A Small Selection Of Things Lemmy Did Other Than Motorhead

If you are anything like me then the the chances are that today, and quite possibly tomorrow and a good number of days after that, your reaction to the passing of Lemmy is going to be playing a lot of Motorhead cranked up good and high. And after the 15 hours of blissfully wonderful studio albums, and god-alone-knows hours of incredible live recordings, (see multiple previous postings) you might want some of his other work to listen to so you can hear the true range of this mighty Rock & Roll Warrior's works. Because as long as we're still listening to him he's still with us.

The Rocking Vickers

Sam Gopal

Hawkwind

Robert Calver's Band

Lemmy And The Upstetters

Headcat

And a massive list of other collaborations and guest appearances, as you can't keep that much music tied down to one thing.

RIP Lemmy, you will be missed.

Duran Duran @ The NEC Genting Arena - 04/12/2015

The Genting Arena is best described as a cross between an airport departure lounge, what premier league football stadiums dream they are and an exercise in seeing how much you can overcharge for every kind of food and drink under the sun. It's also got lovely staff and on this brisk - but not too stormy - night, it was the venue for the return of Birmingham's greatest 80's export (or, as Simon Le Bon put it, it's "bastard children"). The venue was mostly rammed, the audience was mostly over thirty and everyone was moderately buzzing at the chance of going back to their youth. The only problem was: both the acts they had heard of had actually done a lot of stuff since they were last heard on the chart countdown.

Before that: Bloom Twins, a pair of quite talented Darkwave performers from Ukraine who do a good line in synths, live drums and mixing of 50's cinema tunes, with modern sounds that ends up being haunting, emotional and interestingly minimalistic. It was also wasted on the audience - the few that had turned up to see them by that point - and, in a neat nod to the 80's, suffered from the Ultravox problem of 'how do you make things look interesting on stage if everyone is stuck behind a sodding huge set of keyboards". I would happily listen to them again if their tunes came on the radio and would love to see them if they played in a club, but at 500 feet it was, inevitably, a bit of a non-event.

Little known fact: Seal has done seven studio albums since he released "Kiss From A Rose", something that he was quite happy to tell an audience that appeared to think he'd been keep in stasis since 1994. However they would be forgiven for having that thought, as 52 years olds really aren't supposed to be able to belt out tunes with that much power AND command the stage with that much presence AND interact with the audience with that much grace and warming wit. He started, perfectly, on Crazy and Killer which got a huge reaction. He then, perfectly, did a brace of soulful, R&B meets rock, classics from his other albums which were meet with polite applause from everyone more than three rows from the front, and finished on an, unsurprisingly perfect, rendition of "Kiss From A Rose" that got everyone singing and cheering.

Duran Duran have also not been resting on their laurels since their heyday of 1981 to 1989, especially with departures, returns and a brief hiatus when no-one really thought they would get back together again. They also (finally) have a really solid album (Paper Gods) to show off and thus were more than happy to kick things off with the title track, before kicking into a set that was 50/50 classics/tracks most of the audience didn't know because they weren't written in the 80's. But they lapped it up because it's Duran Duran, they can rock it like devils and they were overly happy to be playing to their hometown crowd, so wanted everyone to know how chuffed they were to be there.

The stage show wasn't anything too fancy and involved a bit of AV with well timed lights; the theatrics were kept minimal with only Danceophobia having any real choreography. But the impact was undeniable; the charm, charisma and confidence just dripping off every more and note. Simon Le Bon and John Taylor stalking their stage like the pop superstars they are, Nick Rhodes stayed at his keyboards like a conductor-general marshalling his forces and Roger Taylor just hammered his kit.

When they played tracks the crowd knew, everyone was dancing; when they played tracks the crowd didn't, everyone was listening - and when the moment was right, then everyone was singing. The big moment for that was the encore with Save A Prayer; something that was obviously going to be emotional, given it having become somewhat of an anthem for the Paris attacks. Le Bon introduced it well, stating the facts and offering it up as a song of hope - and then let the audience do most of the legwork. Hopefully there won't be much call for things like this in the future, but that night it gave a much-needed sense of togetherness and optimism. Then they kicked into Rio and people got back with the main point of the night: brilliant Pop that's a bit daft, occasionally poignant, and always damn good fun.

Industrial Music: Caustic

If you were after delicately nuanced or subtly composed music, then the tenth album from Matt Fanale / Caustic is not for you. This album is a steady, dependable, punch in the face; a throwback to the dawn times of industrial music that has gone "yeah - EBM, electro and the last twenty years of regular progression have been interesting and all that. But I just want violent, stompy noise and lyrics about hate." It's all stripped down, distorted beats, with shoutable tunes on themes of fucked-up feelings and disastrous emotions, designed to get people angry in the pit.

Opener "Attention Please" has a keyboard roll and lyrical delivery that reminds you of early rap tracks, whilst the instrumental "Michael Fucking Ironside" has a kind of bastard trance all the way through it like Brighton rock. The finisher "Bleached Asshole/The Deafening Beat of My Heart" touches on drone and "Toxic Waste" has the most modern sounding, near-gabba drums in it (along with some kick-arse guitar). But the rest of it, including the ironically dancefloor friendly "Bomb the Clubs", have a familiarity of the old school to them that is, frankly, awesome and needed.

Whilst experimentation and new directions are always welcome, it's great to have someone take it back to the start and go "no, this is how it's done and this is why its so damn good".  It also doesn't sound like rework-retro or hipster lo-fi, as it has a clarity of sound and depth of production that many of the early classics were missing. It's just a selection of the core concepts of the genre done with none of the extraneous elements that can often overcrowd or over-complicate things. Think of it as a cool glass of water after months of complicated juice bars and experimental health shakes, that someone has now pissed in and is challenging you to down in one. True: its not going to be for everyone. But some folks think it could both fun and healthy for you.

This Music Leaves Stains: The Complete Story Of The Misfits by James Green JR.

I've been thinking about doing an article about the influence that horror, sci-fi, and similar B-Movie
schlock has had on punk rock - and to a greater extent, rock music as a whole. However James Greene Jr.manages to do such a good job of it in pages 3 to 7 (covering the tradition of dark fantasy theme within rock since it's inception, the unrelenting thirst for content of 60s & 70s USA TV stations pumping the movies out, the move from 40's & 50's ideal lifestyles to economic pressures forcing mothers into the workplace causing more TV viewing by kids, and the kitschy anti-establishment & juvenile escapist joys found within them)... that there really isn't much more to add to his thesis.

As an added bonus, his observations are followed by a full and fully researched history of the progenitors of the Horror Punk genre. Starting with the first musical endeavors of founder member Glen Danzig and working it's way through to the contemporary Jerry Only period of the band, this book uses a combination of the historical record and interviews with an extensive range of members and associates of the troupe. Whilst doing so, it also gives a wider idea of the Misfits place and importance in the history of punk rock as a whole; something that previous works like American Hardcore: A Tribal History have touched on but never truly given the credit owed, due to either the lyrical/performance content of the heavy metal elements of their work not fitting into the established narratives of the genre.

Given the number of people who have gone through it's ranks, and the amount of disagreement over what did or didn't happen (often settled by legal action), the "give everyone's view, and let the reader decide" approach adopted by Greene is a practical solution to a complicated problem. It's also an approach that could leave the reader unsure as to what may have happened, however there is sufficient editorializing opinion thrown in to make it clear where the writer sits on many occasions. This could upset Misfits fans with a strong viewpoint on the personalities involved (which boils down to Danzig Vs Only), but the appreciation shown for the music and performances should avoid alienating all but the most entrenched of fans.

What you mostly get is a clear yet wistful message that if the band hadn't had it's internal rifts, it would never have produced the content it did - but the band could also have been so much more successful than it was. You also get some interesting (and often sarcastically funny) insights into what is involved in writing a book such as this, plus the egos that can continue, decades after the events. Add to this the true story of a band that failed to succeed at the time but became a huge influence to those who followed and the eventual return (of sorts) to the deserved acclaim all of this, helps make this book a great read, be it for fan or soon-to-be fan of the band.

We are still going to lose Eurovision

So a couple of days ago, everyone who thinks that the Eurovision contest is important got all excited about headlines like this one that implied that the Great British Public (known connoisseurs of good musical taste) were actually going to have something to do with the selection of the song that will represent us to Europe. Yup, for a brief few seconds we actually thought that we might get to find and pick a blinder of an act (rather than raid the colonies for a ringer) that could go forth to Johnny Foreigner and show them what the British Music scene has to offer (from a selection of acts that don't want to risk the career suicide of 'nil pois').

Only it's not going to help at all, in any way, due to two major reasons. Firstly, the songs entered (of which I assume there will be many containing nothing but expletives) have to go through the OGAE, i.e. the largest collection of people in this country who have sat through every Eurovision ever, including the secret ones where Wogan started demanding whisky and launch codes. These are people who have bought into the chintz of Eurovision to the point of being willing to spend £15.00 a year in the internet age to get a magazine about one of the most heavily promoted and publicised events out there. They are indoctrinated into and educated in the ways of Eurovision, the voting cycles and the tactics, the politics and the power-plays. Fundamentally, these are the people who would tell Lordi to turn it down or be worried that Conchita Wurst would upset the Russians too much, so the chances of an outsider or oddball choice is instantly gone as they focus on what will get "The Win".

So once anything that is either new, exciting, or edgy (i.e. most of the music coming from anything even vaguely not-top-30) is binned, we get the barrier of  "a professional panel and the public". The first bit sounds nice, but then you remember that professional panels were also why Electro Velvet, Scooch, Daz Sampson, Blue and other such aberrations were allowed to ever be thought "a good thing". Plus, because it'll be on the BBC and thus the decision process will be gunning for TV viewer eyes, it means the panel will include "names" like the git-demon Wil.I.Am, who will be going out of their way to make 'bold decisions' to promote their own agenda, rather than thinking "can we win this?" And then "the public" roll in, specifically the aforementioned TV viewing public. The kind of people who watch the X-Factor or The Voice for "the drama", which basically means someone having a good sob story or being attractive in a trying-hard way. Talent, beyond a certain base level, won't be the issue - it'll be about likeability.

So, after several months of being promised that we might actually win this time and that it's really going to be different, we are going to get something that is scientifically selected to win last year's event, that has been vetted by people more interested in their own next album, and then approved by people who fundamentally wanted to watch Eastenders but with a bit more of a tune. And then folks will wonder why we hit the bottom and ask if we can just bring in a ringer again.

Of course it's easy (and fun) to mock, Eurovision is an easy target for awfulness  But there is a way that this could all be fixed and it's an incredibly easy one: actually let the public decide. Have an open list, have anyone be able to enter a song if they want, and then let people vote directly from that list. Have one big show where you announce the winner if you want, and then have the experts work with them to spruce up whatever it is they are going play to the absolute peak of it's potential (you can make a documentary out of it if you want). But make it actually picked by the public, actually representative of the British Public. Because if we lose, it will be on our own terms - but if we win, it will be something we can actually be proud of for more than five minutes.

Breakout Festival - Brighton Racecourse - 26.09.2015

It's not often you associate Brighton with heavy metal & hard rock, but from going along to the Second annual Breakout Festival it's quite clear that they go together as well as ice-cream and beach walks (well, the type that leave you happy, tired, and somewhat deaf). It's also quite clear from having attended this years event that the organisers know how to operate an efficient band-packed event, and that the local scene is filled to the brim with friendly folk out to have a splendid time of it all. And by "all" I mean 14 bands for the outrageously low price of £27.50 (including booking fee), starting at 10:40 and finishing almost 12 music-soaked and fist-pumped hours later.

Opening up was We Deny, a quality pop-punk outfit that managed to pull people in through a combo of ridiculous amounts of energy for that time of the morning and a clear talent for catchy tunes. It was "light, but filling" in the best of ways, getting my feet tapping and face smiling before the first bite of coffee. Quite frankly, if you're under 25 and have even the slightest interest in being happy about things, then put this on your car stereo and just drive off to adventure.

And, whilst it was impressive being that happy at 10:40am, hats go off to Skint Circus for being so utterly pissed off at 11:20 when they rolled out their thick, sweaty, and highly energetic take on hardcore punk with breakdowns, beatdowns, and throwdown flying over the places almost as much as their singer did. Their lead guitarist didn't move much though, he just stood there in a suit jacket looking unnervingly cool. A band with that much anger has a lot to give, and I look forward to hearing more from them.

Next up was Seething Akira, a band who appear to have bridge the existential gap between Enter Shikari and The Midnight Beast. From their jolly intro of "Hello" to their rave-metal bouncing noise, this was everything you could ask for from a band that have one front man who looks like a young Alan Moore in a Lionel Richie t-shirt and another that you could envision your sister politely introducing to your mother. By song two they were both in the crowd, giving things a runaround - kicking off a moshpit conga line, sneaking a cheeky go on the bouncy castle near the stage, all the time accompanied by blood-pumping party revolution rawk. All of this meant that when they asked the question "Have you all had a nice time?" and gave the quippy "That makes us very happy" after the cheer, it came across as honest rather than affected, and just added to the fun factor that was washing over everyone. They have a single coming out, get it and then try to see them live.

The Gospel Youth had a tough act to follow, and their more laid back, radio friendly, alt-rock approach was a good switch of pace from what had come before. Touches of Gaslight Anthem, the odd bit of Fall Out Boy, mostly just solid rock played in a no nonsense fashion. Whilst their look was the most regimented and sculpted of the day so far they were perfectly willing to just let the music and the lyrics do the work for them, so whilst they didn't get much motion out in the slowly growing crowd there were clearly a lot of ears open taking it all in.

Another set, another change in style, something that seems to be the make of Breakout with a very broad range of the church of rock on display. By Definition were the next brotherhood on display, and they had come to give some very hard lessons on the benefits of blues based, groove heavy, slow and steady heavy rock. It was slow, it was steady, it was raunchy, and it was delivered with the restraint of a grizzly bear. Pretty much instantly everyone in the area started smelling of strong liquor and began tapping their hands, feet, heads, and assorted other appendages as the growling, swirling, bass-to-the-guts overload was hammered out.

Zoax were up next and rapidly pitched their tent as a screamo version of The Pixies with a heavy sound that saw more peaks and valleys than a bus going off the cliff in Wales. They also almost had the same visual impact on the stage at times, as all three of the guitarists were throwing their instruments around with so much abandon their mothers would have been worried someone would lose their whole head. Desperate to the crowd moving, their singer Adam stalked the pit like a demon whilst throwing his heart and lungs into every lyric. Not to sure on the safety of bringing a cabled mic into the thick of it, but no-one got hurt and it certainly added to the drama. Then he came over to the table we were sat at and he pinched my hat, so that's one to tell the Godparents once these guys make it big.

Then, for lack of a better term, Black Tongue happened. They just walked on stage, started playing something that sounded like five doom and death metal tracks all at once, hated everything in front of them for even existing for about half an hour, and then headed off. Occasionally they introduced a song with some horror movie sound track but other than that it was just "bang and gone". They even had a guest vocalist for one track that just walked on, screamed, and headed off. Like it, don't like it: they clearly did not have one fuck to give regards your opinion of what they did. Obviously the people who were into it loved it, whilst everyone else seemed a bit bemused. I'm assuming that was the intention. The only down side to their set was the sound techs not being up to task, as there was feedback and pops through out, which was a shame for an otherwise precision performance.

Representing the kind of  poetic, polemic, and curiously swinging hardcore that seems to grow in London, TRC bounded on with the goal of kicking up a riot and ensuring everyone had fun doing it. It was shouty, it was bouncy, it had riffs and energy you could listen to for days. It also had the line of "If you've got some energy, do it. If not, then get to the gym" and the request for the pit to get "a bit like strictly come dancing". The thrash-ier bits were intense, and all over, it got everyone up for a good time that showed the old school have still got it.



Shunning the simple pleasures of music, like tune or melody or even apparent structure, Heck (aka Baby Godzilla) landed next and dropped out a lot of sounds in about half the time you would think it humanly possible. Some might call it mathcore, or extreme jazz, or "all the notes ever, sometimes twice", or "Cream force-fed Napalm Death from birth"  but mostly it was just an exhilarating exploration of what you can do when you say 'no' to almost every rule ever. I'm not going to claim to understand it, but it was compelling and enjoyable like some intricate puzzlebox, especially with the bands determination to hammer their instruments and play them anywhere other than the stage. It was also impressive to watch as there was no-one obviously holding the songs together, but regardless of how far everyone flew off in which direction it kept on coming back to one central point, Oh yeah, and they hate microphone stands. I saw three of them laid waste in the first track alone.

Martyr Defiled hit the stage next, playing something that sounded halfway between death metal and blastbeat-based hardcore. Sadly the performance almost instantly got hit by bad sound, so nothing came across with as much bite as it should have, in the first track. The sense of terror was further eroded by their vocalist sounding so amiable and friendly when talking between tracks, as someone who sounds that devilish when singing, should not instantly strike you as someone you would share cocoa with. It was technically proficient but the performance side wasn't theatrical or passionate enough to really grab up and hold you in its fist.

Finishing up the last of the daylight were The Qemist, a raging slab of power is pitched halfway between The Prodigy and Pendulum, but with enough of their own sound to not sound like a dodgy knock-off. From the off they had everyone bouncing to their uplifting sounds and welcoming stage presence. A couple of the callouts and platitudes to the crowd may have been a tad bit cheesy, but everyone was smiling too much to be offended and they all knew it was meant well. Still, you can't argue with the crowd and they managed to get a huge response as everyone rocked out to their rebel party anthems.

And then night was upon us, and as the stage lights kicked in We Are The Ocean took the stage and played something halfway between alt-rock and dad-rock. It was good for what it was, including a brave attempt at Dazed and Confused (a fifty year old song for a crowd that was mostly under twenty five), it's just that it was too much of a change from what had gone on before through the day. The crowd dwindled visibly, the cold started to suck at people's energy, and though there were moments that landed some response from those left behind, they never landed well enough to convince me they were the right pick for that point in the day.

When Sikth got on stage there was a resurgence in numbers, mostly from the bar, as this was clearly a band that a lot of people had been looking forward to see. Whilst I wasn't aware of the band before today I can clearly see why people like their brand of prog-metal: it's loud, it's fast, it's filled with virtuosity, and it's almost certain to piss off your parents. It was also a highly energetic and frantic performance, which got picked up by the crowd and resulted in a lot of bodies thrashing around & building up a sweat. Personally I liked the spoken-word piece the most, as it was totally unexpected and yet fitted in perfectly with everything else before and after, and a fair chunk of the audience dug it as well. For a band doing their first gig of the year in September, they had clearly been doing more than just practising their tunes. If you are of the progressive music persuasion, then grab a ticket to whenever they play within travelling distance of you.

The day was drawn to a close by Deaf Havana and their brand of alternative rock, which sadly seemed to miss the mark of what the crowd were after in a similar vein to We Are The Ocean if the madly diminished audience was anything to go by. Those who stayed had a lovely time, listening to some heartfelt tunes and rocking singalongs, but for a lot of people it was either time for bed after an incredibly long day in the sun or just not their thing after the prog-metal blowout that had hit them before.

Still, with that much range and at that price, you can't have everything your way. However, you can have an incredibly well-organised and perfectly sized event, completed by a pleasant crowd and utterly pleasant staff.  They was also the bonus of all the bands hanging out in the audience, so you could be both encouraged that they are actually real people who got up and did it, as well as get the chance to go up and say "thanks for the music". Book your tickets for 2016, because it's going to be worth it.

Overkill Over Analysed

A wise man once said of rock music,
          "Don't analyse it, man. Don't try to understand it, just enjoy it at face value". 

That man was Lemmy of the mighty Motorhead, a band famed for having released possibly the greatest and most well known Heavy Metal track of the last 30 years: The Ace Of Spades. It is a song that has been used to sell things from cars to snack food, a song referenced as a go-to 'look at the long hairs!' sting, and a song they consistently play as the second to last track at each of their shows. It is a great song, but it has overshadowed the song they consistently end on: I refer to the lesser known, often overlooked, and the literally show stopping Overkill.

But why is it such a great song and what is it about it that makes it such a perfect way to end an hour and a half of concert? I wanted to put this into words, because whilst it may look and sound very simple, there is a hell of a lot going on that deserves closer inspection.

First, the intro. Starting on a solid, speedy, hammering drum rift which essentially stays the same through the whole song, we have 16 bars of pure, primal pounding. Nothing flash, kick drums and cymbals laying down a 4/4.  Then the first guitar kicks in for another 16 bars, a bass riff sounding more like a rhythm guitar and made of two notes being hammered away with more boogie than you can find in some pop-'funk' albums. Next spirals in the lead guitar, diving down and joining the bass for another 16 bars of raw rock and roll with a similarly limited set of notes in perfect accompaniment: simplicity given form and drive, an announcement of the power trio in it's most on target glory. To paraphrase Sun Ra: anyone can play it, only a genius can write it. The tune continues, almost without variation, through the first verse and chorus.

"The only way to feel the noise is when it's good and loud"
A straightforward observation on the live music experience, but the usage of "noise" bringing a truth to the levels involved at a Motorhead performance and of the oeuvre of Heavy metal as a whole. Also "when it's good and loud" carries the mixed meaning of the music being of a high standard and the pure quantity of output having a positive quality all of it's own. This is not simple language, this is simple words used as poetry.

"So good I can't believe it, screaming with the crowd"
A line that captures the duality of the concert goer in that you experience it as an individual whilst feeding off everyone else there. It also gives permission to let it all go, to just express emotion in an incoherent level, a rock and roll tradition from the bobby-sock era reborn and given validity. The usage of "I" is important though, as it also bridges the gap between the performer and the audience, bringing them in as a whole. This is a unified experience, the singer working with the people who have come to listen and be an active part of what is happening. The line is critical, as it binds everyone together.

"Overkill, Overkill, Overkill"
A word by itself, perfectly expressing a multitude. Excessive, over what is required, but carrying a certainty of completion with it. Could everything until this point have been laid down quieter, slower, and with more complication? Yes, but it would not have been as good.

Under a minute in and it's time for the first bridge. The backline keeps things as before, but the guitar jazzes things up a bit - however, importantly, not too much. The core sound is still there, the tempo and attack has not restrained or reset itself. It's the musical equivalent of a minute's straight dash, exhausting but exhilarating. And then the second round begins.

"On your feet you feel the beat, it goes straight through your spine"
Motorhead have, on many occasion, held the official title of "worlds loudest band" so this is quite possibly a literal statement of what the audience is experiencing on a purely acoustic level. But the second section also expresses the release and euphoria many feel at such times. The tendency to foot tap to a beat, the urge to do things when highly motivational music comes on, and the endorphins release associated with music as a whole.

"Shake your head"
A clear reference to headbanging, the hallmark of heavy metal fan appreciation, and an extension of the original 'rocking out' that accompanied the earlier hard rock and heavy rock from which Motorhead came (and were the source of the term, as per the "Motorheadbangers" collective noun for their fans).

"You must be dead, if it don't make you fly"
Testament again to the euphoria gained from the live experience, but with more of the synthesis of the event. What will make you fly? Both the music and the engagement with the music. Also a brag as to the uplifting and inclusive nature of what is going on. Only the dead won't be excited by this song, but it is an un-rarefied experience open to all.

"Don't sweat it, Give it back to you"
There is no need to worry, the band will give unto the audience as well as the audience giving unto them. Again, the experience is not one way, or even two way. This is a group effort - a social event.

"Don't sweat it, Give it back to you"
Seriously guys, we're all going to have a great time.

"Overkill, Overkill, Overkill"
Further restatement of the overall impact of what is happening, and the set up to the second bridge. This time the lead guitar is a bit more wild, a bit more free. But still the backline is locked in tight, unbreaking at the minute and a half mark - then be rejoined at the two minute point for another couple of rounds of the main hook, before the final set of lyrics

"Know your body's made to move. Feel it in your guts"
No instruction on how you should move, but pure license to move in any manner you want. By now you should be lifted, you should be elated, and on a primal level you will be acting how you see fit. Action is the key, to what end is down to the individual.

"Rock 'n' roll ain't worth the name, if it don't make you strut"
A key line, possibly the most important and certainly worthy as the finishing statement. This is Rock & Roll, pure and simple. This is Blues, bubbled through fifty years and mutated through a Marshall stack, but it's rock and roll - and it needs to make you feel good. This is a gauntlet thrown down to others, this is a testament to everything you have heard in the show and it is the final closing endorsement of all previous markers highlighted in the song. Right here, right now, this is how rock and roll makes you. Anything else is a shame - accept no substitutes.

"Don't sweat it, get it back to you
Don't sweat it, get it back to you
OVERKILL, OVERKILL, OVERKILL"
A re-enforcement of the above, a final sing along of passion, a final one word chant that carries volumes with efficiency.

Lyrics sung, we have the finale. The guitarist is let loose, unrestrained but still running with the pack, darting around the unstoppable force of the drums and bass. They have done so little but it has filled vast voids, given the six-stringer the backing needed to highlight and carry it's work. Then the first tempo change, the first deviation from the last 180 seconds of breakneck rocking. Things slow, the notes are fewer, the cymbals are pounded in the classic marker that it is all done. Slightly over the regulation 3 minutes for a pop-song, but still on form for a classic.

But wait, it was a ruse! The drums start again, the same loop and the same pressure. We are literally back to the start of the song, as all the parts fill in again for another round. A second rush of steam, although with a more intense guitar lead from the off. Unleashed, unbound, unburdened by needs for words. You know everything there is to know about what will happen now, there is no need for communication as all there is is understanding. The band are off, the audience are off, it's pell-mell to the real finishing line! One last huzzah, one more minute of life at it's best. Then over, done, spent.

...Not really. It's called "Overkill", not "just enough". The pounding starts again, the engine now running on empty. The band gave it their all, the listener gave it their all, how can anything else be dragged up? Well, it is rock and roll so we best get going with it even if we are running on fumes. The bass and the lead are more urgent, still working the core tune like sirens going off. Rabid and exhausted, the song almost doubled in length from anything that previously seemed the requirement. And then, finally, a ridiculous five minutes after it all began, the actual conclusion of the song that has left you shattered and unable to go any further.

Although, with the live version - it does. The band leaves the stage, but their instruments continue though strength of pure feedback, the music no longer needing to be anything but literal force and presence. The wash over the crowd is total, nothing can be heard other than the aftermath of what has come before, a post orgasmic chill that can continue under its own existence, an adrenaline rush given musical form. You have survived, you have experienced - and you are going to have it ringing in your ears for days, as the concert, the rock and roll explosion, continues to be a part of your life from there on.

Ace of Spades is the classic, it's is the jab that startles and delights, but like all "one, two" combos, it is the second blow that floors you - and that does the real work.