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Rating: A Golden Retirement
The last album of the Clarke era, replaced then by a very dubious Robertson both musically and especially visually (Lemmy studded and belted with bullets, him dressed in improbable tight striped pants and a fuchsia T-shirt, during a US tour he was literally pelted with bottles, hence the wise idea to fire him), our hard and pure hard rockers of late seventies England found a sort of creative crisis in the early eighties. The punk that had given them life was slowly bleeding out, the British scene filled with bands that responded to the rough and gritty sound like sandpaper proposed by "the goat" with exquisite and clean technique, no raucous shouts, but perfect compositions where power and grace were mixed like only skilled bartenders know how to do in their cocktails.
Year 1982, history was already written at Hammersmith, what the hell do we do now, Lemmy wonders? Simple, we don't give a damn and keep going down our filthy road.
In words, it's all easy, but with "Iron Fist" Lemmy took more of a punch than he delivered, right in the face. And I believe he never quite recovered from it. Mind you, I'm quite attached to the album, it contains really good tracks, but damn, the soup is reheated. There are bands that react to creative crises and the passage of time by changing, usually for the worse (see the fake teenage Priest of "Turbo," the bleached Saxon of "Rock the Nations," the Van Halen softened in the Hagar era, the disheartening Maiden of "Somewhere in Time," the Metallica (?) of "Load"), but at least they made the attempt. Damn, Motörhead did not: impervious, inaccessible, deaf to everything around them, they went on their own path for years, until today in fact, stringing together an endless series of albums where you could comfortably mix all the songs without noticing the slightest difference.
"Iron Fist" is the point of no return: here and there, one senses the attempt to rejuvenate, change, dare, but it is only, precisely, an attempt, indeed very unconvinced and timid (actually, maybe it’s just the total lack of ideas, I still have doubts to tell the truth). Among other things, the fans - who usually swallow everything, otherwise what kind of fans would they be? - didn’t like it too much either, so Lemmy soon wonders: why the hell am I doing this?
Episode closed. Clarke also closes, and goodnight. What will follow is a nightmare. The aforementioned Robertson, the paranoid Gill replacing the brilliant Taylor, two bargain-bin guitarists, and a series of studio obscenities throughout the eighties and nineties.
But. Even in this story, there’s a but. Like a skillful magician, turning a fearsome limit into a dazzling virtue, Lemmy decides to grant himself the certificate of a living metal monument, the unknown soldier who is there, in fair and foul weather, in times of peace and war you will always find him on stage with his bass in hand playing the same four notes, with the microphone always a bit higher to keep the now corroded vocal cords in tension, bloated with alcohol and saturated with coke to the point of bursting, with the fifteen-year-old in the dressing room and avalanches of blissed-out fans, not to mention doped up.
You did well, Lemmy, truly first-class. You lived day by day in the eighties when people sang seek and destroy, survived the megalomania of the Germans and Scandinavians in the nineties, and today, when the storm has passed and there’s frankly nothing left to turn to, people rediscover you, and more and more with admiration and emotion say: what a great Lemmy, one who never sold out.
Well done, Mr. Kilmister, the 1982 thinking was spot on. You’ve really earned the golden retirement from Metal-Inps.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 Iron Fist (02:53)
Dark night nothing to see
Invisible hand in front of me
Scared to death there's someone near
Scared to move but you can't stay here
You know me, evil eye
You know me, prepare to die
You know me, the snakebite kiss
Devil's grip, the Iron Fist
Flying horse don't make a sound
Flying hooves don't touch the ground
Walk in circle lose you track
Can't go on but you can't go back
You know me etc.
Moon eclipse and you know why
Ghost rider in the sky
Beast of evil devil's hound
Tooth and claw they pull you down
You know me etc.
05 Loser (03:54)
I'm a loser
I'm a loser, that's what they said
That's what they said
Now I got their women in my bed
You buy me a drink and you wish that I was dead
I'm a loser
I'm a loser and I don't know their names
I don't know their names
Call me a superstar, play that game
Cost you a million just to sign your name
I'm a loser
I'm a loser they turn me around
Turn me around
Big wide smile gonna bring me down
They don't know your arse from a hole in the ground
06 Sex and Outrage (02:09)
Seize the time
There's only minutes left to zero
Just got a little taste
I gotta get some more
Just me and you
(Chorus)
Teenage, backstage, sex and outrage
It's like I got
An outboard motor in my bloodstream
And all you've done tonight
Is walk in through the door
No lie - all true
Teenage, backstage, sex and outrage
I think you know
Exactly what I'm trying to get at
The way you move yourself
Should be against the law
It's up to you Teenage, backstage, sex and outrage
07 America (03:36)
America, hot as hell, hysterical, cast your spell
The endless road, another night to bend your mind
White line fever, I think that state patrol car's still behind
America, cold as death, up to Canada, Crystal Meth
Another West Coast turnaround and back to start
Yakima Reservation, just another broken heart
America, liked it fine, Sinsemilla, Ripple Wine
Another Schoolgirl with her daddy's Pontiac
Another killer from the wrong side of the tracks
America, fast cars
America, the girls, the bars
America, don't make no fuss
America, get on the bus
09 Speedfreak (03:25)
Got to hurry, got to hurry
I don't believe you worry
Take it back, take it back
You know you can't do that
Don't want no sleep
Up for a week
Yes, I'm a speekfreak, speedfreak
Way too fast, way too fast
Gonna be the first and last
Shoot ya down, shoot ya down
Flamin' Wreck you hit the ground
Up for a week
Don't need no sleep
Cos I'm a speedfreak, speedfreak
No regrets, no regrets
You can't afford'em yet
Comin' down, comin' down
Over, under, sideways, round
Up for a week
Playin' Hide and Seek
Cos I'm a speedfreak, everlasting speedfreak
11 (Don't Need) Religion (02:41)
Don't need no blind belief
Don't need no comic relief
Don't need to see the scars
Don't need Jesus Christ Superstar
Don't need no Sunday Television
Bet your life you don't need religion
Don't need no time for prayer
Don't save no knee-pads for me up there
If your head's alright, ya don't need binoculars to see the light
Ya don't need no miracle vision
Bet ya life etc.
I don't need no Santa Claus
Don't believe in fairies no more
Don't need to go to confession
I'm already trying to fight depression
Don't need no exorcism
Bet ya life etc.
12 Bang to Rights (02:41)
Took her to a bar, I though I'd covered all my tracks
Thought I had it made, I felt daggers in my back
You came walkin' through the door sailed into the attack
Don't seem to be my night
You got me bang to rights
I ain't gonna fight it baby, there ain't no excuse
Don't know what to tell ya, but I hope you don't cut loose
It don't matter anyway, my head is in the noose
You got me stitched up tight
You got me bang to rights
I can tell you ain't exactly listening to me
I just wish that I could thing of some place else to be
I'm gonna make it up to you, just you wait and see
My future ain't too bright
You got me bang to rights
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