Lemmy and the tattoo on my eardrums
And so we move forward towards the end of the year. But the man who couldn't die doesn't accompany us into 2016. That's a reason for being upset because if the ones that seems indestructible, in life and in image, manage to die anyway, it makes us all just a little bit more vulnerable.
The noise in my ears, after a concert on Fields of Rock in 2007, never completely left me since. I have a daily reminder at that gig by the tattoo the monsters of decibels, Motörhead, got me on my eardrums. Its frontman, Lemmy Kilmister, was except a musician who was easily to be underestimated, a man of great humor. Citing from a long life of Rock & Roll (without Motörhead no trash metal but they were playing rock & roll, not heavy metal) he and his bandmates threw one after the other hardrock anthem in our faces. Providing every song with an introduction that would make Tommy Cooper proud (“Our next song – if you ever want to have children – don’t dance to it!”). And so we went home, with our ears drilled and our souls cleansed. Because under that big moustache, on that square jaw face with two large moles, always was a heart as big and full of good intentions as it was beating the rhythm of the ultimate rock and roll song.
May he Rock In Peace forever.
I wish you luck, babe. I hope you find a dream and it comes true.
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