"We are Motôrhead...we play Rock & Roll Music!" this is what Motôrhead's fan base look like. Heavy, dude. Lemmy's surprisingly small in the flesh, with a huge barrel of a chest. A fine figure of a man...all that speed & whiskey has done him reet Lemmy & Phillip Anthony Campbell showoff their more liberal tendencies Killed by Death Phil's cosmic phantom of the opera extended dream-scape guitar solo amidst a sea of dry ice probably seemed like a cock-on plan after 30-odd years of excess. Whorehouse Blues unplugged kablamo the old folks were stoked, and so was I...Deaf Forever!
life happens at a rate of knots more often than not...to try to keep up is futile, to give up is maybe worse? I dunno, here's some shit that's happened thus far this year (2011, if anyone's counting...) it's probably best to not dwell too long or hard on the particulars of any situation which leaves an aftermath of cheesecake and rusty pliers on a public bench. Vincent Price stands up proud and tall at Kirkby Vince & Charlie Czech out Beansnax (and his switch f/s wallrides!) the wood ist chopeth when the winter cometh someone died not Doyle though... Snax wallies in Midsummer Norton and nollington bigglesworth's in Cheddah Squashy hollied a metal hound in North Notts dead dog When men on the chessboard Get up and tell you where to go And you've just had some kind of mushroom And your mind is moving low... And if you go chasing rabbits And you know you're going to fall Tell 'em a hookah smoking caterpillar Has given you the call... Go ask Butcher When he's 10 foot Paul
This snap is from a Fall gig at the Boardwalk in Sheffield, sometime around 2004/05, from what I can remember. It was a typically tense affair; the band were about two hours late and Mark E. Smith was even later (the band played for about 40 minutes before he shuffled on and started fucking around with their equipment) and full of the malevolence, bickering and general arseholeness that any good Fall gig should have. I had managed to squirm my way to the front, when Mr. M.E. Smith decided to yank the mics out of the bass drum (thus rendering it useless) and ditch them into the crowd, which is when this photo happened. Somehow, I managed to duck the flying mics and they smashed the guy stood behind me square in the mush, breaking his gegs...The Fall are pretty much perfect.
on our 'olidays this year, we went to Worksop, Bradford & Huddersfield...oi vey! quickly, to north Nottz... where the d.i.y. tatt's are in full swing...me - "are them needles new ones, mate" him - "nah, its alreet though, cos I boiled 'em" me - (yikes!) "TRUCKS LOOSE, WOMEN TIGHT" - no regrets!
Ramsden reservoir, in glorious Huddersfield where all styles of outdoor ware are adhered to...parkas, cosmic space waistcoats, etc Tim Smit Kieran - f/s tailslide Rod - no-comply to the same Bambi - bluntside 270 in, believe it or not... Rees, Son of Rees - nozbluunt skid glory-hole discussing the possibilities of dying on the way down... testing the theories Kieran front-rawking on the edge Son of Rees, amidst the cosmic undergrowth ancient pagan riiites magick charms Kieran holds fast and dives in...somehow I managed to have two cameras with me, each with film in...that's almost as rare a thing as ollieing into this wall Rees - geggs assisted f/s smith in the deep at Hebden Bridge Cockney Mare - Slash & Burn Bambi rasps a backside smith around the corner, as somewhere across town, a gang of rabid feminists deface Ted Hughes name from Sylvia Plath's gravestone the simple life Josh. You hit the road, and often, the road hits you back...The North Will Rise Again!
