my neck. No such concerns existed for the Choney Riders. Where do they see themselves at the end of the night? “In a toilet, face down,” a rider named Zach tells me. Josh interjects: “Drunk. Maybe with the bitches.” In that moment, I couldn’t think of anything that would make Lemmy prouder. To the revellers, getting drunk and getting laid is the best way to pay tribute to their fallen hero, but by my second whiskey and cola, I could feel the pull of my bed on my neck. No such concerns existed for the Chorny Riders. Where do they see themselves at the end of the night? “In a toilet, face down,” a rider named Zach tells me. Josh interjects: “Drunk. Maybe with the bitches.” In that moment, I couldn’t think of anything that would make Lemmy prouder.
This article was amended on 29 December to correct the spelling of the group Chorny Riders.