THE BIOGRAPHER

Classic Rock writer, former Zigzag editor and Motörhead biographer Kris Needs was also Lemmy's neighbour in London's Notting Hill, as he recalls here.

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More than 45 years ago, after a hard day editing Zigzag magazine at its offices off Portobello Road it became something of a routine to visit Lemmy at his home around the corner.

Essentially a low-lit basement, his lair boasted a double bed, comfy chairs, floor cushions, stereo system, and a patchwork-mirrored coffee table that had obviously seen action. Walls were hung with Motörhead-related flags and posters, shelves and cupboards stuffed with books, records and identical white boots. Lemmy stayed here all the way through Motörhead's rise to No Sleep 'Til Hammersmith. he explained. “It’s a nice, shabby pit for me to crawl into. I’ve always lived like this.”

Lemmy at home was somewhat different from the Lemmy in public; the perfect host playing his beloved early rock'n'roll 45s, pouring large vodkas, splintering the speed mountain, or simply expounding on various subjects to his audience of one. His dry delivery, somewhat reminiscent of Les Dawson, made for killer one-liners.

Our uproarious liaisons started after Zigzag – the first serious UK music monthly, which I'd turned into a punk mag – gave Motörhead's self-titled debut single then first album rave reviews when they were still the most ostracised band in Britain (bar diehards).

Our first meeting was in the dressing room after the band had just demolished my local Friars club, in Aylesbury, in August 1977. Lemmy greeted me with his traditional initiation ritual, thrusting forth a dagger piled with speed and commanding: “Do it till it hurts!” followed by downing a can of Special Brew in one.