Having already been verbally abused by a homeless man before even making it off the bus, my exhausted self grew slightly disheartened as I made my way, in heels I might add, to The Warfield in downtown San Francisco. Walking down Market, I once again had rough profanity hollered at me, but upon reaching the venue, I quickly perked up. A sea of grungy punk rockers, young and old, with facial hair galore, graciously ushered me in.
I had arrived to see three amazing bands, all playing the same venue on the same night. Motörhead, Reverend Horton Heat and Nashville Pussy joined together for a U.S. tour, thankfully adding San Francisco to the list. While the genre of music varied immensely between the three, they all had one thing in common: hard rock’n’roll.
Waiting for Motörhead to make their way on stage I was overwhelmed with excitement. Having already witnessed two amazing live sets, I was ready to add a third to the list. The venue was packed and the crowd was clearly as enthusiastic as I was. Lemmy Kilmister, the band’s bassist and lead singer, casually made his way to the stage. “We’re Motörhead, we play rock ’n’ roll,” he stated, in his raspy British accent. The deafening music began, sending the crowd into a wild frenzy.
Between the crowd-surfing girl whos elack of underwear was quite apparent and Lemmy’s short hilariously matter-of-fact statements, the show was like nothing I’d ever witnessed. Standing next to the speaker for a mere fifteen minutes caused a loss of hearing in my left ear, but only when it actually started to hurt did I dare give up my coveted spot near the stage.
Each member of the three-piece band was clearly a master of his instrument. Mikkey Dee, the band’s drummer, rocked a solo for a good ten minutes, or maybe my astonishment made it only seem that long. How the man didn’t suffer a heart attack after his furious display is beyond me.
Never did I feel bored waiting for any of the bands to begin, as the crowd made for amazing between set entertainment. I wasn’t aware that these types of people actually existed in San Francisco. The venue looked like the biggest biker bar you’ve ever seen, and debuted some of the most amazing facial hair on earth. When is the last time you saw a neck beard that reached just below someone’s hip?
The two openers of night could have packed the house on their own, giving the crowd an amazing overall show. Reverend Horton Heat, a rockabilly band out of Texas, appealed to the hard rock crowd by playing their more heavy songs. “Psychobilly Freakout,” a song made popular in the mainstream via Guitar Hero, made it on the set list, as did “400 Bucks.”
The most memorable part of the night for me came from Ruyter Suys, lead guitarist for Nashville Pussy. Infamous for going wild on stage for their final song, Ruyter flailed across the stage, thrashing her long blonde locks around. The mystery is how her boobs, which were packed into a tiny, cut up t-shirt, stayed in her top. The whole crowd waited with bated breath in hopes of catching a peak of the guitarist’s “girls.” Unfortunately, the crowd and her boobs never formally met, making me wonder to this day what type of adhesive was mighty enough to contain them.
The show was one of the loudest spectacles I’ve had the immense pleasure of witnessing. Packing all three incredible bands into one night might have been more rock’n’roll than I could handle, certainly more than my ears could. The ringing in my head was overpowering, and my voice was gone after the second band finished. Worth it? Hell yeah!
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