December 28th marks a whole year after the Universe demonstrated in a quite a stern way one of its most cruel traits. We, the rock'n'roll people are since demonstrating that death might be a phase but by no means an end. And that enough with the philosophy.

 

There are tons of stuff written about Lemmy both as a individual and as an influence. TANGRA MEGA MULLETS party is yet another confirmation that the written is true. And I say party because the involved in the Mullets, and in the Radio, and the audience created something way more intimate and personal than a concert.

 

We arrived into the hall together with the first chords of the acoustic set of Bloodrush. I can blab a bit about generations, passing the torch, and the such but I feel that it is needless with a taste of patronizing. If you Rock then you have a place on stage. Age, awards and so on are curious trivia but not the essence. And the essence is that Bloodrush have It. Unplugged is a tough undertaking and also unpopular choice for opening of such a high voltage show, and still it's a good one - I never heard a single murmur around me, and trust me, the cynical me was listening.  
 

 

Short break, quick electric soundcheck, beverage refill.

 

The main course began with a bang as it should. We were already well hyped up about what's to come by the video-teasers, generously provided for a month, and it's a great feeling to have expectations met and beyond. Nufri is a multifaceted beast and happily for all the gnarly-alcohol-nicotine timbre is among those facets. 

 

 

Iron Fist is one of my Motorhead favourites and followed directly by Stay Clean sends the message loud - breaks belong in an alternative, more boring universe, not ours.

 

The next kick in the teeth is delivered by Vasko of Odd Crew and is the appropriate Damage Case. Front of stage the mosh is on and even in the more peaceful back of the room, where my age took me, the floor begins to grow stick with drins that people forgot are still in their hands after the rhythm bypassed the brains and took direct control over the bodies. The Good Doctor Stiffenstein joins in for The Chase Is Better Than The Catch duet and amongst the various thoughts in my head one is louder than the others - why in the name of gods and daemons aren't we doing this more often. 

 

 

After this canonical set comes something indescribable, yet I'll give it a shot. The phrase "Nasso Rouskov does Motorhead" does not pop up often, so I wasn't sure what to expect. The people near me were not sure what to expect. As I found out later, the guys in the power trio did the song with vocals only earlier today on the soundcheck so most they must have had is an educated guess. Ho! Ly! Fuck! Capricorn sounds majestic. There were some attempts later to try to describe it, but words as a concept wave the white flag. I'll only remark that this was one of the most memorable moments and this is in a show that has Alexander Parvanov - The Kick on it.

 

 

While we were coming to our senses, Kiril Marichkov came on stage and then left again for a bit, as his On Parole lyrics sheet apparently had grown legs and wandered off into the crowd. We took that with the smile it warrants all except for one dude, who had some objections of sorts. But we should be understanding - it's cold outside and when you shove your head up your ass at least your ears will be warm, though the view is probably shit.

 

 

Then we slowed down the tempo for the second acoustic set of the evening so that the upcoming appearance of The Kick packs even more punch (erm... honestly, it doesn't sound as cheesy in Bulgarian)

 

 

The Kick drinks Jack. He also uses Jack as a hair conditioner. I am not familiar how popular the practice is, but it was quickly spread among the first rows, when fair amounts poured generously onto them along-side Going To Brazil and R.A.M.O.N.E.S. I was just beginning to wonder how such a small stage can hold such energy and enthusiasm when it turned out that it can't - the first stage dive of the evening went into the books.

 

 

While the crowd was surfing The Kick around, Vassil Varbanov decided to give his DJ self a rest and growl out Orgasmatron instead, altogether with the green lights and a haka as a bonus. The fact that the next day his voice was still husky is the mark of a job well done. 

 

 

Stiff and Nufri came back and via Killed By Death and Eat The Rich steered the show towards its appropriately beastly conclusion.
 

There's probably no better multi-vocalist song than Born To Raise Hell, and worth noting here is the high voltage and high pitch participation of Koko Stoynov. The final took its fair share of bottles of Jack, either drunk dry of poured out into the waiting mouths of the crowd, more stage diving and crowd surfing up until the point where one of the amplifiers just gave up and died during the ending of Overkill. Rock'n'roll, baby!

 

 

I'd like to remark that for a boring set of reasons I was offensively sober during the whole thing and yet the next day I felt my head stuffed with cotton and spent most of the workday staring happily through my monitor, tapping my foot. Kinda like endorphin hangover. 

 

 

The evening of 28th was yet another proof that even though bodies inevitably fade, people don't die only because they are not hanging around in the physical world. Lemmy Lives \m/ \m/...