Lemmy

Thu., Feb. 3, 8:30 p.m., $8, Trocadero, 1003 Arch St., 800-745-3000, thetroc.com.

by Shaun Brady

[ film ]

After the bombs drop, as one Motörhead fan says, the only things left living will be "cockroaches and Lemmy." Or, as Dave Grohl succinctly puts it, "Fuck Keith Richards." In other words, Lemmy Kilmister may be the ultimate rock 'n' roll survivor, bulldozing audiences for damn near 40 years fueled by Marlboros, Jack and Coke, and speed. Anyone familiar with Lemmy's famously craggy visage knows that any film with him as a subject is of necessity warts and all, and the Ace of Spades himself makes no apologies for his unchanged lifestyle — there's no Behind the Music redemption tale here, but neither are there the tales of garish Dionysian excess that precipitate so many musical falls. The film offers a bit of history, tracing his trek from roadie (and occasional partner-in-acid) for Jimi Hendrix through space-rock icons Hawkwind to his 35-year history with Motörhead, and offers awed testimonials from Metallica, Slash, Alice Cooper, Ozzy and plenty of others. Documentarians Greg Olliver and Wes Orshoski find him living in a cluttered L.A. apartment crammed with WWII memorabilia (shots of swastika-covered walls are followed by Lemmy shrugging off Nazi accusations in typical, who-gives-a-shit laconic style). There's almost a poignant portrait of loneliness here, a life revolving around touring or sitting at the bar of the Rainbow Bar and Grill, but Kilmister's hide is a little too leathery for emotion to overwhelm. Lemmy is simply a living, breathing heavy-metal Mount Rushmore, an unchanging monument to the restorative powers of rocking your ass off night after night.

Thu., Feb. 3, 8:30 p.m., $8, Trocadero, 1003 Arch St., 800-745-3000, thetroc.com.