A friend of a friend posted this...IAN FRASER 'LEMMY' KILMISTER (Dec 24, 1945-Dec 28, 2015)
Absolutely the single most memorable Motörhead show – as well as my most memorable experience with Lemmy – was at One Step Beyond in Santa Clara. Must've been the late 1980s, and myself and co-worker Wayne were instructed to keep stage divers from doing what they do. Wayne and I were stationed on stage left, and two other co-workers were situated on stage right.
The venue was packed. Lemmy and the band were whipping them into a rabid frenzy. Then, it happened. Someone, a young, white kid, tried pulling himself up onto the stage. Wayne and I began to move forward, when something wonderful – something magical – occurred. Lemmy had raised his foot, and planted the sole of his boot, almost gingerly, onto the kid's face.
Slowly, but with an inherent, inhuman power, he pushed the would-be stage diver back into the sea of writhing rabble, crashing against the stage as if they were a single, violent sea. Witnessing this, I was thunderstruck. Suddenly, time stopped. Everything stopped and went quiet. The music stopped. The silence was deafening. Then, Lemmy took the microphone.
'When I'm on this stage, it's my fucking stage. Keep off my fucking stage.'
And the band played on. Not a single soul attempted to take Lemmy's stage.
Afterwards, Wayne and I remained on stage to protect the gear. Eventually, Lemmy emerged from the green room near stage right. He was carrying something in each hand as he walked across the stage towards us. He handed each of us a six-pack, proclaiming, 'Good job, boys.'
'But, Lemmy... We didn't—', I started, and he reiterated, 'Good job, boys.' He winked at us, and disappeared back behind the green room door.
He was a man among men.
(Absolutely the single most memorable Motörhead show – as well as my most memorable experience with Lemmy – was at One Step Beyond in Santa Clara. Must've been the late 1980s, and myself and co-worker Wayne were instructed to keep stage divers from doing what they do. Wayne and I were stationed on stage left, and two other co-workers were situated on stage right.
The venue was packed. Lemmy and the band were whipping them into a rabid frenzy. Then, it happened. Someone, a young, white kid, tried pulling himself up onto the stage. Wayne and I began to move forward, when something wonderful – something magical – occurred. Lemmy had raised his foot, and planted the sole of his boot, almost gingerly, onto the kid's face.
Slowly, but with an inherent, inhuman power, he pushed the would-be stage diver back into the sea of writhing rabble, crashing against the stage as if they were a single, violent sea. Witnessing this, I was thunderstruck. Suddenly, time stopped. Everything stopped and went quiet. The music stopped. The silence was deafening. Then, Lemmy took the microphone.
'When I'm on this stage, it's my fucking stage. Keep off my fucking stage.'
And the band played on. Not a single soul attempted to take Lemmy's stage.
Afterwards, Wayne and I remained on stage to protect the gear. Eventually, Lemmy emerged from the green room near stage right. He was carrying something in each hand as he walked across the stage towards us. He handed each of us a six-pack, proclaiming, 'Good job, boys.'
'But, Lemmy... We didn't—', I started, and he reiterated, 'Good job, boys.' He winked at us, and disappeared back behind the green room door.
He was a man among men.
tubaman,
Tue 29 Dec 2015, 5:46,
archived)
heard many stories like this i never met lemmy but i know many who have, they all say the same thing a true gentleman.
(
amoebaboy chose for death by unga bunga on,
Tue 29 Dec 2015, 10:20,
archived)
LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THE TIME LEMMY KICKED A FAN IN THE FACE GUYS
mofaha ┐( ˘_˘)┌ ʅ(́◡◝)ʃ,
Tue 29 Dec 2015, 14:40,
archived)