Sunday 06/09/09 Motorhead, Horton Heat, Nashville Pussy @ House of Blues, Boston

"Good evening... We are Motörhead... and we play rock 'n' roll."  And so it started.  Lemmy Kilmister famously characterised his band as the kind which, if they moved in next door to you, would kill your lawn.  Notable for their no-nonsense, up against the wall approach to rock, they are the rare beast that kept true to the ideals which sparked the band's original formation - and the vocals of Lemmy as the after-product of gargling with rusty thumbtacks and kerosene still sound gloriously discordant amidst the bludgeoning volume that the three piece lays down. 

If Motörhead were a restaurant, there'd be no fine linen, sommelier, white truffles or foie gras, instead, a greasy burger with chips on a paper plate and a cold Heineken in a cracked mug would be thrown in front of you - and it would be the best meal imaginable.

Live, the power trio still holds true to their credo of 'everything louder than everything else'. Lemmy's pile-driving bass lines from his custom-carved Rickenbacker basically play the role of a murderously vicious low-end rhythm guitar while Phil Campbell plowed power chords and fiery leads with reckless abandon, alternating between guitar straps that said 'Roger's Bitch' or 'Welsh Wanker'.  Drummer Mikkey Dee was precariously perched atop the highest drum riser I've seen, and as he bashed around on his large kit, the entire thing shook like a jello salad.  This would be his final show on the tour before being whisked away to Malaysia as a contestant for the Swedish version of I'm A Celebrity...Get Me Out Here. (It remains to be seen if Guns 'n' Roses/ Velvet Revolver stand-in Matt Sorum can perpetuate the rack tom slaughter that Dee provided.)

One downside about the last few Motörhead tours is the relative staidness of the set list – the chestnuts of 'Ace of Spades', 'Stay Clean', 'Killed By Death' and the encore-closing 'Overkill' were pretty predictable in their presence. Thoroughly roasted?  Yes, but ass-kicking in their execution (esp KBD).  On one hand, if you are a long time fan you'd want the band to dig deep, but on the other it'd be daft to ignore the songs which raised your profile the most (they didn't play 'Eat The Rich').  However, they did play a couple off 'Another Perfect Day' and some of the newer songs sounded damned good as well, especially 'The Thousand Names of God'.  At this point, Lemmy's earned the right to do whatever the **** he wants, and you know that's exactly what he's doing. 

The openers on the bill were well-suited; not like-for-like stylistic copies, but complementary threads.  Nashville Pussy put the 'raw' in 'rawk' mainly with their delivery, both lyrically and physically.  Drawing on the Southern tradition of boots, denim, whiskey and womanising, they turn the tables a bit by taking the edge off any implied misogyny, letting Ruyter Suys and her D cups take over the stage in a daze of flashing six strings and straining shirt material.  Sure they push the boundaries of good taste a bit past breaking point and into comic book-like proportions, but a song like 'Hate And Whisky' delivers the goods from a simple 'does this rock' perspective. 

Reverend Horton Heat and his backup duo hail from Dallas, Texas and they are well-versed in the roadhouse blues and rockabilly twang that define the native music forms of the area.  Getting a superb tone out of his hollow-bodied Gretsch, the good Reverend played some slower, more trad numbers to start but once 'Psychobilly Freakout' blasted out, the crowd was energized as if the very flames of Nature Boy Jimbo's double bass guitar were fanning them. '400 Bucks' kept the engine stoked well into the rest of their set, with Rev standing on the stage-prone bass, ripping off leads while Jimbo played the horizontal instrument without missing a beat.  Both were bands I'd not go out of my way to see as a headliner, but as part of this bill they made perfect sense and set the right tone, in different ways.

Motorhead live in Boston