All things considered, Lemmy Kilmister was probably a better figurehead than rock and roll deserved.

A walking, snarling, tilting-his-head-up-to-the-microphone one man summary of all that has ever been righteous in defying a mainstream that he almost inadvertently came to define, Ian Fraser “Lemmy” Kilmister was born on Dec. 24, 1945. Over the last 50 years, his career has set a standard to which it’s entirely likely no one will ever live up. From his early days in The Rockin’ Vickers circa 1965 through acting as a roadie for the Jimi Hendrix Experience, Kilmister’s start was auspicious even before a stint in Sam Gopal led to his joining space rock pioneers Hawkwind in 1972 and founding Motörhead as its bassist and vocalist in 1975.

Motörhead would become his life’s work and the primary vehicle for his widespread influence. From a 1977 self-titled debut that continues to resonate nearly 40 years later with songs like “Iron Horse/Born to Lose” acting as lifestyle anthems, through 1979’s ultra-classic Overkill, Bomber and On Parole through the next year’s landmark Ace of Spades, Motörhead burned a swath through punk rock and early heavy metal that found the band living up to what Lemmy said initially was their intent: to be the loudest and dirtiest band of all time.

Lemmy spent 40 years of his life standing in the center of that tempest. I never spoke to the man, but by all accounts he remained decent and committed to his sonic purpose. His health failing over the last year-plus, he continued to tour as much as possible, spreading Motörhead’s raw gospel to a fanbase that, by this time, spanned generations, debates on 1983’s Another Perfect Day vs. 1993’s Bastards vs. 2004’s Inferno only serving to underscore the point that Motörhead, and by extension Lemmy himself, never stopped. Hell, they never even slowed. 2015’s Bad Magic was the third album the band — now comprised of Lemmy, guitarist Phil Campbell and drummer Mikkey Dee — released this decade, behind 2013’s Aftershock and 2010’s The Wörld Is Yours. Even in light of Lemmy’s death, it seems unbelievable to think it might actually be their last record.

On Dec. 26, two days after turning 70, Lemmy reportedly learned of an aggressive cancer that just two days later took his life. That life stands at a scope beyond hope for any summation — it’s simply too big. Even the 2010 documentary, Lemmy, could only tell part of the story. The band announced his passing thusly:

There is no easy way to say this…our mighty, noble friend Lemmy passed away today after a short battle with an extremely aggressive cancer. He had learnt of the disease on December 26th, and was at home, sitting in front of his favorite video game from The Rainbow which had recently made it’s way down the street, with his family. We cannot begin to express our shock and sadness, there aren’t words.

We will say more in the coming days, but for now, please…play Motörhead loud, play Hawkwind loud, play Lemmy’s music LOUD.

Have a drink or few. Share stories. Celebrate the LIFE this lovely, wonderful man celebrated so vibrantly himself.

HE WOULD WANT EXACTLY THAT.

Ian ‘Lemmy’ Kilmister

1945 -2015

Born to lose, lived to win.

It will be decades more before we ultimately can assess what the impact of his life has been, but neither rock and roll nor heavy metal would exist as it does today without him. The level of his impact is as expansive as vision was uncompromising. From the moment he showed up until the moment he left, he was absolutely one of a kind.

Normally, this is the part where I express condolences to the departed’s friends, family and fans, and while all that holds true in this case as well, the fact of the matter is that a loss like this one goes beyond blood or personal ties. We’re all poorer, the planet, our species as a whole, is poorer, for his passing.

Rest in peace, Lemmy Kilmister: 1945-2015.

Motörhead, Overkill (1979)

Probably the most notable thing about Sam Gopal‘s Escalator when it was released in 1969 was that the band’s namesake percussionist substituted tabla for the standard rock drumkit. Not to take away from that, as it was an interesting turn for a London-based band even in that time of Eastern-influenced psychedelic rock becoming somewhat mainstreamed (Gopal himself was born in Malaysia), but if the group is something of a footnote today, it’s more because of vocalist/guitarist Ian Willis, who by the time he left Hawkwind to form Motörhead some six years later would adopt the universally-recognized moniker of Lemmy Kilmister.

Lemmy‘s involvement in Sam Gopal isn’t exactly a secret — prior to joining, he played guitar in Blackpool-based The Rockin’ Vickers from 1965-1967 and those seeking a sample of his work before and around Motörhead were afforded an easy opportunity with 2006’s Damage Case compilation — but neither is it widely advertised, and when he finally decides that Planet Earth isn’t cool enough to hold him and departs this mortal coil, Escalator isn’t likely to be mentioned as part of his considerable list of landmark or otherwise influential works. Still, for devotees of proto-heavy rock and psychedelia, the album has much to offer in the moody wanderings of “Grass” and sweet, pre-“Planet Caravan” vibe of “Angry Faces.”

With fellow guitarist Roger D’Elia and bassist Phil Duke, Lemmy brings a nascent fuzz to “The Dark Lord,” which was included on that Damage Case compilation no doubt for its theme as much as the song itself, but the bulk of Escalator is candlelit British psych, the subtly bass-driven “The Sky is Burning” having little time for the kind of raucous blues jamming Cream were doing at that point, “You’re Alone Now” aside, or even the swagger of Jimi Hendrix, for whom a young Lemmy famously roadied. Maybe Sam Gopal were a little behind the times, then, but if so, the distinction is moot since the album fits with its general era and precedes in both tone and execution the kind of heavy-rock-into-prog explosion that UFO, Uriah Heep, the second lineup of King Crimson and, indeed, Hawkwind were about to unleash on the UK rock scene as the likes of Deep Purple, Black Sabbath and Led Zeppelin made their way to megastardom behind Pink Floyd, who’d already been signed to a major label (EMI) for two years.

Hearing Escalator through a filter of hindsight is inevitable, but the stoned-out push of “You’re Alone Now” seems prescient in asking, “Can you hear me on the wind?/Are you thinking of what might have been?” and as much as Lemmy‘s presence dominates even though the vocals are mostly given to a rudimentary melodic garage-type drawl fitting to the music, the songs have value beyond novelty for anyone who’d take them on as part of a larger exploration through the roots of heavy. Putting Sam Gopal next to earliest Vanilla Fudge doesn’t seem inappropriate when they get into Donovan‘s “Season of the Witch” and rough it up a bit, but the sleaze that’s inevitably brought to the already-sleazy Doors cover “Back Door Man” — a bonus track on the 2010 Esoteric Recordings reissue — helps to give Escalator a personality of its own, as much of that might be wrapped up in a reading of the album through the Lemmy context.

It was that Esoteric Recordings reissue that I wound up with, following a recommendation that I check the record out because, with or without “the Motörhead dude,” it’s quality psych. I’ve found that to be precisely the case, and found that I’m drawn to repeat listens of Escalator not because of the personnel, but because of the songs they execute. If you’re not already familiar, give it some time to settle in.

Sam Gopal, Escalator (1969)

Esoteric Recordings

Motörhead’s website