I was never a massive heavy metal fan, and I found Motorhead's music basic, albeit lively and driven, yet never challenging. However, Lemmy was one of those characters who personified the genre's self-made 'wild life' reputation. He was a basic man in many ways; he seemed as if he'd go on forever, but that wildness has finally overtaken him. Were Motorhead good musicians? Well, they were fast, that's a fact, but subtle? Never. No crying in your beer balladeering here; just three chords, tricky licks and the truth. They survived the 1970s punk revolution when all the other bouffanted, spandex heavy metal poseurs were sidelined, because Lemmy and his band outstripped the Pistols and The Damned or the Ramones with a well-established reputation for bad boy antics. They were the one heavy metal outfit the punks could still admire. And yet, for a resident of L.A., there was an old-fashioned, English heart still beating in Lemmy's hoary old chest; on the tour bus he re-read P. G. Wodehouse's Jeeves and Wooster over and over. That peculiarity alone gives him a sense of endearment. The music world's lost a true character, and no doubt Satan is already standing back in horror at his new arrival. RIP, Lemmy. You'll be missed.